Friday, March 30, 2007

Tortured Genius

You Are 70% Tortured Genius
You are smart. Brilliant in fact. And while it's a blessing, it's also a curse.
Your head is filled with everything - grand ideas, insufferable worries, and a good deal of angst.

The quiet and shared night

The quiet and shared night : The Blogfather has given us his weekend assignment - which time of day is your favorite?

I'm dredging up a past post for my answer. In the night under clouds or moon or stars I can feel the earth breathe. Concrete and asphalt shudders and settles, weary after a long day. The trees drink deep of quiet air and speak to one another on the wind. The grass naps in quiet slumber after a day spent praising the sun, and animals come or go as their way and nature permits.

I love the night, walking without direction or guidance. I feel my feet connect to the earth in a way more sincere than any I've ever felt; no light, no sight, just smell, taste, and touch. My soul seeps down my legs, through my shoes and joins creation in a silent celebration of unity and life.

Sometimes, being an insomniac isn't so bad. :)

Dali does me

Who Should Paint You: Salvador Dali
You're a complex, intense creature who displays many layers.
There's no way a traditional portrait could ever capture you!
Via: Patrick

Thursday, March 29, 2007

Full Time Dad Wanted

Full Time Dad Wanted : Mary posted this entry, and really if you want to know what love is, truly is, take a gander at at the post. More after the jump.

Tags: ,

The news?!?!?!?!?!?&*^#$(&*(#!

Oh, what we call the news!

Via: JibJab

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Donkey or Elephant?

You Are 32% Republican
You're a bit Republican, and probably more conservative than you realize.
If you're still voting Democrat, maybe it's time that you stop.
You Are 64% Democrat
You have a good deal of donkey running through your blood, and you're proud to be liberal.
You don't fit every Democrat stereotype, but you definitely belong in the Democrat party.


Now, if only they had a pro-life democratic party, I'd be all set :).

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

What's in a name?

Via Dawn - every answer must start with the first letter of your first name.

Your Name: Charley

Famous Music artist/group: Coors, The ;)

3 letter word: Cat. I have two of them, Ulysses and Shiloh. They show up in my journal every now and again.

Color: Canary

Gift/present: Cap, as in baseball :).

Vehicle: Corvette, or the Corsair.

TV Show: Crossing Jordan.


Boy's Name: Carl.

Girl's Name: Constance.

Alcoholic drink: Car bomb.

Occupation: Car Salesman

Flower: Crocus.

Celebrity: Charlie Chaplin.

Food: cuscous.

Something found in a kitchen: crockpot.

Reason for Being Late: car sickness.

Something You Shout: CRAP!

Friday, March 23, 2007


The best news I've gotten in quite some time :):

From: Steve Kohlreiter
Subject: Countdown

There are just 10 days until opening day of the baseball season for the 
New York Yankees!!! 
Steve K 
To signoff the YANKEES list, send 'signoff YANKEES' to: 

Monday, March 19, 2007

Just because he's awesome

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

Back home in small town Pennsylvania after a draining weekend of delayed and canceled flights, impromptu mini-van rentals, closed highways, snow, ice, late night stays in cheap run-down Days Inns, and the complaints of twelve students.


Still, my time in Portland was amazing (if not tiring!); the artful learning model they have in place works wonders and has created a school climate I only ever dreamed of seeing. It was a privilege to be there working with those teachers, their students, and even the students from my class.

I've posted the complete album from my trip; enjoy knowing that I've spared you from the three hours of video that I took.


Sunday, March 11, 2007

A few shots from Portland

Just a few images from Portland, where I am until Friday. I'm working at a fabulous middle school here.

Saturday, March 10, 2007


Sunrise is the time to feel thaqt you will be able to find out how to help somebody close to you who you think needs help even if he doesn't think so. At sunrise everything is luminous, but not clear.

'A River Runs Through It', by Norman Maclean

Friday, March 9, 2007


A snippet:

From John Taylor Gatto (1992) via Ayers (1995)

...the real lessons of American schooling, things like hierarchy and y our place in it, indifference, emotional and intellectual dependency, provisional self-esteem, and the need to submit to certified authority. For many students the experience of schooling is just this: Nothing of real importance is ever undertaken, nothing is ever connected to anything else, nothing is ever pursued to its deepest limits, nothing is ever finished, and nothing is ever done with investment and courage. This may not be the intention of policy makers, politicians, or administrators; it is certainly not the hope of most parents and teachers. Yet it is often what children live and learn. effect schools murder the souls and minds of children by design, and that we fight a guerrilla war against genocide in the classroom our entire lives - a war we are losing badly.


Refuse to be a murderer! Encourage creativity, spontaneity, self-discovery, discomfort and challenging student centered learning. Teach so that others teach themselves!


Light and darkness are expressions of morality. When I stay true to Natural Law, I am good and all is well. When i violate Natural Law - putting myself putting my uncensored passions before what I know is right, then inevitably nature will return to bite me in the ass.

I'm fairly convinced that humanity's ability to rationalize is why we walk paths destined to lead to hurt and pain.

I love the Taoist concept of order and balance, but how do you reconcisle the balance of good and evil when Confucius places a strict order and responsibility based class-system into the family system?

Yet it is inevitable that mother nature brings herself back to balance, she is only forced to when i cast off one of my wings.

Mother Nature is perfect. My dark side is spittle in the face of creation.

But at the same time, I wonder if our own lives are defined by the challenges we choose to cretae. Is this why wrong feels so good? So that when I have the courage to confront myself I see how empty good is when compared to fulfillment?

Wednesday, March 7, 2007

To destroy

What woud you say if I told you chose that word very carefully? Writing is, for me, very often (if not all the time) a self-destructive activity. I very clearly understand the concept of deconstruction to better understand something (think of my prior post to you on Pain - it talks about our need to deconstruct pain and accept it), but that's not how I view my writing. My writing destroys myself. It shreds my soul, my mind, my thoughts. It drains me of who I am.
What I didn't write about in that entry was that I am then free to be someone, something, somewhere else. I don't need to understand what comes out of my writing, because I don't write for clarity or understanding - I write to destroy so that I might rebuild. Reflection (something which I love) is best achieved when we stretch beyond the analysis of a problem (it's deconstruction) and truly destroy it in critique and weigh its moral and ethical implications.
Only then, after I've destroyed can I see what havoc or beauty I wrought and then determine how best to move forward in life, as a person, as a soul.
Or are our concepts so tied together - that you deconstruct to understand, and I destroy to see clearer, which then allows me to rebuild in a fashion I choose........

Tuesday, March 6, 2007

Paper and soul

14 February, early morning, 2007

Rebecca, a valued reader of my blog has the gift of insight. So many of the things she sees or keeps on clean page beg for some day's future reflection.

Rebecca shared her insight with me after another reader of her journal took my comment and did an entry on just a few sentences. After a long entry about her writing, I tried to picture Rebecca hammering out words for an entry a keyboard.

My mind froze because I knew she preferred to honor her words on paper before she shared them with us. So out of curiosity and the need to picture the author's writing process, I asked what kind of notebooks she carried around to observe other people. 'I do that!' I quipped silently as I read her entry, and so I wa to see if any other similarities existed as we wrote. To find them would give me confidence even when it wasn't looked for.

7 March, late night, 2007

So the question remains - what paper do I use to write? The simple answer is that writing for me is a self-destructive process. Every entry, every post drains me of something else to say or think. And then, of course, it is too easy to forget and overlook what it means to put words on a page: conviction. So many people think, but so few have the conviction to write and place the soul on paper.

Voldemort was on to something when he trapped part of his soul in his diary. I look back at the scattered journals I keep and it's so very clear that they don't chronicle my life, they chronicle my soul.

On the practical side, my journal is lined, though only faintly, which is somehow fitting for my dual self. I tend to write in journals others give me, and I write in fits and starts, depending on my soul's need to speak.

For musings of the moment, or random jottings, I use a moleskine; can you really go wrong using the notebook of Picasso and Hemingway?

I have one preference for my journals, however. I always write in cursive and I always use an ink well and stylus. I feel a part of humanity partaking in the great tradition of correspondence when I put nib to paper.

On a side note, what do you do when  you become concerned you are both light and dark? Do you hate one and love the other? Hate both? Love both?

Friday, March 2, 2007

Tell us of pain

For a friend, and written by Kahlil Gibran:

And a woman spoke, saying, Tell us of Pain.
        And he said:
    Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses
your understanding.
    Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that
its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know
    And could you keep your heart in wonder at
the daily miracles of your life, your pain would
not seem less wondrous than your joy;
    And you would accept the seasons of your heart,
even as you have always accepted the seasons that
pass over your fields.
    And you would watch with serenity through
the winters of your grief.
    Much of your pain is self-chosen.
    It is the bitter potion by which the physician
within you heals your sick self.
    Thereofre trust the physician, and drink his
remedy in silence and tranquility:
    For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided
by the tender hand of the Unseen,
    And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips,
has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter
has moistened with His own sacred tears.