Ends of the Earth, Outskirts of Cyberspace

My fellow Pattern Recognition fan, Bravus (see my links) talked about long-distance blogging today --.
Blogging can be lonely, but what are the outskirts of cyberspace anyway?

Like the outskirts of Bangkok, in Eilhard's blog?

Is there a centre in cyber -- a metropolis like Paris?



Outskirts of Paris - Van Gogh

Is Weather Important?

Weather forecasts are, as we all know, unreliable.
All they do is put you in a bad mood the day before, expecting rain tomorrow, or disappoint you when the promised sunshine turns out to be all behind cloud cover.

I try not to carry an umbrella. In fact, I even like getting soaked.




Hiroshige:
Sudden Shower

Psalms and Grass

Psalms 103, 15-16:
15 As for man, his days are like grass, he flourishes like a flower of the field;
16 the wind blows over it and it is gone, and its place remembers it no more.

I remember the passage above from my father's funeral-- it is beautiful.

A couple of days earlier, after the procession in hearse from hospital to chapel mortuary, we had a simple family cakes-and-coffee gathering at home.

My oldest nephew is 16, a handy boy-- so he is outside changing wheels on my Dad's car (now borrowed by my sister)-- taking off studded winter tires now the snow has gone.

His father comes out and says, "I remember last April, how Grandpa watched you do it, grumbling and suggesting different procedures..." Then he interrupts his own musings with, "Oh BTW, Jan, look out, watch that nut..."

Jan grins in a resigned way, and his Dad goes back in the house, soon to be replaced by his uncle, "Hi there, Jan...You know, a good trick when you change tires, one that I find useful is..."

I laugh, and Jan fumes quietly.

Task done at last, he looked at a big gouge in the lawn, left by his tractor when he cleared snow for Grandpa a few weeks before. The kid sighed, smiled and said to me, "Hmmm. At least this saves having a strip torn off me by Grandpa for the grass!"

Aisha

Yess! It's raining Bialetti men

The forecast was right:



A coffee volcano bubbling on the cooker this morning-- ok, afternoon here.



Strong espresso whooshing from a beautiful espresso pot--

will always remind me of mornings in Sardinia, window open to the azure sea, Lori and me critting poems with Paola still asleep -- maybe Ernie coming over from their house for the strongest coffee in the world.

Rich Rosenthal II, how about that hat?

Aisha

Raining Men and Should I go surreal?

Reading other people's blogs (such as THIS ONE ) I wonder. Should I take off? Do a Magritte?



Go completely surreal...?

Wait for it...maenwhile, the weather forecast:

A light drizzle of men expected over the northern part of Pattern Recognition. The rest of Blogger. com will stay dry.

Aisha

The Importance of Notepaper

Damn the Greens and saving trees, mutters the interpreter
on her way to prison for another job. As usual no blank pages
at the end of her paperback for subway-reading. The suspect
yesterday had pen and notepaper, plenty of it, to write
a full confession in his cell, yet had devoted it to easy recipes
for her, who did reveal in passing that she is a rotten cook.

Chicken in ginger, pork in cream, poetry in the oven.
But she never carries her spiral notepad any more in case
a poem comes. Stress is all she carts around these days. A pile
of invoices to write at home, her mother just sent back from hospital
in a nightgown to an empty house.

Until today. Passing flashy orange sycamores along a silky autumn sea
a poem came and went, for want of paper.

Even Duller Than This

The Guardian on the Web has some excellent links to other blogs and web sites.
I found this:

DULL PLACE FOR MEN ONLY where they discuss luggage carousels, An exciting thing to do in the Fall: clean your garage, A reader likes to read the spam he receives . . . plus he passes on his tips on how to receive more of it etc.

In case any females thought of joining:
"... From time to time we are asked why the Dull Men's Club is for men . . . as we have always said, women are different, too exciting to be in our club . . ."

But:

"... Meet a Dull Man . . . dull dating . . . a lady writes to us . . . she wonders when we will start a "Meet a Dull Man" page . .. so we started one . . ."

Aisha, working on a translation on VAT payment today. Almost makes you wanna read the spam you receive or date a dull man.

No New Entries

Work (lots of it), editing other people's poems (cool ones) and a cold (a long one) and a weekend away (a good one) -- these are my reasons. Not only are there no new poems, even the blog is neglected.

Still, I log on to newspapers on the Web most mornings to see what's up, listen to the BBC World Service at night -- and read my friends' poetry & blogs.

Re-reading Gibson's Pattern Recognition now, and I really understand the heroine, Cayce, when she feels at home on another continent only when at last she logs on to her favourite web forum and reads the latest posts ;)

I WAS creative tonight: cooked a pork, tomato, lemon and cream casserole and ate it by candlelight.

A sad excuse for a post, this.

Aisha, treading water