(Found it here.)

I promise I will stop dwelling on the political in a minute, because I am in need of dipping the ladel into the truly deep well--it is very overdue.  Until then, here's a fairly decent article about a few of the indecencies of the Bush administration.  This is just the tip of the iceberg, but nobody really wants to know that. 

This country is great.  The people of this country are great.  The young men and women in this country's military are great.  Help me know, then, how it is these things have happened.  Are we not responsible for the things these warmongers do with the authority they have derived from us? 

But nobody really wants to know that. 

(Found it here.)

I promise I will stop dwelling on the political in a minute, because I am in need of dipping the ladel into the truly deep well--it is very overdue.  Until then, here's a fairly decent article about a few of the indecencies of the Bush administration.  This is just the tip of the iceberg, but nobody really wants to know that. 

This country is great.  The people of this country are great.  The young men and women in this country's military are great.  Help me know, then, how it is these things have happened.  Are we not responsible for the things these warmongers do with the authority they have derived from us? 

But nobody really wants to know that. 

Just stole this link from ex-lion tamer, and I'm just passing the word, like a bucket at a fire. 

Go to March of Death and listen.  Read and listen.

Just stole this link from ex-lion tamer, and I'm just passing the word, like a bucket at a fire. 

Go to March of Death and listen.  Read and listen.

A quote posted at Mary's site:

A quote posted at Mary's site:

Why do I always convince myself that the world is not as bad as it seems--and then it proves it is.  Why do I hope, over and over again, that brutality and hatred will subside, and that peace will find a home in my lifetime?  Why don't I just give up?  It's so simple to do.  And it hurts so much to keep trying to rebuild my tissue paper dreams under all these tear drops. 

Why don't I just give up? 

Why ever did I think it could be different?

Why do I always convince myself that the world is not as bad as it seems--and then it proves it is.  Why do I hope, over and over again, that brutality and hatred will subside, and that peace will find a home in my lifetime?  Why don't I just give up?  It's so simple to do.  And it hurts so much to keep trying to rebuild my tissue paper dreams under all these tear drops. 

Why don't I just give up? 

Why ever did I think it could be different?

I heard a rumor at work that Aziz was shot.  Of those at the top in Iraq, Aziz is the most capable politician, and certainly more moderate than Saddam.  Aziz wants Iraq to survive as a sovereign nation and has arguably accomplished a political miracle within Iraq to subdue the petulant Saddam and allow inspectors unconditional access.

My first thought was cynical; that we had him killed to reduce what sanity and reason there may be in the Iraqi leadership.  Then, likely, our opponent would be an irrational mad bomber Saddam--that is if he returned to his erratic scud-launching of a decade ago.  When I finally read this article, I was relieved.  It means my country has not yet sunken to the monstrosities which I fear it eventually will.

I don't feel like writing, so try this old journal entry.  I'll be rearranging the site soon.

If you get screwed up in the frames (these are old pages, coded when I knew less than not much) then try this link to the old journal entry. 

A couple days ago I threw out all the junkmail and outdated catalogs which had accumulated on my kitchen table.  I tidied what was left, a few books and some old journals and sketchbooks, with plans to put it all away somewhere eventually.  This morning, as I opened the blinds to let in some light, I glanced sleepy-eyed at the titles revealed there on the table.  I hadn't noticed them before, together.  Postcards from the Edge, by actress Carrie Fischer and The Immense Journey, by anthropologist Loren Eisley.  Cute. 

Are you sick of my pictures yet? 

Here's another before I go to bed; a window and a loft door from the same building as last entry.  It was a fire station at the turn of the century.  I have always loved this building and I don't know why.  Maybe I worked there once in another life.  It's amazing what one can see through those windows... 

Cold as can be, here.  Joint-aching cold, and windy, too.  I was outside around sunset playing with my new camera.  My fingernails are still throbbing. 

This one was an accident; I thought the windows were in focus, not the branches.  I set everything else manually, except the focus.  I figured the good 'ol auto focus will just set up on the wall, and won't even notice the skinny little branches.  I'm learning. 

Used to be, on really good days, some mundane thing would present itself to me as a vision, and I would wish I had a camera.  That was back before I did have a camera.  Such visions presented themselves as perfectly composed images that lacked only capture by a gentle hand.  It almost seemed that first there was a perfect image, then reality conspired to make its presentation in the physical world as if hoping that someone might find it, recognize and appreciate the beauty in it, and save it.  This made me want a camera. 

I look at everything a little bit differently now, or maybe just a little more closely.  I see into things.  Even without a camera in my hand.  I look for light, for clarity, for perspective.  I am on the lookout now for images that would be orphans, produced by reality according to a truer, more perfect plan that exists outside of reality and casts itself like frozen branches into our view, hoping that we will see. 

Even accidentally. 

I woke up, started the coffee, and heard a helicopter go over my house.  I folded the futon and heard a helicopter go over my house again.  I poured my first cup—oh! that first cup is always so glorious—and my windows and walls shook from a helicopter again passing over head. 

I became curious. 

You know a helicopter is close when you can hear a ringing whistle sound from it in addition to its throbbing bass.  Such high frequency sounds do not travel as far as the lower pitched sounds, and are usually drowned out by them.  As I took my first piss I heard that shrill ring from the air machine, and I thought, "I have to get outside."  I grabbed my new camera. 

It made seven more passes after I got outside.  It had probably made twice as many flyovers while I was puttering indoors.  I must say the best photo is the very first one I took.  I didn't even know how to set the camera for a daylight shot—or for any shot for that matter; it's brand new.  I just spun the mode dial to the symbol of the little green camera as I ran through the front door.  I looked up and shot. 

My house was on the southern extent of a small circular pattern which the helicopter was following repeatedly.  At its furthest from me, it was only about a quater mile, and it was banking to the left throughout its course.  I thought I would feel awkward, standing on a street pointing a camera in these code orange days.  I suppose if it had been marked clearly as a police helicopter, I might have felt naughty photographing its surveillance—but I would have anyway. 

But it was not marked clearly, and in these post 9/11 days the unexpected behavior of aircraft gains a whole new significance.  I felt almost patriotic, standing in the street, camera braced against a no parking sign, brazenly setting up for a telephoto shot of the underside of this loitering helicopter. 

It made still more passes after I went back indoors to see what the images might reveal.  After transferring the photos to my PC, I was able to read the registration number of the aircraft, N824AH, and after some web searching, I was able to locate still other photos of my mysterious airborne visitor's siblings: 
policeHelo2.jpg
policeHelo5.jpg
And lastly, this very informative page. 

In this image, a dangling square structure beneath the body of the helicopter, directly in front of the floodlight, seems to me to be perhaps the airborne equivalent the directional antennae arrays I see on the roofs of some police cars used for locating stolen cars. 

Need I say more?  I love my camera.