this is the way the world ends, something about whimpers…

endings, online, August 2017

[02/Aug/17, 07:58:32]: how to sell

[02/Aug/17, 11:12:08]: quash and quell

[02/Aug/17, 11:12:29]: as a derived echo chamber

[02/Aug/17, 13:30:09]: or an anechoic one…

[02/Aug/17, 13:31:45]: loose in thoracic barrel, heart implodes with every thought-pulse

[02/Aug/17, 19:15:40]: evidence of nothing points to passed time

[02/Aug/17, 22:56:57]: while all things, in themselves, are fraught with peace

[03/Aug/17, 08:20:11]: and long sight, imprinted on body, remains in shuttered twiLight

[03/Aug/17, 13:45:57]: where movement, stasis, converge

[03/Aug/17, 15:06:13]: Sam Shepard: America is on its way out as a culture

[03/Aug/17, 22:54:14]: inanimate suspension: carrier refuses the burden, at Mach 0.8, how bodies react …

[03/Aug/17, 22:56:31]: deep fatigue draws down thew, rat looks on, gaping with crushed skull. the trap worked.

[03/Aug/17, 23:05:01]: signing on, signing off, this is where I will hang some empty epithets, small consolation for a smaller soul, evaporating in the entropic heat of life

[04/Aug/17, 10:21:39]: more delays, irruptions, shifts, and intrusions, and yet no words here, puzzling if only there was time to be puzzled …

[04/Aug/17, 18:32:59]: Heading to a Taos-Pueblo hip-hop gig in Louisville … meet me?

[05/Aug/17, 00:30:20]: implacable silence, it is done

A tous ceux qui font la paix

In this time, the number of those who make peace is dwindling. But the number, sheer number of those who feel compelled to make war: many of the young men, part of the burgeoning global population, are girded for battle. Heads full of glory, honor, and celestial virgins. No peace is possible under the seductive regime of testosterone, greed, power, and a Machiavellian competition for survival.

The Peace Of Wild Things

When despair grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

— by Wendell Berry

all watched over …

Who can resist the ominous simplicity of Brautigan’s All Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace?

I like to think (and
the sooner the better!)
of a cybernetic meadow
where mammals and computers
live together in mutually
programming harmony
like pure water
touching clear sky.

I like to think
(right now please!)
of a cybernetic forest
filled with pines and electronics
where deer stroll peacefully
past computers
as if they were flowers
with spinning blossoms.

I like to think
(it has to be!)
of a cybernetic ecology
where we are free of our labors
and joined back to nature,
returned to our mammal
brothers and sisters,
and all watched over
by machines of loving grace.

High tech peace will need a new kind of humanism

Ours is a confusing time. In the developed world we have enjoyed affluence for long enough to have a hard time appreciating it. We especially love our gadgets, where we can still find novelty – but we also have strong evidence that we would be peering over the edge of a precipice if we opened our eyes more often.

It pains me to intone the familiar list of contemporary perils: Climate change first of all; population and depopulation spirals utterly out of sync with our societies; our inability to plan for the decline of cheap fossil fuels; seemingly inescapable waves of austerity; untenable trends of wealth concentration; the rise of violent extremisms in so many ways in so many places… Of course all of these processes are intertwined with one another.

Given this big picture, it certainly came as a surprise to many of us (to me most of all) that this year’s Peace Prize of the German Book Trade was given to a figure such as myself who is associated with the rise of digital technologies. Aren’t digital toys just a flimsy froth that decorates big dark waves?

Digital designs have certainly brought about noisy changes to our culture and politics.

excerpted from Jaron Lanier‘s acceptance speech for the 2014 Peace Prize of the German Book Trade

yup

(over)heard:

Not every death is at the end of a well-lived life.

This is the moment where rectification is no longer possible (without prior disciplined training of the Self). Sanctification of the Self is in the past, unsuccessful, and there is only the process of marching through the bardo, which, in this case, will not be one of “profound peace and pristine awareness,” but rather one of delusion.

educational solutions for declining systems, etc.

The Prosperous Way Down site, invoking and building on Howard Odum’s work, takes a look at education here.

Conservation of information, both genetic and learned, through teaching and archiving, is the first mission of universities. Included are the biodiversity of nature and the long range memory of society, which is the library. Scarce library money should not be diverted to short range needs. The internet appears to be the short range memory of society. As in the analogous processes of the human brain, short range information has to be sifted and selected for preservation, a university function. Planning for descent should take priority in universities, not only for itself, but for its role as the long range information storehouse for society. . . Not all the great quantity of information in our current climax pulse can be sustained in the down cycle. How do we organize and save what is most important? Perhaps this is a priority for long range greening committees . . .
more “educational solutions for declining systems, etc.”

Mary Caroline MacKenzie 1916 – 2013

death

portrait, Mary, Seattle, Washington, August 1957[?]

My favorite Aunt, Mary, passes peacefully today in Fort Myers, Florida. At 96-y.o. she had a long and active life. More to come on this. I have her entire photographic archive of which I scanned a few images a couple years ago, and will be getting some of those images up in the next week or so. It’s a sad day. She was everything one could ask for in an Aunt! Funny, lively, actively doing stuff with the nieces & nephews, remembering special occasions, and a good correspondent (with her impeccable English usage, spelling, and grammar as the main church secretary to the pastor of the historic Park Street Church in Boston, Massachusetts, right on the Boston Commons). More remembrances shortly when I’m feeling better.

Mary Caroline Mackenzie, beloved sister, favorite aunt, and devoted friend died peacefully on Monday morning, March 18, 2013, at Shell Point, Ft Myers, FL. She was born December 19, 1916, at home in Melville, PEI, Canada, to John Malcolm and Lillian May (Kedy) Mackenzie.

Before retiring to Shell Point Village in Florida, Mary was the long-time personal secretary to Drs. Harold Ockenga and Paul Toms of Park Street Church in Boston, Massachusetts where she was a member. She was an active adventurer, taking numerous and frequent camping, skiing, bicycling tours around New England, the Maritimes, and abroad. She was generous with her time and attention to her family as well as to her many friends. She spent happy years at the Village with her many close friends, her volunteer work, and her numerous hobbies. Mary shared her faith and love for the Lord with family and friends. She will be deeply missed.

Mary is survived by her brother, Alfred Kedy Mackenzie of Prescott, AZ; her cousin, Isabel (McLeod) Sabapathy of Charlottetown, PEI, Canada; nieces Janet A. Hopkins of Chino Valley, AZ and Nancy Jane Haan of Livermore, CA; nephews John C. Hopkins of Boulder, CO and Douglas C. Hopkins of Kingston, NY; great-nieces Lawren Richards of Eagle Bay, BC, Canada, Casey Mackenzie Johnson of Livermore, CA, and Dana C. Johnson of Livermore, CA; great-nephews Loki A. Hopkins of Livermore, CA and Jason B. Babcock of Phoenix, AZ; and six great-great nieces and two great-great nephews.

A Celebration of Life service will be held at 10:15AM, April 6, 2013, at the Shell Point Village Church, 15100 Shell Point Blvd. Fort Myers, FL. She will be buried next to her parents at the Puritan Lawn Cemetery, Lynnfield, MA.

The family suggests memorials be sent to Park Street Church, 1 Park St, Boston, MA 02108.

I-hsüan: A Sermon

The important thing in the study of Buddhism is to achieve a true understanding. If true understanding is achieve, one will not be defiled by birth and death and wherever he may be he will be free. It is not necessary to achieve anything of particular excellence, but this will come by itself.

Followers of the Path, from days of yore, worthy masters had their ways of helping people. As to my way, it is intended merely to help people from being deceived. If you need to use it, do so and don’t hesitate any more.

Why are students today not successful? What is the trouble? The trouble lies in their lack of self-confidence. If you do not have enough self-confidence, you will busily submit yourself to all kinds of external conditions and transformations, and be enslaved and turned around by them and lose your freedom. But if you can stop the mind that seeks [those external conditions] in every instant of thought, you will then be no different from the old masters.
more “I-hsüan: A Sermon”

hmmmm…

The leftist of the oversocialized type tries to get off his psychological leash and assert his autonomy by rebelling. But usually he is not strong enough to rebel against the most basic values of society. Generally speaking, the goals of today’s leftists are NOT in conflict with the accepted morality. On the contrary, the left takes an accepted moral principle, adopts it as its own, and then accuses mainstream society of violating that principle. Examples: racial equality, equality of the sexes, helping poor people, peace as opposed to war, nonviolence generally, freedom of expression, kindness to animals. More fundamentally, the duty of the individual to serve society and the duty of society to take care of the individual. All these have been deeply rooted values of our society (or at least of its middle and upper classes for a long time. These values are explicitly or implicitly expressed or presupposed in most of the material presented to us by the mainstream communications media and the educational system. Leftists, especially those of the over-socialized type, usually do not rebel against these principles but justify their hostility to society by claiming (with some degree of truth) that society is not living up to these principles. — the Unabomber’s Manifesto

Thursday, 04 October, 1962

Listened to Arms Control Panel all day. Those on it were Prof. Sohn of the Harvard Law School, John McNaughton, Gen. Counsel DOD, Donald Brennan, Father Conway, and Lawrence S. Finkelstein of the Cornegie Endowment for International Peace. The summary by Prof. Sohn contained the statement that the US is actually engaged in discussions with the USSR on this arms control topic. Our latest proposal is to take 6 years in Phase I and an undisclosed number of years on Phase II. The USSR proposed 4 on Phase I. The fact that the USSR is willing to engage in such a discussion indicates that they don’t want a general war.

Couldn’t find the place where we built the CPS-6’s in the summer of 1945; it has apparently been turned into a residential district as there is a base gate just north of the turn-off.

My roommate is Richard Martin, Registrar at the New England College, Hennicker, NH. He is a member of the AMC, and agreed to function as a sponsor in case I want to try to join.

Clear in AM

The OA Arms Control Panel was quite instructive to me. Prof. Sohn of Harvard Law School, has participated in the Arms Conf. in Geneva. HE said that these discussions show 1) That a progressive level of education and understanding of the consequences of nuclear conflict is being made; 2) that the USSR may not really want nuclear war since they seem to be actually talking and not repeating an often-repeated line anymore, and 3) that both the US & USSR may settle on a 30% overall reduction, still leaving the US with a great preponderance.

etc

*strategerie:* alias Advance Strategic Planning:
The Gap, Target, J.P. Morgan, Bank of America,
The Obama Family, The Catholic Church,
Dr.Strangelove, Burbleson Air Force Base *{Peace*
*Is Our Profession},* The Celebrity, The Career, Et Cetera:
all plugged into ASP.

Business: no *time* to* think.*
*An alibi. I was somewhere else.*
One of the most delusive phrases ever pitched.

Destruction: “just another” *material (story)*
suitable (costume/coo-tour) for advertising
(journalism).

*The Job Creators: *are in Iraq, Afganistan. . .
Generals, “Chefs” of Staffs . . .
The Employers of The Angel, Michelangelo,
The Sistine Chapel . . .

The Chapel disguises The War Room of Strangelove.

vv.

whilst on the road

Heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, raise the dead, cast out devils: freely ye have received, freely give. Provide neither gold, nor silver, nor brass in your purses, Nor scrip for your journey, neither two coats, neither shoes, nor yet staves: for the workman is worthy of his meat. And into whatsoever city or town ye shall enter, enquire who in it is worthy; and there abide till ye go thence. And when ye come into an house, salute it. And if the house be worthy, let your peace come upon it: but if it be not worthy, let your peace return to you. And whosoever shall not receive you, nor hear your words, when ye depart out of that house or city, shake off the dust of your feet. — Matthew 10:8-14

grim Shaw

THE DEVIL: And is Man any the less destroying himself for all this boasted brain of his? Have you walked up and down upon the earth lately? I have; and I have examined Man’s wonderful inventions. And I tell you that in the arts of life man invents nothing; but in the arts of death he outdoes Nature herself, and produces by chemistry and machinery all the slaughter of plague, pestilence and famine. The peasant I tempt to-day eats and drinks what was eaten and drunk by the peasants of ten thousand years ago; and the house he lives in has not altered as much in a thousand centuries as the fashion of a lady’s bonnet in a score of weeks. But when he goes out to slay, he carries a marvel of mechanism that lets loose at the touch of his finger all the hidden molecular energies, and leaves the javelin, the arrow, the blowpipe of his fathers far behind. In the arts of peace Man is a bungler. I have seen his cotton factories and the like, with machinery that a greedy dog could have invented if it had wanted money instead of food. I know his clumsy typewriters and bungling locomotives and tedious bicycles: they are toys compared to the Maxim gun, the submarine torpedo boat. There is nothing in Man’s industrial machinery but his greed and sloth: his heart is in his weapons. This marvelous force of Life of which you boast is a force of Death: Man measures his strength by his destructiveness. What is his religion? An excuse for hating ME. What is his law? An excuse for hanging YOU. What is his morality? Gentility! an excuse for consuming without producing. What is his art? An excuse for gloating over pictures of slaughter. What are his politics? Either the worship of a despot because a despot can kill, or parliamentary cockfighting. I spent an evening lately in a certain celebrated legislature, and heard the pot lecturing the kettle for its blackness, and ministers answering questions. When I left I chalked up on the door the old nursery saying –“Ask no questions and you will be told no lies.” — George Bernard Shaw, The Devil speaking in “Don Juan in Hell,” Act III of “Man and Superman,” 1902

Chris Norris Allen 1953 – 2011

Angie, Chris, Mary, and Jenny, Boulder, Colorado, USA, December, 1989

Chris Allen, one of my favorite students from way back in Master Black and White Printing at CU Boulder in the late 1980’s, passed today. Chris was a gentle, gracious, and humble soul, at the same time as being a fearless seer. His work at the time he was in my class was sourced in his tightly-knit family situation. He visually mapped the dynamic of his crew of young daughters and wife with an intensity and intimacy that I have not seen rivaled with such personal work. He was hard-working, focused, and completely un-self-conscious about his photography. We had many wonderful conversations about life and photography during that time. His wife, Sandy, was due with their fourth child, and they invited me to attend and photograph the birth which I did do. I remember saying yes to Chris, and then getting the phone call early one morning, “It’s time, come on over.” Uff! What have I done! I was terribly nervous about such an event, having never witnessed a birth before. But the vibe at the house, between the midwives and the kids, was incredibly calm and loving. I was blessed by their trust. more “Chris Norris Allen 1953 – 2011”

the predatory life/death: lex talionis

With the growth of industry comes the possibility of a predatory life; and if the groups of savages crowd one another in the struggle for subsistence, there is a provocation to hostilities, and a predatory habit of life ensues. There is a consequent growth of a predatory culture, which may for the present purpose be treated as the beginning of the barbarian culture. This predatory culture shows itself in a growth of suitable institutions. The group divides itself conventionally into a fighting and a peace-keeping class, with a corresponding division of labor. Fighting, together with other work that involves a serious element of exploit, becomes the employment of the able-bodied men; the uneventful everyday work of the group falls to the women and the infirm. — Thorstein Veblen

A man gets shot once in the face, and a second time to the head to ensure his demise. Other men are shot. A woman is shot. Why celebrate except in the instance of savagery, with an up-turned face, contorted with suppressed rage, making a vengeful grimace, and declaring the nation-state’s supremacy. An eye for an eye, the context lost on those who do not even know the content of the holy book coming from their own god. Instead, kill and be killed and kill and be killed. more “the predatory life/death: lex talionis”

the cost

Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired signifies, in the final sense, a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and are not clothed. This world in arms is not spending money alone. It is spending the sweat of its laborers, the genius of its scientists, the hopes of its children. The cost of one modern heavy bomber is this: a modern brick school in more than 30 cities. It is two electric power plants, each serving a town of 60,000 population. It is two fine, fully equipped hospitals. It is some fifty miles of concrete pavement. We pay for a single fighter plane with a half million bushels of wheat. We pay for a single destroyer with new homes that could have housed more than 8,000 people. This is, I repeat, the best way of life to be found on the road the world has been taking. This is not a way of life at all, in any true sense. Under the cloud of threatening war, it is humanity hanging from a cross of iron. […] Is there no other way the world may live? –- Dwight David Eisenhower, “The Chance for Peace,” speech given to the American Society of Newspaper Editors, Apr. 16, 1953.

A warning

Another Eisenhower warning in his address to Congress prior to his leaving office in 1961:

One of the deepest concerns of the framers of our Constitution was to make sure that no military group arose to challenge the civil authority, and that no segment of industry be allowed to develop which was permanently and exclusively concerned with building the weapons of war.

For a hundred and sixty years, our military posture was characterized by a very small regular establishment, quickly bolstered in time of emergency by large contingents of militia and reserves, and just as quickly reduced upon the return of peace. There was no armaments industry. The makers of plowshares could, when required, make swords as well. The Army which I joined in 1911 numbered 84,000 — one-tenth of its present strength.
more “A warning”

the leisure class … (at 11.11.10, 11:11)

The erection of class/caste protocols (another harsh historical judgment in the midst of the industrial age):

Entrance into the leisure class lies through the pecuniary employments, and these employments, by selection and adaptation, act to admit to the upper levels only those lines of descent that are pecuniarily fit to survive under the predatory test. And so soon as a case of reversion to non-predatory human nature shows itself on these upper levels, it is commonly weeded out and thrown back to the lower pecuniary levels. In order to hold its place in the class, a stock must have the pecuniary temperament; otherwise its fortune would be dissipated and it would presently lose caste. Instances of this kind are sufficiently frequent. The constituency of the leisure class is kept up by a continual selective process, whereby the individuals and lines of descent that are eminently fitted for an aggressive pecuniary competition are withdraw from the lower classes. In order to reach the upper levels the aspirant must have, not only a fair average complement of the pecuniary aptitudes, but he must have these gifts in such an eminent degree as to overcome very material difficulties that stand in the way of his ascent. Barring accidents, the nouveaux arrivés are a picked body. more “the leisure class … (at 11.11.10, 11:11)”

upheaval

Upheaving, upheaval. Testing dependence and independence. Just when the path looks stable, where the knowns gradually coagulate to staunch the in-and-out-pouring stresses of un-knowing; the flow is not turbulent, the road is straight and wide, with interesting terrains somewhere up ahead. Then one finds a dip, through a desert wash, unseen just a short distance away. In this dip is a mess of flash-flood debris, and a double-fork in the road: change comes along with deep choices to be made between diverging pathways. One is obscured by the morning fog of oracle’s lack, so that what lies ahead cannot be distinguished; the other way may be seen, but with curves that carry it quickly out of sight. The third apparently climbs out of the one dip, and is the road that one perceived from a distance to be the straight and wide, but turns out that there are many dips, as when crossing a wide alluvial fan spreading out from the base of a mountain canyon.

Saline Valley, California, May 1983

Then there is the idea of the bush-whack. A process that forgets the roads and launches out into the countryside, a self-determined goal in sight or hinted at by the terrain to cover. The bush-whack presumes a base, often, with measured forays out on a daily basis, rather than a continuous and wearing, un-remitting confrontation of the unknown. It is the frontiersman, one who stays at the edge of stable regions, the fraying or un-formed edges. One foot in, one foot out. Solitary. Progress not determined by forward motion, but rather by the growing determination to remain in motion at all. That is progress, in the Light of how life comes and goes, the determination to continue is a hard kernel around which to wrap the discoveries that occur along the way.

My dear friends, let me sing you the song of solitude. Without solitude there is no suffering, without solitude there is no heroism. But the solitude I have in mind is not the solitude of the blithe poets or of the theater, where the fountain bubbles so sweetly at the mouth of the hermit’s cave.

From childhood to manhood is only one step, one single step. In taking that step you break away from father and mother, you become yourself; it is a step into solitude. No one takes it completely. Even the holiest hermit, he grumpiest old bear in the bleakest of mountains, takes with him, or draws after him, a thread that binds him to his father and mother, to the loving warmth of kinship and friendship. My friends, when you speak so fervently of people and fatherland, I see the thread dangling from you, and I smile. When your great men speak of their “task” and responsibility, that thread hangs out of their mouths. Your great men, your leaders and orators, never speak of tasks directed against themselves, they never speak of responsibility to destiny! They hang by a thread that leads them back to mother and to all the cozy warmth that the poets recall when they sing of childhood and its pure joys. No one severs the thread entirely, except in death and then only if he succeeds in dying his own death.

Most men, the herd, have never tasted solitude. They leave father and mother, but only to crawl to a wife and quietly succumb to new warmth and new ties. They are never alone, they never commune with themselves. And when a solitary man crosses their path, they fear him and hate him like the plague; they fling stones at him and find no peace until they are far away from him. The air around him smells of stars, of cold stellar spaces; he lacks the soft warm fragrance of the home and hatchery.

Zarathustra has something of this starry smell, this forbidding coldness. Zarathustra has gone a long way on the path of solitude. He has attended the school of suffering. He has seen the forge of destiny and been wrought in it.

Ah, my friends, I don’t know whether I ought to tell you any more about solitude. I should gladly tempt you to take that path, I should gladly sing you a song of the icy raptures of cosmic space. But I know that few men can travel that path without injury. It is hard, my dear friends, to live without a mother; it is hard to live without home and people, without fatherland or fame, without the pleasures of life in a community. It is hard to live in the cold, and most of those who have started on the path have fallen. A man must be indifferent to the possibility of falling, if he wants to taste of solitude and to face up to his own destiny. It is easier and sweeter to walk with a people, with a multitude — even through misery. It is easier and more comforting to devote oneself to the “tasks” of the day, the tasks meted out by the collectivity. See how happy the people are in their crowded streets. Shots are being fired, their lives are in danger, yet every one of them would far rather die with the masses than walk alone in the cold outer night.

But how, my young friends, could I tempt you or lead you? Solitude is not chosen, any more than destiny is chosen. Solitude comes to us if we have within us the magic stone that attracts destiny. Many, far too many, have gone out into the desert and led the lives of herd men in a pretty hermitage beside a lovely spring. While others stand in the thick of the crowd, and yet the air of the stars blows round their heads.

But blessed be he who has found his solitude, not the solitude pictured in painting or poetry, but his own, unique, predestined solitude. Blessed be he who knows how to suffer! Blessed be he who bears the magic stone in his heart. To him comes destiny, from him comes authentic action. — Hermann Hesse

unusually large

John passes this one along, charting yet another step in the march of the Military-Industrial machine that began during WWII. and with the Christian Right quite comfortable with the prognostications of their arm-chair prophets about the impending Armageddon in the Middle East, no problem, Amurika will get the job DONE! along with lots of warm and fuzzies…

Martin MGM-1 Matador :: General Dynamics (Convair) RIM-2 Terrier :: Western Electric MIM-3 Nike Ajax :: Hughes AIM-4 Falcon :: JPL/Firestone MGM-5 Corporal :: Vought RGM-6 Regulus :: Raytheon AIM/RIM-7 Sparrow :: Bendix RIM-8 Talos :: Raytheon (Philco/G.E.) AIM-9 Sidewinder :: Boeing CIM-10 Bomarc :: Chrysler PGM-11 Redstone :: Martin AGM-12 Bullpup :: Martin MGM/CGM-13 Mace :: Western Electric MIM-14 Nike Hercules :: Vought RGM-15 Regulus II :: General Dynamics (Convair) CGM/HGM-16 Atlas :: Douglas PGM-17 Thor :: Martin MGM-18 Lacrosse :: Chrysler PGM-19 Jupiter :: McDonnell ADM-20 Quail :: Nord MGM-21 :: Aérospatiale (Nord) AGM-22 :: Raytheon MIM-23 Hawk :: General Dynamics (Convair) RIM-24 Tartar :: Martin HGM/LGM-25 Titan :: Hughes AIM-26 Falcon :: Lockheed UGM-27 Polaris :: North American AGM-28 Hound Dog :: JPL/Sperry MGM-29 Sergeant :: Boeing LGM-30 Minuteman :: Martin Marietta MGM-31 Pershing :: Aérospatiale (Nord) MGM-32 Entac :: Northrop (Radioplane) MQM-33 :: Teledyne Ryan AQM/BQM/MQM/BGM-34 Firebee :: Northrop (Radioplane) AQM-35 :: Northrop (Radioplane) MQM-36 Shelduck :: Beech AQM-37 :: Northrop (Radioplane) AQM-38 :: Beech MQM-39 :: Globe MQM-40 Firefly :: Fairchild AQM-41 Petrel :: North American MQM-42 Redhead/Roadrunner :: General Dynamics FIM-43 Redeye :: Goodyear UUM-44 Subroc :: Texas Instruments AGM-45 Shrike :: General Dynamics MIM-46 Mauler :: Hughes AIM-47 Falcon :: Douglas AGM-48 Skybolt :: Western Electric/McDonnell Douglas LIM-49 Nike Zeus/Spartan :: Bendix RIM-50 Typhon LR :: Ford MGM-51 Shillelagh :: LTV MGM-52 Lance :: Rockwell AGM-53 Condor :: Raytheon (Hughes) AIM-54 Phoenix :: Bendix RIM-55 Typhon MR :: Nord/Bell PQM-56 :: Northrop (Radioplane) MQM-57 Falconer :: Aerojet General MQM-58 Overseer :: APL RGM-59 Taurus :: Lockheed AQM-60 Kingfisher :: Beech MQM-61 Cardinal :: Martin Marietta AGM-62 Walleye :: AGM-63 :: Rockwell (North American) AGM-64 Hornet :: Raytheon (Hughes) AGM-65 Maverick :: Raytheon (General Dynamics) RIM-66 Standard MR :: Raytheon (General Dynamics) RIM-67 Standard ER :: Air Force Weapons Lab AIM-68 Big Q :: Boeing AGM-69 SRAM :: Boeing LEM-70 Minuteman ERCS :: Raytheon (Hughes) BGM-71 TOW :: Ford MIM-72 Chaparral :: Lockheed UGM-73 Poseidon :: Northrop MQM/BQM-74 Chukar :: BGM-75 AICBM :: Hughes AGM-76 Falcon :: McDonnell Douglas FGM-77 Dragon :: General Dynamics AGM-78 Standard ARM :: Martin Marietta AGM-79 Blue Eye :: Chrysler AGM-80 Viper :: Teledyne Ryan AQM-81 Firebolt :: AIM-82 :: Texas Instruments AGM-83 Bulldog :: Boeing (McDonnell Douglas) AGM/RGM/UGM-84 Harpoon :: RIM-85 :: Boeing AGM-86 ALCM :: General Electric AGM-87 Focus :: Raytheon (Texas Instruments) AGM-88 HARM :: UGM-89 Perseus / STAM :: BQM-90 :: Teledyne Ryan AQM-91 Firefly :: Raytheon (General Dynamics) FIM-92 Stinger :: E-Systems GQM-93 :: Boeing GQM-94 B-Gull :: Hughes AIM-95 Agile :: Lockheed UGM-96 Trident I :: General Dynamics AIM-97 Seekbat :: Teledyne Ryan GQM-98 R-Tern :: LIM-99 :: LIM-100 :: RIM-101 :: General Dynamics/Sperry PQM-102 Delta Dagger :: Teledyne Ryan AQM-103 :: Raytheon MIM-104 Patriot :: Lockheed MQM-105 Aquila :: USAF FDL BQM-106 Teleplane :: Raytheon (Beech) MQM-107 Streaker :: NWC BQM-108 :: Raytheon (General Dynamics) BGM/RGM/UGM-109 Tomahawk :: LTV BGM-110 :: Teledyne Ryan BQM-111 Firebrand :: Rockwell AGM-112 :: RIM-113 :: Boeing/Lockheed Martin (Rockwell/Martin Marietta) AGM-114 Hellfire :: Euromissile/Hughes/Boeing MIM-115 Roland :: Raytheon (General Dynamics) RIM-116 RAM :: RS Systems FQM-117 RCMAT :: Martin Marietta LGM-118 Peacekeeper :: Kongsberg AGM-119 Penguin :: Raytheon (Hughes) AIM-120 AMRAAM :: Boeing CQM/CGM-121 Pave Tiger/Seek Spinner :: Motorola AGM-122 Sidearm :: Emerson Electric AGM-123 Skipper II :: Hughes AGM-124 Wasp :: Boeing RUM/UUM-125 Sea Lance :: Beech BQM-126 :: Martin Marietta AQM-127 SLAT :: AQM-128 :: Raytheon (General Dynamics) AGM-129 ACM :: Boeing (Rockwell) AGM-130 :: Boeing AGM-131 SRAM II :: MBDA (BAe Dynamics/Matra) AIM-132 ASRAAM :: Lockheed Martin UGM-133 Trident II :: Martin Marietta MGM-134 Midgetman :: Vought ASM-135 ASAT :: Northrop AGM/BGM-136 Tacit Rainbow :: Northrop AGM/MGM-137 TSSAM :: Boeing CEM-138 Pave Cricket :: Lockheed Martin (Loral) RUM-139 VL-Asroc :: Lockheed Martin (LTV) MGM-140 ATACMS :: IMI (Brunswick) ADM-141 TALD :: Rafael/Lockheed Martin AGM-142 Have Nap :: Continental RPVs MQM-143 RPVT :: ADM-144 :: Teledyne Ryan BQM-145 Peregrine :: Oerlikon/Lockheed Martin MIM-146 ADATS :: BAI Aerosystems BQM-147 Exdrone :: Raytheon/Lockheed Martin FGM-148 Javelin :: PQM-149 UAV-SR / McDonnell Douglas Sky Owl :: PQM-150 UAV-SR :: AeroVironment FQM-151 Pointer :: AIM-152 AAAM :: AGM-153 :: Raytheon (Texas Instruments) AGM-154 JSOW :: Northrop Grumman (TRW/IAI) BQM-155 Hunter :: Raytheon RIM-156 Standard SM-2ER Block IV :: Raytheon MGM-157 EFOGM :: Lockheed Martin AGM-158 JASSM :: Boeing (McDonnell Douglas) AGM-159 JASSM :: Northrop Grumman (Teledyne Ryan) ADM-160 MALD :: Raytheon RIM-161 Standard SM-3 :: Raytheon RIM-162 ESSM :: Orbital Sciences GQM-163 Coyote :: Lockheed Martin MGM-164 ATACMS II :: Raytheon RGM-165 LASM :: Lockheed Martin MGM-166 LOSAT/KEM :: Composite Engineering BQM-167 Skeeter :: Lockheed Martin MGM-168 ATACMS Block IVA :: Lockheed Martin AGM-169 JCM :: Griffon Aerospace MQM-170 Outlaw :: Griffon Aerospace MQM-171 Broadsword :: Lockheed Martin FGM-172 SRAW :: Alliant Techsystems GQM-173 MSST :: Raytheon RIM-174 ERAM (SM-6) :: :: Douglas MGR-1 Honest John :: Douglas AIR-2 Genie :: Emerson Electric MGR-3 Little John :: NOTS RUR-4 Weapon Alpha :: Honeywell RUR-5 Asroc :: Ford MER-6 Blue Scout ERCS :: Raytheon ADR-7 :: Revere (Tracor) ADR-8 :: Tracor ADR-9 :: Raytheon ADR-10 :: ADR-11 :: ADR-12 :: USAMICOM MQR-13 BMTS :: Martin Marietta AGR-14 ZAP :: USAMICOM MTR-15 BATS :: Atlantic Research MQR-16 Gunrunner :: General Dynamics FGR-17 Viper :: NWC GTR-18 Smokey Sam :: :: JPL PWN-1 Loki-Dart :: Aerojet General PWN-2 Aerobee-Hi :: University of Michigan/NACA PWN-3 Nike-Cajun :: University of Michigan PWN-4 Exos :: Cooper Development PWN-5 Rocksonde 200 :: Atlantic Research PWN-6 Kitty :: Atlantic Research PWN-7 Rooster :: Space Data PWN-8 Loki Datasonde :: Aerojet/UTC PWN-9 Kangaroo :: Space Data PWN-10 Super Loki Datasonde :: Space Data PWN-11 Super Loki Datasonde :: Space Data PWN-12 Super Loki ROBIN

last looks

Bill and Andrea graciously (they never do things ungraciously!) gave me the possibility to stay up at the ski house another couple days to try to get more writing done in the peaceful setting. Between typing, I stacked a cord of wood, split some, and went through the woods in the immediate vicinity of the house trimming all reachable deadwood, getting it down to ground level where, in that climate, it will mulch in a couple years. There were several large, what are they called, conglomerations of trees fallen into each other, and I brought those down, as well as axing a few more trees that Bill picked out, trimming branches off of downed trees. No ATV use, everything by hand. Such a nice location.

busy

day starts with French toast, frisbee a bit later, things that Loki and I share over the history of sporadic presence. cut my hair off last night, making a pile in the middle of the living room floor. clean it up. clean up the kitchen, and other details. so it goes.

make a museum tour as well to the National Museum to see the new Steina Vasulka installation which is monumental and fits the space perfectly. then on to the Kjarval and the Hafnarhusid as I discovered as of February this year they are free to the public. the Martha Schwartz I Hate nature / ‘Aluminati’ installation in the courtyard of the Kjarval is a nice critic of the horrid environmental degradation happening at the hands of Alcoa and corrupt government officials who are selling the landscape to make aluminum smelters and the dams which are necessary to power them.

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also wander down to the harbor to take some photos. observing with irony that the whale-watching ships are docked immediately across the pier from the whaling ships — a fact which no doubt escapes most tourists as the signage is not easily interpretable. anyone from Greenpeace would know. (heh, Simmi tells the joke, my favorite meal is whale meat with green peas…)

managed to get over to Seltjarnarnes to visit with Edda, Stefan’s mum, who now has a flat in the same place that Jón and Helga lived some years back.

not much interesting to write about here. haven’t gotten many of the sound files that I have picked up over the couple weeks online yet. as usual, behind the flowing times. months, years behind on all this — picking up, accreting material observations, when to start the reverse process to dis-engage with this acquisition obsession? rhetorical questions. to scatter into a text of frequent error and mis-apprehension.

around town

over for a visit with Sara. and her sister, Cecilia drops by — she was Loki’s art and design teacher last year.

big news here are the armed marines guarding the HMS Exeter docked in the main harbor, here for a conference on the Arctic Convoys (from WWII). police do not carry weapons on a regular basis in Iceland and the country basks in a peaceful idyll interrupted only by the influx of immigrants which are routinely tabbed with a variety of crimes.

ascending

holiday in Netherlands, Ascension Day. internet goes out. just after figuring things out with the next day’s schedule. meeting tomorrow with Carmin, Rob, Geert and Linda, uff.

several times, friends in Europe have expressed the sentiment that they should be allowed to vote for the next US president. I don’t blame them.

in a cafe. pretending that I am a normal tourist. visiting this place on a week’s break from the job. shaky premise. Chinese tourists, comfortable in their own skins, progressing to world dominance. while Amurika founders in scarce 225 years. street musicians sing “if you’re going to San Francisco, make sure you have some flowers in your hair…” or so. he’s Amurikan, maybe 40 years old. maybe more, maybe less. who knows. age becomes less knowable or even contemplated. as day after day there is yet another blank page let lie, while pretty girls smile and rub their lover’s backs. tattooed arms intertwined. and what of life trajectory, how it goes? year overtaking year. while an older guy sits down at the next table with a baby-fist-sized spherical knob on the top left side of his head. bulbous. the tattooed gal shows the dimple in her lower back to her lover. they kiss. each second of eye contact they have, I age a year. slowly sinking into anonymous senility. nothing to do but stare down the far horizon, if it could be seen at all here in the City, to spot any sign of Death approaching. but there are too many brick buildings framing the space of Rembrandtsplein. more “ascending”

Weizenbaum

Just back from the Jüdisches Gemeindezentrum and the memorial service for Joseph Weizenbaum. Frieder was one of the speakers and had told me a couple days ago about the service and he would try to see if I could attend. Then I read in a Dallas newspaper that is was open to the public. So, an hour before it was scheduled to start I decided it would be something not to miss. Made it in good time — not by bicycle, though. What to say. More than half of the service was in German; his American ex-wife (of 46 years), and his youngest daughter Naomi spoke in English, and there were a couple letters read by his son-in-law from colleagues in the US — Joel Moses of MIT mentioned the presenting of the Computer Professionals for Social Responsibility Norbert Wiener Award for Professional and Social Responsibility with a tribute by Terry Winograd. I’ll get an audio remix up at some point. In the interim, I have Frieder’s homily for Joseph (in German):

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Q: Do you think that the computer is creating a technical elite, reinforcing old power structures, or remaking American society?

A: I think the computer has from the beginning been a fundamentally conservative force. It has made possible the saving of institutions pretty much as they were, which otherwise might have had to be changed. For example, banking. Superficially, it looks as if banking has been revolutionized by the computer. But only very superficially. Consider that, say 20, 25 years ago, the banks were faced with the fact that the population was growing at a very rapid rate, many more checks would be written than before, and so on. Their response was to bring in the computer. By the way, I helped design the first computer banking system in the United States, for the Bank of America 25 years ago.

Now if it had not been for the computer, if the computer had not been invented, what would the banks have had to do? They might have had to decentralize, or they might have had to regionalize in some way. In other words, it might have been necessary to introduce a social invention, as opposed to the technical invention.

What the coming of the computer did, “just in time,” was to make it unnecessary to create social inventions, to change the system in any way. So in that sense, the computer has acted as fundamentally a conservative force, a force which kept power or even solidified power where is already existed. — Joseph Weizenbaum

and this, echoing Martin Buber:

We now have the power to alter the state of the world fundamentally and in a way conducive to life.

It is a prosaic truth that none of the weapon systems which today threaten murder on a genocidal scale, and whose design, manufacture and sale condemns countless people, especially children, to poverty and starvation, that none of these devices could be developed without the earnest, even enthusiastic cooperation of computer professionals. It cannot go on without us! Without us the arms race, especially the qualitative arms race, could not advance another step.

Does this plain, simple and obvious fact say anything to us as computer professionals? I think so.

…Those among us who, perhaps without being aware of it, exercise our talents in the service of death rather than that of life have little right to curse politicians, statesmen and women for not bringing us peace. Without our devoted help they could no longer endanger the peoples of our earth. All of us must therefore consider whether our daily work contributes to the insanity of further armament or to genuine possibilities for peace. — Joseph Weizenbaum

after the full moon

This was a night of the full moon, and the eclipse which takes place here in the early morning, well before sunrise, deeply affects the character of sleep. noting the next total lunar eclipse to be seen in North America is on the winter solstice 2010. I’m there!

And, I still haven’t found a vessel to pour milk from for my tea. I bought a small tea thermos a couple weeks ago in Kreutzberg, one that holds four cups or so. I take this to the desk with a small clear glass to drink from. but as I have to have my tea with milk, I need a small vessel of milk. so far, I’ve tried every option available in the flat. everything spills or dribbles! I may have to buy some small milk decanter. maybe a special antique if it leaps across my path. this reminds me of a previous long-term search a decade or more ago for a decent letter-opener. I had a nice hand-carved wooden one from Ghana, but it split, and I was never able to find another which fit my demands — good design, sharp, safe, efficient, nice material.

I just want to drink my tea while writing in concentrated peace and not leave blobs of drying milk on the desk.

anyway, the writing process. uff. this morning I have yet another stupid realization about my own process (doh!). the writing can be a script, a prescription to action, a narrative about possible action. and my narrow thoughts around a substantive text as a necessity for personal viability in the social system is a phantasm. actions based in the ideas that are danced around in the text can generate that viability as well. actions are often promoters of ‘better’ viability. (what is viability anyway? survival, thriving, materially, spiritually?) I always imagined myself as a person of action, but there is at least some tendency to talk and to words. what is done as action is often in the passive mode (observing, recording). actions that grow from that process are of ambient character — that is, they take the form of atmospheric presences, not active stances, positions, opinions. opinion was not accepted as a child. yes, interesting. so now, the last word is important. teaching allows for last words, although I consciously ask, in a classroom, for someone else to make the last word(s).

sotto voce (to brainstorms): A quick thought popped up as I struggle with some texts, sitting here in my sublet flat in east Berlin. As a person, I like to have the last word. What a lousy habit! In the learning situation, I consciously ask for someone, at the end of a class, to have the last word. I am thinking I will incorporate this more formally — to the degree that I pose the question (either to a volunteer or not) “S_, How about if you make a short (one minute) statement that you consider to be the last words for our session?”

When I’ve been doing this very informally, the reactions are quite interesting, with people vying for a last word a bit (people being anxious to leave and such), and then suddenly a consensus forms and the class ends. I think I’ll have to play with that idea/dynamic. I have the feeling it could be a powerful tool to impress (literally) the learning session into the self.

so, one conclusion is that, yes, the creation of a performance/exhibition situation that illustrates the idea (the script) is just as good as writing a text about it. the only difference is the social scale of audience.

of course, the dialogue, the one-to-one, as I define and act upon it, is a powerful (socially?) transformative process. but the relation of that action to social viability is highly … disconnected? I mean, there is the direct connection between the vital process of creating and sustaining a human community around ones-Self, or of embedding ones-Self in an extended community and ones survival, but this definition of survival seems to be somehow oblique to that of larger scale social viability. am I missing something obvious?

budgies

no time to catch up with this stuff. in to the City to meet Josephine… we catch a show Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea by the performance group 1927 at the PS122 theater/performance space. funky animations, gingerbread men, glittery eyes on stage, piano, singing, the Lodger, and the orange Imagine backpack with peace sign, while the show goes on …

Flinger’s glee

Fling-Dinger laughs aloud, giddy with glee, over his favorite passage from Hesse: strictly accurate, it reflects Rousseau’s lament between the social and the individual.

My dear friends, let me sing you the song of solitude. Without solitude there is no suffering, without solitude there is no heroism. But the solitude I have in mind is not the solitude of the blithe poets or of the theater, where the fountain bubbles so sweetly at the mouth of the hermit’s cave.

From childhood to manhood is only one step, one single step. In taking that step you break away from father and mother, you become yourself; it is a step into solitude. No one takes it completely. Even the holiest hermit, he grumpiest old bear in the bleakest of mountains, takes with him, or draws after him, a thread that binds him to his father and mother, to the loving warmth of kinship and friendship. My friends, when you speak so fervently of people and fatherland, I see the thread dangling from you, and I smile. When your great men speak of their “task” and responsibility, that thread hangs out of their mouths. Your great men, your leaders and orators, never speak of tasks directed against themselves, they never speak of responsibility to destiny! They hang by a thread that leads them back to mother and to all the cozy warmth that the poets recall when they sing of childhood and its pure joys. No one severs the thread entirely, except in death and then only if he succeeds in dying his own death. more “Flinger’s glee”

the Great Society

on the way back from Phoenix, a stop at Arcosanti, which seems to be tired and spent, not so much changed since I visited about 20 years ago. some of the constructions seem to be very comfortable places for living, but overall, the infrastructure is marginal.

tripping onto small chunked bits of left-over text, text that was not consumed by the vacuum-cleaner of the ages. text that is left-over to be digested and re-formed by the reader who is a writer at the same time as reading. consume, re-form, re-contextualize, excrete.

The Great Society arose through the discovery that men can live together in peace and mutually benefiting each other without agreeing on the particular aims which they severally pursue. The discovery that by substituting abstract rules of conduct for obligatory concrete ends made it possible to extend the order of peace beyond small groups pursuing the same ends, because it enabled each individual to gain from the skill and knowledge of others whom he need not even know and whose aims could be wholly different from his own. — Friedrich Hayek

memories of fire

aren’t disco balls just enhanced simulators for dancing around a fire? what’s the dif? why not dance around a fire more often? gyrate under washes of starLight with limb warming fire to back and front as oscillations permit. in a crowd of like-smelling co-habitants, oscillating to rhythms of necessary presence.

what of having fun while living?

Modern man is insecure and repressed — isolated from his fellows yet desperately clinging to the collectivity which he trusts to protect him from the might of other collectivities. Divided within himself into instincts and spirit, repressions and sublimations, he finds himself incapable of direct relation with his fellows either as individuals in the body-politic or as fellow members of a community. The tremendous collective power with which he allies himself gives him neither relationship nor freedom from fear but makes his life a sterile alternation between universal war and armed peace. The modern crisis is thus a crisis both of the individual and of society at large. — Maurice Freidman (1976, p. 245)

child in the woods

gathering impressions from Barry Lopez from his collection of essays “Crossing Open Ground” and recalling the desires to aid the imprinting of the natural world on the child’s sensitive nature. in order for those impressions to guide the evolution and understanding of the inter-connectedness of human life and all that which is beyond the power of humans to erase or destroy completely.

The most moving look I ever saw from a child in the woods was on a mud bar by the footprints of a heron. We were on our knees, making handprints beside the footprints. You could feel the creek vibrating in the silt and sand. The sun beat down heavily on our hair. Our shoes were soaking wet. The look said: I did not know until now that I needed someone much older to confirm this, the feeling I have of life here. I can now grow older, knowing it need never be lost.

The quickest door to open in the woods for a child is the one that leads to the smallest room, by knowing the name each thing is called. The door that leads to the cathedral is marked by a hesitancy to speak at all, rather to encourage by example a sharpness of the senses. If one speaks it should only be to say, as well as one can, how wonderfully all this fits in together, to indicate what a long, fierce peace can derive from this knowledge. — Barry Lopez, from “Children in the Woods”

Loki has decided not to come to the US this coming summer. it will be the first time I have had a summer off, and the first time he hasn’t been with me for the summer since he was 2 years old. it will make for a long short summer. he feels the gravity of teen-age friendships drawing him away from prospects of hours in heat-filled places, driving, walking, hanging out. looking at clouds, thunderstorms, rocks, and wind devils.

Lillian Christine Hopkins (née MacKenzie) 1918 – 2006


Lillian Christine Hopkins, beloved mother, grand-mother, great-grand-mother, friend, and teacher, age 87, died peacefully in her home on Monday, April 11, 2006, following a three year battle with leukemia.

She was born December 2, 1918, in the town of Melville, Prince Edward Island, Canada, to the late John Malcolm and Lillian Kedy MacKenzie. Her early schooling was in Boston. She graduated from Gordon College, Boston, Massachusetts in 1945, and completed her master’s degree at Western Maryland University in 1971. On August 11, 1944, she was united in marriage to Cleveland Hopkins at Park Street Church in Boston, Massachusetts.
more “Lillian Christine Hopkins (née MacKenzie) 1918 – 2006”

deCrypt0graphic

Josephine, the dynamo-hostess at funksoup asked me about adding a aud/vid stream to a live/situated performance called deCrypt0graphic she was choreographing as part of the Music for Peace Project out at Stony Brook University, so, fresh off the desert intensity, jump into practicing yesterday, then the performance runs today. she needed some Morse code remix, so I was able to dredge up a series of recordings of my father’s from his days as a HAM radio enthusiast — practice tapes for learning Morse code, along with real message transmissions from some of his radio friends. remixed that along with the audio from the archive. I’ll be uploading some sample aud/vid clips shortly…

Dedicated to cultivating peace as both a means and an end, the Music for Peace Project creates a global celebration of peace and provides a voice for the vibrant community that believes in peaceful solutions for the future.

these remote things, never know what is actually happening at the other end, so, there’s always a bit of a sense of dis-satisfaction, not knowing whether one’s outgoing stream has any relevance to the located ambiance at the receiving end. but Jos is great to work with, so it’s always a good vibe. dunno when we will ever meet. she had a Fulbright over at deWaag in Amsterdam, with Guy and the anatomix crew, that’s how we met, remote, when I was on the NIFCA residency in Helsinki last spring.

memorial service

the memorial service for Dad, bringing him to rest in the Ukiah cemetery where other relatives — Howard’s, Cleveland’s, and Hopkins’ — are buried. it’s a peaceful place, Ukiah, probably less peaceful than 100 years ago when his family had a pear orchard and the area was quite rural, but with a temperate climate that supports vineyards, sequoia, live oak, and manzanita, it is classic California. the orchard is now a retirement trailer park, the unusual Craftsman-style house that my grandfather and namesake Charles B. built by hand is now hemmed-in by porch-on-porch single-wides, the line of elegant trees that led up the lane to the front reduced to a pair of lone firs, the house divided into three apartments. progress. (or just crass and profitable development).

nomadology

Slogging through the people database/archive: updating addresses, web sites, emails, along with short are you alive? messages that pulse out into the network. To re-establish long-quiet pathways, to cut dead connections, and to establish new conduits and nodes. And so, run across things, reminders, blips, clicks, and pops, along with re-radiations, re-compilations, and re-mixes. Not sure what the outcome is, but, for the archivist, having an archive that is up-to-date is a critical condition to maintain along the with connecting to the actual people leaving archived traces.

Continuing to gather video material. Running into new material, the old resting in peace, on idling servers.

These nomads chart their course by strange stars, which might be luminous clusters of data in cyberspace, or perhaps hallucinations. Lay down a map of the land; over that, set a map of political change; over that, a map of the Net, especially the counter-Net with its emphasis on clandestine information-flow and logistics – and finally, over all, the 1:1 map of the creative imagination, aesthetics, values. The resultant grid comes to life, animated by unexpected eddies and surges of energy, coagulations of light, secret tunnels, and surprises. — Peter Wilson, TAZ

Dinner last night with Sophea, Teemu, Andrea, and Alison, followed by the usual race for the ferry.

Early bright morning ensues, not much later. Up with the sun, a serious matter in springtime at this latitude. What else to do: Todaze slip in yesterdaze. Time to leave a new pathway into the space of dreams.

equinox

The equinox. Walked some in a peace march yesterday. a thousand or so people marching down Alexanterinkatu and Esplanadi in the afternoon. Another performance, ambient, with sigma at Koetila in Kallio. the bad-ass neighborhood in Helsinki. mkk and others are there.

All day laundry and working with Reason, slogging through a learning curve, but make some good progress — enough to realize it will be some time before I can use this as a sonic production tool. Living in an ice-bound snowy citadel. Sunday. With no place felt to be gone to, except the cerebral ones. Along with the general drift into (snowy) work. Or chilled leaden ambulations with, for the moment, balanced footsteps.

Selkä-Sarvi

sweating in a hot bath. memories of Finnish sauna experiences. on the island, Selkä-Sarvi or so. back in October 1998.

Man who is born of woman — how few and harsh are his days!
Like a flower he blooms and withers; like a shadow he fades in the dark
He falls apart like a wine-skin, like a garment chewed by moths.
And must you take notice of him? Must your call him to account?
Since all his days are determined and the sum of his years is set —
look away; leave him alone; grant him peace, for one moment.
Even if it is cut down, a tree can return to life.

But man is cut down forever; he dies, and where is he then?
The lake is drained of its water, the river becomes a ditch,
and man will not rise again while the sky is above the earth.

— Job, as translated by Stephen Mitchell

connections

a strange evening of networking tonight. connecting with Janet first and Doug on MSN Messenger, briefly, then with Doug on iVisit, he brings Bard, an old friend online from Seattle, the Bill and I try to connect via CUSeeMe, that doesn’t work, so I talk him through iVisit where we meet briefly, and in the mean time, after Doug and Bard leave, first Dana shows up, with tonsillitis, and then a fellow that had joined the online bed-in for peace (out of New Zealand) last weekend, connected, he’s an engineer for the Pakistani Army in Islamabad. wild combination of connections. Seattle, Washington; New York City; Westchester, New York; Islamabad, Pakistan; Livermore, California; Chino Valley, Arizona, all to here in Carelia.

bed-in for peace

screenshot, bed-in for peace, 19 October 1998, [Joensuu, Finland]

snow. several chunks of corn snow came with the wind from the north of Siberia, across the Barents Sea. shredded clouds, with sun in between, took all the leaves down without touching them once. from far away, tele-presence. so far, invisible.

meeting with Mindaugas, first, early in the week, on IRC, while we were both streaming video to each other, then, later in the week on iVisit during a performance that Andy and Amy were doing from New Zealand — a bed-in for peace. after spending much of the week exploring some technologies that are not implemented on this site, and poking around the site making needed corrections (mostly in the code).

dragon teeth

off and on. the shift in being. has no measure. which feeling human beings have no word in. war-makers. I would rather die being called a love-maker than a war-maker. or a peace-maker (the ironic name of a Colt 44 six-shooter. the peace-maker. nothing could be more ironic.)

formations. constellations, sewing the dragon’s teeth. planting, harvesting. it has all come to pass.

arrival

reLab HQ, Riga, Latvia, March 2000

When the gaps in these notes are so large, there is a distinct lack of continuity between here and there. When the here’s have been so many, and the now’s are rapid and brimming with the negation of writing: life, empty space becomes the content. And the there’s are forgotten. Heading to new lands. New and old friends. Riga, after exactly twenty-four hours of travel. From Lapland to Riga. Flights, if you had good connections would take about five hours total. But connections never seem to be good here on the perimeter. Tornio was a short week of snowy brilliance, a couple hard workouts, running to the pool, not so far away, but enough to make me feel like I need to push body against the barriers that make it uncomfortable. Running to the pool, swimming hard for 30 – 40 minutes, running home. After taking the time for a sauna, of course. Yeah, in a train now, so time for a few reflections: No more short teaching gigs in the next year. Minimum of two weeks, with preference for four. The idea of doing six one-month workshops at different places seems very appealing. Then the balance of time in the southwest of the US? Can it really work? Time is passing so quickly that dreams run away. Only just now arrived. Twenty-four hours full on the road. Getting too old for this kind of action, but where will it cease? Movement was quite a bit easier than I had thought here at the border of the Evil Empire. But the atmosphere has that tinge, an edge of desolation somehow, a bit of wildness. Flatness. Arrested construction — the Soviet could not concentrate enough energy to bring the society to a point of self-sustained possibility for its members. So it goes. Riding the bus from Tallinn. The landscape is peaceful smooth, not so extreme as Finland, already enough south to get away from that edge feeling. Though Tornio seems always familiar despite the extremity. Mountains of snow lining all the streets. Impressions. The first moment in E-Lab here in Riga. I’m early, I caught an earlier bus leaving from the harbor in Tallinn. Rasa and Raitis are not here in the moment, so I wait and write instead. Overlooking the river. A dark gray-green monument to a struggle sits below on the bank of the river near the railroad bridge, two figures fighting something that is invisible, something over there, downstream.

sins

I should not be here, I should be elsewhere, by measure of PLANS. but plans shift and slide, along with the whim of the body presence. missed my flight this morning at 0700 to Prague via Helsinki and Stockholm. first time I have ever missed a flight. anywhere. cost me some bucks, and now I miss the whole cafe9.net meeting in Prague. along with a lecture at the Academy in Brno. and the ensuing reconstruction of schedules and flights makes my head ache. doing too many things, and not enough. nothing and everything. Loki is extremely happy that I am staying another week at least. but I see no solution. Iceland does not work for me. there is no way for me to live here, unless I was fluent with the language. unlike other places where there is enough room in the culture for a foreigner to exist in first language, here not. and I have too many things going on elsewhere anyway. cafe9.net. I hardly mention the internal mechanics of this project. no details, no revelations. though I have never been criticized about revealing anything in these pages, except by Sanna, but that is passé at this point. cafe9.net rumbles on. despite. but lately, since October or so, maybe even last summer, whenever the slip in communications began to happen, the dislocation of immediate being and remote presence, a gap, a slippage, opened up, a dissatisfaction has been growing with THE MEDIUM — the net, and the role, the effect it has had on my situation. in contact with so many people that I can hardly think. several days ago, before the rigidity of my lower back lead to this degraded condition, there was a subterranean urge to meditation, an urge that I did not quite fulfill. each time a discontinuity explodes on linear and insulated life, psyche measures itself against virtual standards. hints of higher being play across media-saturated energy configurations. untouchable. inaccessible. over there. other life-styles seem to creep further away. “what if?” becomes “because that’s the way it is.” damnation. peaceful damnation. mistakes. paying for past errors in judgment, SINS, whatever that means. if a sin is the transgression of the mind against the combined being of the soul and the body. the apokalyptic dream. reflects. what it is to be here and now. like speaking with a mouth full of small round pebbles, black basalt, worn smooth. easy to swallow. hard to talk. and then there is.

Iteration Two: Research Plan for Doctoral Studies at UIAH/TAIK

AIMS

The aim of undertaking Doctoral Studies at TAIK/Media Lab is to reflect on two deeply intertwined parts of my life and praxis — the first, 13 years of teaching the creative use of technology-based tools to artists and university-level art students, and the second, near 15 years as a networking artist. This period of intensive engagement has, for several reasons, not allowed for substantial organized research although it has been an exceptionally rich period of experience, exploration, and exchange.

Art, at its social and human core, is an action centered on the exchange of creative energies as they are attenuated by an infinite number of mediative (material) carriers. The artist is that person who seeks to engage in a dialogue of energies with an Other. These two proto-definitions are the basis of my praxis. The experience and wisdom gained in that praxis will directly inform my research.

Creative activities at the confluence of art and communication (science and technology) are taking on an increasingly important role in cultural production. The territory mapped by these activities, especially their impact on rapidly changing social structures and systems, is an area generally not well understood. Occupying the dynamic field of that intersection, while focusing on specific threads of interest, is a primary task of the doctoral research plan. more “Iteration Two: Research Plan for Doctoral Studies at UIAH/TAIK”

viae pulchrae

merely a walk to the Pentagon.

Via Viri sancti viae pulchrae, et omnes semitae ejus pacificae, quia lignum vitae apprehendit.

The roads that the holy man took were roads of beauty, and his paths were all paths of peace, for he was connected to the tree of life. — Psalm 109: Dixit Dominus

and the flight to Arizona in the afternoon. unpacking bags from the trunk of the car in the mid-night darkness in front of my parents house, Loki says LOOK at THAT STAR, Pabby! and as Doug and I look up to the center of the Milky Way, our eyes are stunned by the second-largest falling star that I have ever seen blasting across the heavens, leaving a trail that persists for some time, the head of the meteorite breaks apart and appears to burn up. Is this an omen?