Sunday, May 31, 2015

...palm trees, the passion of Lorenzo...short study...

The palms brushed one another in the wind like his mother's hands as she pulled the hojas together in preparation of tamales.  He paused as he thought of her, awaiting the hatred to rise in his chest, but it didn't come.  He continued his memory, the smell of the ingredients for atole, the cinnamon and vanilla, would mix with the brusque smells of pork.  He paused again as the memory came back to his mother.  She had large Mexican biceps, a product of cooking materials for hundreds of years, perhaps even longer.  The mashing, the rolling, the kneading.  Her hair was pulled back.  She wore a plain brown dress that he hated.  I hope I never see that again.

There was the hate again.  Lorenzo welcomed it in.  At 19, and high school becoming a memory, he pulled what was a primary drive in his heart.  With high school and all of its pain receding, and a year of working at the auto insurance office smoothing out his other passions, he enjoyed sitting still and taking in the passions of hate.  He hated her.  He wished he could bite her again like she said that he would do as an infant.  He loved hating her.  She never really did a thing to him, but he found her grossly stupid.

He found that the palm trees overhead had blurred from his sight.  He was looking beyond them for that moment, and only the blue of the sky was there.  As soon as he became conscious of this the palms came right back into view.  He took in a deep breath.  Let it go now.  He got what he needed from his undying hatred.

Lorenzo shifted his girth from his back to his side, propping his hand on his cheek.  His long, dirty hair falling in front of his face.  He looked out across the park and only saw a few families enjoying the last light of day.  Parents half-aware, heads buried in their phones.  The kids looking back for acknowledgement, approval.  They don't know how much better...to be disconnected.  He didn't have his phone out because he was mad at Lindsay, ignoring Carlos, while Beth and Laura were mad at Lorenzo.  Good.  The phone was an intruder today.

He pulled out his cigarettes from his front pocket.  He searched for a pack of matches he had taken the other night at the El Calor.  It was an old club on the west side.  He didn't know why Lindsay and Carlos went there.  It was a goof.  Carlos would laugh, but, when he wasn't laughing his face eased and there was something he was getting there.  Perhaps it was the men in cowboy hats and boots.  Carlos would never admit that.

Lorenzo swung his hair back and fumbled with dirty fingers at the matches and lit up.  He stared at the sun and told it to fuck off.  He let the beat from Celani's 'Over & Past' bump across his mind and had no more thoughts for a few minutes.  He wondered where he would go tonight.  Everyone's mad and he couldn't go back to mother's.  Not tonight anyway.

The car.  He'll sleep in the car again, but not here.  There was a park near Sunset that he found before, getting stuck in the area when he almost ran out of gas and had no money.  He searched his pockets for the fortieth time today.  Three dollars and fifteen cents.  There was a meal.  There was no gas.

He sighed and absently flicked his cigarette.  He could go back to work and search his co-workers desks for loose change again.  They were threatening to get a security system put in and Lorenzo felt bad when the memos went out.  If you leave money out...

Lorenzo could only get up by putting his weight on a knee and almost stumble upward.  He flipped up his black hoodie and took another smoke before flicking the butt out into the grass.  Maybe it'll catch fire.  He went to his car and put on Evoke & Bijou's 'Bittersweet' and a pair of $5 sunglasses that he got at Wal Mart.

Saturday, May 30, 2015

The Giant Jam Sandwich by John Vernon Lord


The Giant Jam Sandwich by John Vernon Lord and Janet Burroway was a book that was sitting in my dentist's office when I was a wee lad.  I looked forward to the book so much, that I would want to go to the dentist on a mission.  I toyed with stealing the book.  Honestly.  Conscience got the best of me, that an a silver haired lady that must have seen the struggle on my face.  But I had the book tucked into my shirt and ready to go.  But I felt bad.  I felt very bad.  I put it back and sighed, wistfully knowing I would not see it again.  And I didn't.


The love affair didn't start out that way.  I think I read it the first time on a whim, waiting for my mom when it was her time in the chair.  It was a little dentist office on Lincoln near Brookhurst in Anaheim.  It was weird when they tore it down a decade ago or so, just to build a whole new building and a new dentist office that sits there today.  Bravo redundancy!


Over subsequent reads, I became fascinated with its art.  It is so highly detailed and expressive - all wrapped around an epic story of a small town trying to take care of its wasp problem by building a gi-normous jam and butter sandwich.  No spoiler - but the town soon learns what the hell can you do with a wasp covered, jam and butter open faced sandwich?  Luckily, the author figured that little nugget out in an imaginative way.



The beauty of the story is the ludicrous problem, the ludicrous solution, and the ingenious way the town works together (what a thought) to carry it through, i.e. big bread, lots of jam, lots of butter, etc.  It is where I learned to eat butter and jam, whereas before it was always pure PB&J.  I passed the torch on to my kids and they now know the joy of butter and jams.  Now to see if I can get a copy to read to them...

Jack in the Box, Lincoln Ave, Anaheim, 1974

Wednesday, May 27, 2015

...Requiem...

Memorial Day, Holy Sepulcher Cemetery, 2015

For the Fallen
Poem by Robert Laurence Binyon (1869-1943), published in The Times newspaper on 21st September 1914.

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.

Thursday, May 21, 2015

...deviantart posts...faces...

Lake Skinner, 2014
http://edwardianjackal.deviantart.com/art/Da-Face-37-Skull-Again-May15-534386852
SKULL .37 DeviantArt
http://edwardianjackal.deviantart.com/art/Da-Face-62-Screaming-Lines-May15-534386637
FACE .62 DeviantArt

















"It is more than probable that I am not understood; but I fear, indeed, that it is in no manner possible to convey to the mind of the merely general reader, an adequate idea of that nervous intensity of interest with which, in my case, the powers of meditation (not to speak technically) busied and buried themselves, in the contemplation of even the most ordinary objects of the universe." - Edgar A Poe, Berenice
 
Self 2015

Wednesday, May 20, 2015

Invictus (1875) ~ William Earnest Henley pitches the XBOX

When my world of geekdom meets the world of literature, I get emotionally spent.  Here Xbox pitches their pre-summer line-up (as they don't have huge releases quite yet - I get you MS), whilst playing Henley's speech atop it.  "Worlds are colliding, Jerry!"  If only they can create that poetess sim where one plays as a waif-like, thoughtful poet that ignites the world by her winsome ways.





Monday, May 18, 2015

Emilia Plater, Woman Warrior of Poland, 1806-1831

Plater immortalized in a skirmish. 
Scanning the net for woman warriors of history, I came upon young Emilia Plater (1806-1831).  A Polish noblewoman and revolutionary that led her own 350-strong army against the Russians in the November 1830 Uprising.  Although not directly involved with the main battle, she quickly became a legend of her own time, and of the Polish national psyche.

She vowed not to abandon her military uniform once committed to the cause in 1831.  She was given command of her own unit and promoted to captain, the highest rank for a woman of that time.  Unfortunately, in the midst of the Uprising, she caught a fever that ended her life within a few days.

A poem by Adam Mickiewicz, national poet of Polan, Lithuania and Belarus, furthered the romance of the young warrior.

Monument to Plater
The Death of the Colonel (~1831)

Before yon hut, with measured pace,
The sentry marches to and fro;
Crowds throng the door, and every face
Is pale with terror and with woe.

What hero, honored and renowned,
Within, upon his death-bed, lies?
Hark! a clear voice with trumpet sound,
Comes mingling with the mourners' cries:

"Saddle my steed once more for me,
Who shared with me so many a fight!
That noble steed, oh, let me see,
Before I close my eyes in night!

My sword and belt, too, let them lie,
And all my trappings, at my side:
Gazing upon my arms will I
Die as the brave Czarnecki died!"

And when the steed was led away,
The priest bore in the holy bread;
On bended knee the people pray —
The soldiers' cheeks are pale with dread.

Old scythemen who, without a tear,
Poured blood, in Kosciusko's day,
From their own veins and foemen's — here
Weep, as the parting prayers they say.

The chapel bell, at early dawn,
Toll for the parted soul they hear;
And now the soldiers all are gone,
For that the Muscovite is near.

Peasants crowd round the warrior dead,
He clasps the cross as when he died;
Upon his saddle rests his head,
His sword and fire-arms by his side.

But whence this virgin cheek, they said,
And bosom femininely fair?
Now save us, Heaven! It is a maid!
Emilia Plater slumbers there! 

Tuesday, May 12, 2015

...light abounds, night holds...

"Night Abounds" Wallpaper
Light abounds, night holds
The remains of the best, of the worst.
The fierceness of breath
Softens to the dull weariness
Of fighting time.
Conversation are out done on the street
As voices hush to cars that
screech and scream
Impressive to no one.

The pace of my walk teeters
Between leisure and haste
The breeze stops and I await it again
Watching a missile burn atop the sun
Heading toward Vandenberg
A tight contrail to underline
silent Venus, facing south,
impassive.


Sunday, May 10, 2015

...book resources and The Hobbit...

My son is reading The Hobbit as part of his English HP assignment as they round out the end of the school year.  Assigning certain books is fraught with trepidation for me as kids are going to wind up hating it moreso than the opposite.  When something becomes a chore or a task, does it not kill the natural emotions that are the rules of attraction?

I would rather education be more organic than formal when it comes to the art.  Instead of a mandate to read, give the kids a choice.  I envision a simple exercise, throw the required list, which is terrific already, all in a heap in the room.  Take one period and allow the kids to thumb through the books and say you got to chose one, but chose the one that you have an interest in.  I do this with my kids when it comes to getting books at the store or the library.  Better they have a dog in the fight then forcing fight in the dog.

Bauman's Copy 

That led me to look at my own copies of The Hobbit and to look at Tolkien's handwriting.  I love it.

If you've only been exposed to the movie, I heavily entreat you to buy a cheap copy of it and just enjoy it the way it was meant.

...

The State of CA recently observed 'Bookstore Day', where independent bookstore owners were recognized.  I sigh since Anaheim has very little in the way of people reading, apparently.  Even across Orange County, much of the small shops are for children's books.  Barnes and Noble is the only chain we have (in Santa Ana).

BUT, if you are looking for an indie store near you, try out http://indiemap.bookweb.org/.  And if you need great stationary, remember http://www.papyrusonline.com/.  There is a physical store in Brea that I'm going to hit up tomorrow and salivate over the clean, raw sheets.   [BN also has some great stationary lately too.] And a shout-out to http://www.biblio.com/ as they have some books and gifts I've needed recently.  Thank goodness for the internet, right?

For the geek in me, Hollywood Bowl is gearing up for a BTTF concert...yes, I'll be there.  Speaking of Brea I'll be a the TenMinutePodcast live show on Wednesday - if you want to crack up until your insides cry like Prince's doves, then I say $25 is a cheap cost of admission.


Friday, May 8, 2015

...the beauty of fuzzy logic...

Reading through the beautifully culled The Math Book by Clifford A. Pickover (real?) that I picked up at Barnes and Noble, I ran across the concept of fuzzy logic and it's simplistic beauty.

Instead of the binary model where there are absolutes (1+1=2), fuzzy logic seemingly enhances a value by inclusion of approximates, or degrees, or ranges ([set1]+[set2]=value).  Since it's coining by Iranian born Lotfi Zadeh in 1965, it has since been used in applications ranging from washing machines to trains.

How this helps a washing machine can be summed up easily: where a washing machine does a series of actions, the clothes become the variable, so why not adjust performance parameters around fuzz...fuzziness...that can find attributable sets then adjust the performance accordingly?  Load, clothing material, temperature, performance reaction are set to this not 'crisp' logic and one that can approximate based on the best result.  The result condition is not only the best wash for the clothes but for the overall performance and longevity of the machine.

Moderation as expressed in mathematical terms.

FUZZY IN MUSIC: http://artsites.ucsc.edu/EMS/music/research/fuzzylogictutor/fuzzytut.html

FUZZY 22 PAGE PDF: http://page.mi.fu-berlin.de/rojas/neural/chapter/K11.pdf

 

...addicted to right now 07may15...



Calm is the sea, the waves work less and less.
So am not I, whom love, alas, doth wring, 
 Bringing before my face the great increase 
Of my desires, whereat I weep and sing In joy and woe, as in a doubtful ease.
- Henry Howard, Sonnet 12



"A nice murder.  That should cheer you up." - Sherlock Holmes
http://tenminutepodcast.com/
Frank Miller Black and White

Monday, May 4, 2015

...live action Robotech at Sony...

Robotech, as it was released and is known in the United States, was an anime series that was initially broadcast in 1985.  Based upon three anime series from Japan, (and I'm using the pigeon series names) Macross, Southern Cross and Genesis, all under the Super Dimension Fortress series.  As Sony has just recently acquired the rights to create a live-action theatrical, the thirty year wait may be over for fans of the series...however, understanding a bit of Hollywood production, the odds of completion probably still weigh at fifty/fifty.  My feeling on a live action Robotech lay at fifty/fifty as well.

It is not that it lacks a story, or staying power, or interest - it is simply a difficult proposition: how do you drum up support for Robotech after so long an absence of new material?  Audiences are there, surely, but is there an appreciation outside of the 80s?  That's a stretch.  I ask myself that question when my core group of friends and I go to a comic convention and you don't see too much Robotech represented.  I ask myself Is it too niche?

The story of love and human triumph over alien-enforced annihilation is not new, but what made Robotech unique is that the love story was mature for a male-focused cartoon set where the Velma and Daphne were the hottest chicks to grace Saturday mornings.  Robotech broke that mold, with smart female characters blowing our prepubescent minds from the word 'go'.

The story has humans adopting alien technology as their own and exploiting it when they could. But humans quickly find they were not the top conqueror of the galaxy - aliens attack, wanting their technology back.  But humans find, just as quickly that music and love grossed out the alien horde, to their ultimate detriment.  All of this against the back-drop of awe-inspiring animation of transforming ships, explosions, dying and kissing in a cartoon in 1985?

I would literally run home to get in front of the tube by 3pm (if I recollect correctly).  There was no time shifting or cross-device watching kids...you saw it or you missed it.  It would take several months to see an episode again.  Kids actually had to talk to one another to walk through the stories.  It was glorious!


My hope is that the series carries with it the color, the innocence of first love, hold the line of a boy out of water, in a spaceship, fighting aliens in a transforming mecha.  It MUST have a beautiful Lynn Minmei and Lisa Hayes.  And, pointedly, Lynn must sing, SING!  :S  Really, she has to, if we are to conquer the uptight green aliens with their kinky hair.


This all reminds me of my real first foray into anime, which was the very early morning airings of Battle of the Planets.  It didn't have the sweeping epic of Robotech, but the visual style and stories set in the excitement (and obvious neutrality) of space was equally awesome.  Too bad the show aired in the wee hours of the morning (7am), then slowly got earlier and earlier, until out of existence.  I used to sit at the Fullerton Boys and Girls club, in the television room with a bunch of rough looking dudes that let me watch it.  It was a strange time back then.  [On recollection, there was a point where the gruff dudes wondered why the hell they were watching it after a few weeks and decided it was time for early morning news.  Damn you CBS.]