Dawdle Doodle Diary: Spring Fashions and Other Caution Signs

Spring slowly sprung the environs plush with dawdle walks and doodle weeds, tweets and posts poking up in the usual spaces, out of concrete poetry cracks, but in the midst of this year’s annual rush for life we were learning to breathe. Spring is just such the perfect answer to winter, one wonders shouldn’t one’s…

An Imperfect Imposition

An Imperfect Imposition   Gloss         He goat a haircute,   “Beware enterprises molted a shive,   that require and emptoed the moot.   new clothes.”         He out cast the let   Ruined good tune, down at sup-a-dup   raised to put and unvaled a crune,   bread…

Waltzing with a Loon to the Tune of a Whippoorwill

Henry’s loon waltzed into the room laughing laughing laughing at the phony moon rising over the pond-like screen laughing at Henry, at me, and at you too who scorned the whippoorwilled who loon-waltzed our way across the fall season who tweeted twitted twisted and tallyhoed on but what stilled the waters the antithesis of laughter…

Thoreau’s Bicycle

Fall falls. Footfalls squish and squash through redorangeyellow leaves, their green energy sucked back into roots, an understandable hoarding for the winter. The casual bicyclist dismounts for the season, buries the bike in the basement, perhaps intending to walk through the winter. We have come to rely on the automobile to our detriment: for cars…

Binders Full of Women and a Pocketful of Moloch

“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation,” Thoreau said, which is to say, most guys – their binders are empty. Bukowski explains, over at Letters of Note: the drone ant has sacrificed his life for a 401Kafkaesque letter from his Man-auger: “Sorry mate, we’ve a cutback comin’ down the line.” Bukowski lights out…

Thoreau Posts

…some Thoreau posts: What Should We Keep? The R. Buckminster Fuller Archive Transition: From Walled-in with Thoreau to Take-off with Buckminster Fuller Walden: From “The Pond in Winter” to “Spring” On the ice with Thoreau What some others have said about Thoreau’s Walden A Monstrous Metaphor Fished from Walden Pond A Sixth Way of Looking at Walden: Deliberately Seeking Simplicity It is…

Thoreau’s Meanly Men and Manly Ants

“We live meanly, like ants,” Thoreau tells us in the “Where I Lived, and What I Lived For” chapter of Walden, just after he’s divulged his reason for being in the woods: to distill life, then distill it some more, until he has more than 100 proof. And if life prove mean, then he will…

Progress Report: Our Disappearing World

Someday, all of the telephone poles will have vanished. They are gradually, slowly disappearing from view as the wires they hold aloft are placed underground or the signals they link go wireless. Does this mean we are improving? Is the human condition better or worse or the same as we found it yesterday, or better…

On Universe: A Conversation Between Thoreau and Bucky

Thoreau: “What distant and different beings in the various mansions of the universe are contemplating the same one at the same moment!” Fuller: “Man seems unique as the comprehensive comprehender and co-ordinator of local universe affairs.” Thoreau: “Probably I should not consciously and deliberately forsake my particular calling to do the good which society demands…

What Should We Keep? The R. Buckminster Fuller Archive

The R. Buckminster Fuller Archive is now maintained at the Dept. of Special Collections, Stanford University Libraries.  Stanford provides access to the archive via the R. Buckminster Fuller Collection. Readers can create an account (free) at the registration page of the Stanford Library site. The Welcome Page of Stanford’s Fuller Collection provides a gloss of…

Transition: From Walled-in with Thoreau to Take-off with Buckminster Fuller

“We can never get enough of nature,” Thoreau says (297), yet we will soon have turned the entire planet into garbage. But, as Slavoj Žižek has said, we must learn to love garbage, for it reflects our imperfections (Examined Life, at 1:04:40). “I desire to speak somewhere without bounds,” Thoreau says, in the Walden chapter…