#OneBillionRising #rise4justice #vday #dance

(no title available at this time, nor that time)

Oh wow! A draft from long ago that was never published, but now is (written on 20 June, 2010)—furthermore, it reminds me to type up my recent Bike Ride of Nearly Icy Doom, a Denver event, (winter 2011).

set(tle) down now

I was on my way home from the store (where I purchased a almost-local brew, in lieu of cheaper imported wine, because I was drawn to supporting an unusually ecological and bike-positive company). As I approached a newly-turned red light, I slowed significantly, checked both ways, and continued to pedal through it when I decided it was obvious that there were no vehicles or pedestrians anywhere in the vicinity at all — except for a car that pulled up and stopped at the light just as I pedaled on.

"Hey, asshole!" someone shouted at me — I slowed and turned to look. "Yea, you gotta stop, too!" a fellow exclaimed at me from the passenger side of the car at the light. I scowled instinctively and slowed to a stop to wait for them and invite a discussion. The light turned green, and on came the little car. I gestured something that clearly suggested we talk about it — but they drove on past, again shouting; this time something that I couldn't discern.

I once counted from my porch in Albuquerque: 23 of 25 cars passing the intersection were single-occupant. That's a lot percent.

new and old, young and worn

There are so many good things in that diary that I don't keep. Time to revisit, time to recreate, recreation. Time time. Give give.

Is not dread of thirst when your well is full, thirst that is unquenchable? - The Prophet, Kahlil Gibran

Much Contemplation, Unsaid, Forever Unrecorded

maid of smoke, made of phantasy (click for the colouriffic)

Some shorts:

Someone described me as "fit as a mountain goat" recently. That's definitely nice to hear, even if not necessarily true.

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"In traveling, a companion, in life, compassion," she repeats, making sure of it. "I think it means," I say, "that chance encounters are what keep us going. In simple terms."
- Kafka on the Shore, by Haruki Murakami

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There is an episode of RadioLab that explores "laughter". They interview a scientist that offers evidence that mice laugh. Chimps laugh. One of the folks interviewed suggests (and is not alone in this sentiment) that laughter is totally a social mechanism — that we laugh as a way of communicating one thing or another. Jad asks Robert, or vice versa, how often he laughs out loud to himself. Rarely, his response indicates. I recently passed a mass of months without doing so even once — but in the past several weeks have done so somewhat frequently. There was no one around to whom I could have been communicating anything. I was alone, spurred by a joyous memory, or maybe something that a friend wrote to me. How does one explain those times that we laugh, out loud, to ourselves? Am I a rare case? Am I going mad? How often do you do it?
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Here is Something Likely Unplottable in 2 or 3-Dimensional Space

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Chalk and Sweat, Fresh Air and Sharp Stone

Clouds and Climbers

Maggie and Stone

Blood and Shadow

Stef and Edge

Ice and Sunset

Some images born from recent activity. Specifically: bouldering in the Jemez Mountains near Ponderosa, New Mexico.

These Colours Graced My Life