these are the timesdirty beloved


Isabella and The Pot of Basilto(detail)

William Holman Hunt

"...for them alone did seethe
A thousand men in troubles wide and dark:
Half-ignorant, they turn’d an easy wheel,
That set sharp racks at work..."

John Keats
from The Decameron of Boccaccio


'Ik reis in jouw hoofd' - I travel in your head 29.Dec.04

Du cas des nobles hommes et femmesto(detail)

Illustration for The Decameron of Boccaccio
Jean Fouquet

The Right Hand of God
Protecting the Faithful against the Demons

Leaf from the Hours of Étienne Chevalier
Fouquet at the Met

La Vierge et l'Enfant entourés d'angesto(detail)

Jean Fouquet


Pansy we

walked past. Beneath my dormant rose,
it alone bears
the weight of snow.

Cathy Smith Bowers
Verse Daily


Thanks to Art"4""2"-Day I now know how to link direct to bildindex image files.
So the Blake drawing, below, would be here.


"We say that there is no reason to use --pedantic; it is just there to satisfy pedants who would otherwise say, "This isn't really an ANSI C compiler!"
Some GNU utilities such as df and du do not follow the POSIX spec unless you set the environment variable POSIXLY_CORRECT. Normally GNU df and du print disk space figures in units of k. POSIX says to print disk space figures in units of 512 bytes. If you set POSIXLY_CORRECT, GNU df and du do that. (My original plan was to name it POSIX_ME_HARDER.)"

Richard Stallman

interviewed by Federico Biancuzzi
at LinuxDevCenter
O'Reilly Network
link Danny Yee


You Are Worth Many Sparrows

...even Jesus believed
they were meaningless—

and how they clawed at my fingers,
beating their half-finished wings....

Philip Memmer
Verse Daily


...who pulls the rag
between his fingers as Bernadette
did her hair, such gentleness and grace
in the scoop and swish and America —

Claudia Keelan
Poetry Daily

Illustration to Milton's
'On the Morning of Christ's Nativity' (1757)to(detail)

William Blake
[Kunstler > "B" > blake, william]



...the restless hand as porter's broom,
the Nile of touch as postcard of the sea...

Anne Rouse
Poetry Daily

An experiment!
In Music!
password: banger

Elvis Costello/Jimmy Cliff - SevenDayWeekend
George Michael - RoundHere
Sleater-Kinney - All_Hands_On_The_Bad_One
John Fahey - Gaucho
Sleepy John Estes - Floating Bridge
Sabotage would be so easy I don't think it will appeal to any but the most childish and warped, in which case it's so public ...well... you might want to imagine yourself doing whatever you're doing with an audience - a big one.
So here's some mp3's which came from places I'll dig up the links to any minute now.


Lucy Quimby

Alfred Kroeber
Dedicated to Joe Rhodes' brother, who - from what I heard - played the guitar pretty damned good.


Jing Fly Swatter

ORCA Innovation
link Core77 thru Beverly Tang


There are 239 non-trivial ways to link two 23-dimensional spheres in 40-space


The Green Rocker 1915-20

James R. Hopkins (possibly misprinted as James B. at the artnet site and Keny Galleries, Cincinnatti Art and Springfield both have it as James Roy)
Keny Galleries via artnet
"Hopkins also became known for a series of paintings executed between 1915 and 1919. These works, in which he depicted Appalachian farmers, traveling preachers, and children living in the Kentucky mountains south of Cincinnati, are departures from his decorative form of Impressionism. Some of the earliest examples of Regionalist painting in the twentieth century, these works anticipated those of Grant Wood, Thomas Hart Benton, and John Steuart Curry, who also painted the impoverished rural folk of America's heartland."

Mandarin Blue

James R. Hopkins
Cincinnatti Art Museum
via the encyclopedic, oddly-formatted, tfaoi


Picture of the Author with Vice President

A small machine, he says, sends tiny sparks
in there, to pace the flow of blood.
Some people will dispute this photo
abstract nets that hold so many tangibles,
such as meadow grass that filters silt
so cutthroat trout may have clean beds
of gravel for their spawning redds;
or the English teacher whose hopes
for a pay raise float on the promise
of a growing tax base
it may have been the words
like blood, and skull, and gun,
that made the men in sunglasses bring
our conversation to a polite, efficient end.
Or it could have been my agitation...

William Wenthe
Poetry Daily
a must-read

A brief history of opium
link vigna-maru(which no longer opens to me) via neurastenia


The surface of Venus, 1982

Venera 13


Gold Painting

Inka Essenhigh
303 Gallery
War Drawing
Inka Essenhigh
Victoria Miro Gallery

link path Art News online thru Follow Me Here





Things in the archives you'd have found by now if you were obsessive and had a lot of free time.
St. Kilda's mail boat



...More than light-hooved gazelles, views
from the mizzenmast,

enlivening shores,
more than soldier-still lilies, I love...

Cyrus Cassells
Verse Daily

Gender Mender
Cat and Girl 30.Nov.04



Here Natalie embraced new causes, preservation of Taxco's ancient architecture; promoting another intellectual / artistic / literary colony; opening her "Kitagawa House" for lodging creative people; her social and anthropological work among the Indians of Mexico, disappearing for months at a time on horseback into the Mexican wilderness, gaining enormous expertise on native folkways and Mexican history

Restringing the Armdroid
Edward Ihnatowicz, including his most famous work The Senster

Alex Zivanovic


Joseph Duemer's edible blow against the empire



'Ik reis in jouw hoofd' - I travel in your head - visual correspondent in Morocco is a project by visual artist Aline Thomassen and the Artoteek The Hague with sound compositions by the musician Lazaro Tejedor, in collaboration with Museum Het Domein, Sittard and GEM, The Hague.
For three months Aline Thomassen will work in Tangier and the surrounding province as visual correspondent.
In a journal of drawings she will share her daily experiences with the audience in The Netherlands via the internet. Lazaro Tejedor completes the picture of the day with current sound fragments from Morocco.

link Nancy Ghandi at under the fire star

What the Hubble Saw
Judy Ross

Founder's day

The Pacific is wide and deep
and Adams was wide and deep,
was fat and obstinate
and wrote tender letters to his wife.
Not the letters but the words
were tender, not the words
but their meaning, which was always
that he missed her, always that he wanted
nothing more than home in her arms. So I
have made him travel again...

Bob Hicok
Verse Daily

Crop Circle at East Field, nr Alton Barnes

Top Of The Crops 2004
link argh

"Taking a rickshaw ride with a huge bunch of flowers through the streets of Shenzhen surrounded by golden skyscrapers at 6am was a pretty good way to finish off the night of our first gig for over a year."


The word 'walnut' originates from wahlnut, an Old English word for 'Welsh-nut'.
For those few people who are sensitive to walnuts, parboiling before toasting prevents this reaction. Drop kernels into rapidly boiling water. Boil for 3 minutes; drain well; toast in oven as directed above.


Grazia Deledda: Voice of Sardinia

Grazia Deledda was to live for another ten years after receiving the Nobel Prize, years marked by a painful and slowly spreading breast cancer—the incurable malady of her protagonist Maria Concezione in the fine novel La chiesa della solitudine (The Church of Solitude). The novel was her last, published in the year of her death. Deledda died on August 15, 1936.

Despite her disease, Deledda kept to her schedule, beginning the day with a late breakfast, hours of reading, rest after lunch, and then writing for two or three hours in the afternoon, seven days a week, year after year. She produced four handwritten pages each day. Her writing was her life. She was a quiet and reserved woman, who did not speak much. She enjoyed friendly, intimate talk and traditional feasts and celebrations, but not political debates, serious discussions, parties, or society. Yet, in her quiet way, she was gathering the material for her books, listening and observing intently, just as she had done since her childhood. The outcome was over thirty novels and some four hundred short stories, most of them collected in nineteen books. She also wrote many articles, some plays, an opera libretto, and poems.
link plep


Het geheim van Toermalijn
(Secret of Tourmaline)

Under a bell



"...Mountains bring the precipitation down, and precipitation brings the mountains down..."

Gary Snyder
at whiskey river

What use are devils?
Devils are of increasing importance to tourism. Devils are of long time importance in marketing.


The Family of Andre Mellerioto(detail)

Maurice Denis
Maurice Denis
Beyond the Easel: Decorative Painting by Bonnard, Vuillard, Denis, and Roussel,1890–1930
The Met
Figures In A Spring Landscape (The Sacred Grove)
Maurice Denis
The State Hermitage Museum St. Petersburg

tophoto:AFP/DDP/Michael Kappeler

Le chanteur américain Tom Waits sur scène lors d'un concert à Berlin.

The Witch

...To set the simpering goosegirl on the throne,
While the true princess weeps among the ashes
It was my step you heard, mine and my creatures',
Soft at your heel. And if you lean and look...

Sara Henderson Hay
Verse Daily



Ellen Meloy


Jonathan Franzen has a worshipful, humble, and emotionally genuine piece on Alice Munro in the NYTimes. It's a writer's perspective.
I'm a reader.
Alice Munro as an author is someone I trust without reservation - there's never been one jarring wrong move in any of the books and stories of hers I've read, never anything that even hinted of a rejecting judgement, of a moral line drawn with her on one side and someone else on the other. And she has consistently, with an economy of poetic grace and narrative craft, revealed the world as it is beneath the veil and film of subjectivity, always with an unwavering and unfaltering humanity that's feminine, but in the way maternal presence is feminine; there's a completeness, a fullness that's more than individual.
That's the magic part, that's the mystery and truth of human experience part. That the woman's view is really ours, all of us - mothered by it, sheltered within it, fed by it. Not a woman's view as in an individual woman's life, but woman as center of the human experience - there at the beginning in a way the male view however powerful and knowing can't be.
It's a calm presence in the midst of everything - even the most chaotic storms of disintegration and emotional violence. It's a reach beyond anything immediate, and it's inclusive, an understanding beyond anything like sympathy, an acceptance of whatever's really there as it is.
Most renditions of God, of Godlike perspective, miniaturize the human in order to fit it into the all-seeing eye, but that's false - it's a child's version of male seeing and it's incomplete because of that; the real version illuminates the details without diminishing the whole, accepts with a kind of holding that isn't withdrawal, but patience.
Munro's eye is the missing half of the patriarchal deity, written from within the union, not from outside of it.
The apotheoisis and epiphany are there the way they are in Pissarro's landscapes, in Chekhov's stories that hers are rightly placed with - it's the informed light that comes to us from somewhere we think of as outside the system, beyond our world, although it isn't. It only seems like that because our vision is so partial and our understanding so incomplete.
Which all sounds so ponderous that I'm embarrassed to reread it, but it's a genuine effort to explain how I feel about Munro's work. Her story "Miles City, Montana", in the New Yorker some time in the mid-80's, was a religious experience for me - that's where the tone of this writing is coming from.
It has a parallel in the way the regard for the simplest necessities of living resolves in people who have finally seen how really fragile they are - sacred, humble things profaned by the acts of our living, but still sacred, viewed with an honesty that's rigorous and disciplined, and inspired.


We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved...
In Flanders Fields
John McCrae


Mozilla Odo

A short history of The Stone of Scone
at Wikipedia
The Free Encyclopedia


"Thank You"

...The balloon is released. The leash slips away
As soon as real desire passes by. Gratitude

Is the arc of a branch above the unpicked fruit.
The tomb's gaping mouth. Our ancestors tumbling back
To their tawny womb, dried apricots, figs, and dates

Fastened to their textiled wrists. Cherried earth. Spiraling fruit.
Magnificent bird...

Michelle Detorie
Verse Daily


Give Me Back My Wig mp3
Hound Dog Taylor
Unlike the otherwise impeccably responsible Ray Davis, we here at db are making this mp3 available for a limited time, and actually doing so.
updated to reflect the more than responsible willingness of Mr. Ray vis. the issue of db's firewall settings vis. this issue. Solved and resolved.

todd hido
zing magazine 17
two suicides
lisa kereszi
zing magazine 6
lisa kereszi at Pierogi
lisa kereszi at anderson hopkins

Hip Hopto(detail)

Thomas Mathey

An Overrated Virtue

...The exposed eyes
staring out of that wood startled me.
In the hot sun, my father
painted those eyes shut—paint
streaking out from under the brush—drying
in the August heat. It took several coats
to cover the gaze. To shield us from
what I now knew was always there.
Meanwhile, each blade of grass...

Michelle Detorie
Verse Daily


Pops Staples

The Na'ima al-Misriyya Project
link Al-Ahram 28 October - 3 November 2004


Mosh video



My tribe came from struggling labor
Depression South Eastern Illinois
Just before the southern hills start
To roll toward the coal country
Where the east/west morainal ridges
Of Wisconsin trash pile up
At the bottom of the prairie, socially
A far midwest recrudescence of Appalachia...

Edward Dorn
Poetry Daily

women salvage workers listen to a radio broadcast
near what was "Spooners Corner"

The Blitz Photos of Lady Nancy Astor


Me and APOD


Sea Glass

...wave-like, ever on itself —
true is the saying that in common lives this time,
it's not like that. The body is not an allegory — it
can't help that it looks like one, any more than
it can avoid not being able to stay. All along,
it was true: timing really
the poet dies and the man survives is everything. I've

loved this life. If it's one thing to have missed
the constellations for the stars themselves,
it's another, entirely,
to have never looked up.
Some mistakes, given time, don't seem...

Carl Phillips
Poetry Daily


Relevancy squirmy teens or living
wills. A warped compass cracking at magnetic

North. South sins and eats its dogs for lunch.
Like I say it don't hardly matter. Neutrinos

parlez-vous and wet kiss strangers...

David Breskin
Verse Daily

War Stories I Have Heard #4 (Heir)
Abigail Lazkoz
Monya Rowe
link path bloggy


Jarley's Wax Workto detail

Tompkins Harrison Matteson
Shannon's Fine Art Auctioneers

Young Artist At Her Easeltodetail

William Morgan
Shannon's Fine Art Auctioneers


Joanneke Meester



Jesse Reklaw
Slow Wave



"You simply cannot wear it out!"

Posters Sale on Wednesday 21st November 2001
from a Kenneth Shoesmith search
brought on by a tip from Life in The Present



Medicine Woman, clay pipe and twist tobacco,
calls each blizzard by name and predicts
five o'clock by spitting at her television.
Children lean into her breath to beg a story:

James Welch
Poetry Daily

A Thought, for Example, Is a Form

I was hoping for a betterYou know: who you are.
It doesn't get any more complicated than this,

and yet it does. Not simply daybreak, wake up,
rise and shine, but worse, as in can you throw some light

on the question—you—curled there on the bed?
The point being that you can't see it. The point.

Of light. Where it enters. The top of your head:

Mary Ann Samyn
Verse Daily


One of us


Clickety clack ... clickety clack
Bring that man's baby back.
Clickety clack ... clickety clack
I want my spirit back.
Clickety clack
Bubble music being seen and heard on Saturday night
Blinding the eyes of ones that's supposed to see.
Bubble music, being played and showed, throughout America.
Clickety clack ... clickety clack
Somebody's mind has got off the goddamn track.
Clickety clack ... clickety clack
Won't somebody bring the Spirit back?
You didn't know about John Coltrane.
And the beautiful ballad he wrote wait a minute,
And the beautiful ballad he wrote called "After the Rain".
You didn't know about Lady Day and all the dues that she had to pay.
The Beatles come into the country, they take all the bread,
while the police hittin' black and white folks upside their head.
Tom Jones and Humpading got everybody uptight.
They make people that can sing wanna get out and fight.
Clickety clack ... clickety clack
What is this madness that Nixon has put upon us?
Clickety clack ... clickety clack
Won't somebody bring the Spirit back?
Who will it be?
Who will it be?
It certainly won't be someone that says that they're free.
Clickety clack ... clickety clack
Won't somebody bring the Spirit back?
Clickety clack ... clickety clack ...
Volunteered Slavery
Rahsaan Roland Kirk

Pheasant Villagetodetail
This Town, That TownKawakami Shiro

Kodomo no kuni
artists and children's books in 1920's Japan
children's songs
This Town, That Town
Boats of Leaves
Taanki, Poonki

Einstein Tower, Potsdam, Feb. 2001

Stefan Rahmstorf


"After hearing the war reported like sports commentary between gardenias and kittens on the radio, Boynton retreated to an empty large park in an unfashionable suburb, where the unfashionable pines are getting removed by the reconstructed creek, and the vistas are getting landscaped – and on opposing open hills these are quite beautiful. Bare. And barely anyone there. It was partly nostalgia for the kind of remnant bush and exotic dotted ex-orchard country of her outer-suburban childhood, with the strong, wet smell of pine needles, and the brick villas always on the fringes of the frame. Nostalgia because neither landmarks nor family are to be found out there anymore, sentimental because yesterday boynton saw a low cream brick fence of the fifties and lamented a lost world."

Boynton, I never knew...

Updated to reflect accurate spelling(s)
In every attempt at defining these online journals that I've read, for all the "blogs" and "blogospheres" and "bloggers", there's never been anything but the most cursory recognition of work like Mark Woods'. And yet for a lot of us his daily spread is essential, and a constant welcome challenge.
Journalists tend to be the ones doing the analysis, and they tend to see the journalistic aspect and the parallels and correspondences to print journalism; but ::: wood s lot ::: isn't journalism, and it isn't a diary.
Sort of sui generis sort of rara avis and always for me a source of interesting failure, because I can never get to all the links and there's almost always something intellectually beyond my ready comprehension.
It's a presentation of work. His archives could re-seed the mental life of the world.
Four years at hard labor and we're all better for it.
Thank you Mark Woods.
::: wood s lot :::

Eugene Kuo has some photos up of a trip he took to Turkey, of which this is one.


Fania Tei
Fania at Calabash Music


Sabreen Boxed In

The public domain is not a waste basket, it's not a gutter or a vacant lot or a graveyard; it's closer to dirt, but real dirt - the kind you come to when you dig beneath trees - it's alive.
The public domain is central, not peripheral.
The merchants' edge is a like a fungus, a parasitic growth, and for a lot of us, who grew up completely disconnected from any other way, that growth seemed to be all there was. But the online world has created a refutation of that, an unstoppable return to what the public domain really is. Which is not an economic term. Public domain only became a legal term when merchants began making the laws.
The public domain is ours, we are the public and this is our domain. Merchants have attached themselves to that, strip-mined it, harvested it, clear-cut it.
It's a kid's logic - the question, why aren't the best-seller lists representing the all-time best? The answer being because there's no profit in it. Merchants determine what's available according to what sells. The stores sell things. And we're brainwashed into thinking the store is the only place to get music, or books. You have to buy it. Your relationship with it has to be economic first.
Music is a commodity, a luxury, economically secondary, unnecessary. Even though it's a virtual necessity in many people's lives, especially among the young and mating, even though people take music with them everywhere, turn to it for comfort, use it for solace. The most important human events, marriage, funerals, inaugurations, graduations, virtually everything but birth itself, which has its own songs, is held together by music, the participants are united by music. That's not peripheral, and it's not a luxury, it's essential.
Online file-sharing, that was in its beginning hackers and college kids mostly, has turned into a place where people share music they like and love, and it has nothing to do with immediate gain in many cases. So lo and behold there's music with no price tag, side by side with the latest corporate artists, just like it is in our lives.
The mercantile idea is that music from 50 years ago is less important than music made today. But that's only true to the people who sell it.
It's like cars. Cars must be new. The idea of having a car for thirty years, much less the absurd idea of having a car you maintain and pass down to your children, is unthinkable for most people.
And yet we do that, and do it lovingly, with furniture, with clothing, blankets even, dishes, hand tools. How many of us have things our parents used, our grandparents, an uncle or an aunt. Or things we got at garage sales that were old and well-used, and valued because of that? But a car? Older than twenty years? An antique, a hobby.
This is corporate brainwashing, and in its destructiveness it's evil pure and simple. By any definition, once all the effects are accounted for, it's evil.
The bookmarks below are nearly random links to music sites. Some of them are indexes of music sites themselves. This is not an informative list, or a project; it doesn't represent my taste musically, just links that ended up in this one bookmark island after a month or two of accumulation.
Absolute Cherry


Blog Archive


db annex larger,longer image-heavy posts