Iceland Day. when the Icelanders brave cold wet weather and mingle on the streets.
Sogpal Rimpoche reminds and reminds and reminds. leaving nothing unclear. language suggesting practice. the hints are everywhere, and always elusive. rabbits in the 20×40 foot grass yard, they are starving for the drought. and, at the same time, an expert reminds Westerners that the word drought is not applicable to a place technically defined as a desert. it’s always dry here, and to have a lawn is an alien fragment of bourgeoisie command-and-control of an environment that will win out eventually. the rabbits, gophers, deer, the occasional javelina all love to feast on green garden delicacies, imported gently from New England and Old. while young hopeless and having no future Palestinians rip self and others apart. shreds. what is the statistic? in 5 years there will be 600 million young Islamic males between 18-25? don’t quote me on that. think that’s what passed the eyes. somewhere in the fragmented media flow partaken of.
meanwhile, thumbing seven years of travelog nose at the new wave of bloggers. they seem to think that personal logs of life-notes are somehow a distinct innovation. telling stories from the road, from life, in networked spaces. at the same time, lamenting my own inability to innovate my own network space quicker. often speaking about network presence with students, but aside from the anomalous remote communications regime operating for the last 20-odd years, what is there?