Stop the World

twitter-addiction-social-media

The truth is, I feel like yelling Stop quite a bit these days. Every time I hear about Twitter I want to yell Stop. The notion of sending and getting brief updates to and from dozens or thousands of people every few minutes is an image from information hell. I’m told that Twitter is a river into which I can dip my cup whenever I want. But that supposes we’re all kneeling on the banks. In fact, if you’re at all like me, you’re trying to keep your footing out in midstream, with the water level always dangerously close to your nostrils. Twitter sounds less like sipping than drowning.

The most frightening picture of the future that I’ve read thus far in the new decade has nothing to do with terrorism or banking or the world’s water reserves—it’s an article by David Carr, the Timess media critic, published on the decade’s first day, called “Why Twitter Will Endure.” “I’m in narrative on more things in a given moment than I ever thought possible,” Carr wrote. And: “Twitter becomes an always-on data stream from really bright people.” And: “The real value of the service is listening to a wired collective voice … the throbbing networked intelligence.” And: “On Twitter, you are your avatar and your avatar is you.” And finally: “There is always something more interesting on Twitter than whatever you happen to be working on.”

This last is what really worries me. Who doesn’t want to be taken out of the boredom or sameness or pain of the present at any given moment? That’s what drugs are for, and that’s why people become addicted to them. Carr himself was once a crack addict. Twitter is crack for media addicts. It scares me, not because I’m morally superior to it, but because I don’t think I could handle it. I’m afraid I’d end up letting my son go hungry.

~ George Packer, Stop the World


Notes:

It’s been a long day

jonė reed

As for life,
I’m humbled,
I’m without words
sufficient to say

how it has been hard as flint,
and soft as a spring pond,
both of these
and over and over …


Notes:

Sound of the drums / Beatin’ in my heart / I’m Thunderstruck

storm-art-pursuit

Joan of Arc was not stuck at a crossroads…
she chose a path,
and went down it like a thunderbolt.

~ G. K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy


Notes:

  • Credits: Quote Source: Thank you Mme Scherzo. Image: Mennyfox55
  • Post title Inspired by AC/DC’s Thunderstruck: I was caught / In the middle of a railroad track. (Thunder) / I looked round / And I knew there was no turning back (Thunder) / My mind raced / And I thought what could I do (Thunder) / And I knew / There was no help, no help from you (Thunder) / Sound of the drums / Beatin’ in my heart

Guess.What.Day.It.Is?

camel-wednesday-hump-day


Notes:

Driving I-95 N. And Recycling.

recycling_logo-green

Tuesday.
Drive home.
A torrid August afternoon.
Waze signals an express track: 22 minutes.
Reality reports something else.
Traffic inches forward.

The car in front is a late edition Mustang hard top.  Driver and passenger wearing baseball caps. A empty Marlboro pack is tossed out of the passenger window, skips once and lands on the simmering asphalt.

That’s bullsh*t.

Traffic snakes ahead.
A butt is flicked out the window, and lay smoldering on the shoulder.

Pig.

The A/C is blowing, but I’m hot, from the inside-out.  I loosen my tie.  Unbutton the right shirt cuff, and then the left. And roll-up my sleeves. I sit.

Here you go again, with another demonstration of Fuller’s Celtic inclinations: irritability, intolerance and irascibility.  You bathe in it Man. It is your Oxygen. [Read more…]

How to Age Gracefully. (7 to 93)

Monday Morning Wake-Up Call

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owl-gif-funny


Source: Gifak-net

My dog most certainly is god spelled backward.

zeke-vizsla-cute-dog-pet

My dog most certainly is god spelled backward.
He is sublimely present.
No fatigue.
He loves.
He licks.
He chases and wags.
Eats, shits, leaps like a dolphin for his Frisbee.
Sleeps and guards.
Snorts in his sleep and awake,
begs for orts of cheese, smackerels of beef crumb.
A belly rub, an ear massage.

~ Melissa Pritchard, Decomposing Articles of FaithA Solemn Pleasure: To Imagine, Witness, And Write (The Art of the Essay)


Notes:

The Salt of the Earth

adelita_right_whale-sebastiao-salgado

“I also befriended a whale. These are the whales in Argentina. An adult like this is 35 meters long, weighs about 40 tons. She came so close to the boat, I could touch her.  And it was incredible. Such sensitive skin! As I was caressing her, I could see her tail, 35 meters away, trembling. Incredible sensitivity. We had a small boat, just 7 meters long. She knew she could have sunk us. But she never once hit the boat. Not once! As we left, she began slapping her tail.”

~ Sebastião SalgadoGenesis from The Salt of the Earth (01:33:26)


Whether you are a professional or hobby photographer, or don’t take pictures at all, this documentary on the life and work of Sebastião Salgado will leave its mark on you.  Must see…here’s the trailer:


Notes:

Sunday Morning: The Sabbath, the day of rest

Oliver-Sacks

In February, I felt I had to be equally open about my cancer — and facing death. I was, in fact, in the hospital when my essay on this, “My Own Life,” was published in this newspaper. In July I wrote another piece for the paper, “My Periodic Table,” in which the physical cosmos, and the elements I loved, took on lives of their own.

And now, weak, short of breath, my once-firm muscles melted away by cancer, I find my thoughts, increasingly, not on the supernatural or spiritual, but on what is meant by living a good and worthwhile life — achieving a sense of peace within oneself. I find my thoughts drifting to the Sabbath, the day of rest, the seventh day of the week, and perhaps the seventh day of one’s life as well, when one can feel that one’s work is done, and one may, in good conscience, rest.

~ Oliver Sacks: Sabbath. The Seventh Day of the Week. The Seventh Day of Life

Postscript:

Oliver Sacks died this morning. He was 82 years old. His work here is done and may he now rest in peace.

The story in NY Times: Oliver Sacks Dies at 82; Neurologist and Author Explored the Brain’s Quirks


Notes: