is a tiny wandering imaginary dinosaur which migrated from AOL in October of 2008.

Thinking Lizard

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Rhodingeedaddee is my node blog. See my other blogs and recent posts.


[6-16-2009 Update Insert: Most of what is in this space is now moot. I found out what I was doing wrong and have reinstated Archives and Labels searches. They do work. However, in certain cases you may prefer Labels to Archives. Example: 1976 Today begins in November of 2006 and concludes in December of 2006, but there are other related posts in other months. Note: Labels only shows 20 posts at a time. There are 21 hubs, making 21 (which is for 1976 Today) an older hub.] ********************************* to my online poems and song lyrics using Archives. Use hubs for finding archival locations but do not link through them. Originally an AOL Journal, where the archive system was nothing like the system here, this blog was migrated from there to here in October of 2008. Today (Memorial/Veteran's Day, May 25, 2009) I discovered a glitch when trying to use a Blogger archive. Now, it may be template-related, but I am unable to return to S M or to the dashboard once I am in the Archives. Therefore, I've decided on this approach: a month-by-month post guide. The sw you see in the codes here stood for Salchert's Weblog when I began it in November of 2006. It later became Sprintedon Hollow. AOL provided what were called entry numbers, but they weren't consistent, and they didn't begin at the first cardinal number. That is why the numbers after "sw" came to be part of a post's code. ************** Here then is the month-by-month post guide: *2006* November: 00001 through 00046 - December: 00047 through 00056 -- *2007* January: 00057 through 00137 - February: 00138 through 00241 - March: 00242 through 00295 - April: 00296 through 00356 - May: 00357 through 00437 - June: 00438 through 00527 - July: 00528 though 00550 - August: 00551 through 00610 - September: 00611 through 00625 - October: 00626 through 00657 - November: 00658 through 00729 - December: 00730 through 00762 -- *2008* January: 00763 through 00791 - February: 00792 through 00826 - March: 00827 through 00849 - April: 00850 through 00872 - May: 00873 through 00907 - June: 00908 through 00931 - July: 00932 through 00955 - August: 00956 through 00993 - September 00994 through 01005 - October: 01006 through 01007 - November: 01008 through 01011 - December: 01012 through 01014 -- *2009* January: 01015 through 01021 - February: 01022 through 01028 - March: 01029 through 01033 - April: 01034 through 01036 - May: 01037 through 01044 - ******************************************************* 1976 Today: 2006/11 and 2006/12 -- Rooted Sky 2007: 2007/01/00063rsc -- Postures 2007: 2007/01/sw00137pc -- Sets: 2007/02/sw00215sgc -- Venturings: 2007/03/00216vc -- The Undulant Trees: 2007/03/00266utc -- This Day's Poem: 2007/03/00267tdpc -- Autobio: 2007/04/sw00316ac -- Fond du Lac: 2007/04/00339fdl -- Justan Tamarind: 2007/05/sw00366jtc -- Prayers in December: 2007/05/sw00393pindc -- June 2007: 2007/06/sw00440junec -- Seminary: 2007/07/sw00533semc -- Scatterings: 2008/08/00958sc ** Song Lyrics: 2008/02/sw00797slc ********** 2009-06-02: Have set S M to show 200 posts per page. Unfortunately, you will need to scroll to nearly the bottom of a page to get to the next older/newer page.


Wednesday, October 31, 2007


Completed post of my 1963 essay on Edwin Arlington Robinson's The Man Against the Sky poem at 1:11 PM today in my Rho-- blog. - ------------------------- 2008-10-28: Essay: Pluromics, Virtuality and the Gnostic Pharmakon Pt. 1 2007-10-30 by Lanny Quarles is no longer available where I first found it. - Brian A. J. Salchert

Tuesday, October 30, 2007


PM 3:29 - PM 5:00 - Guess the shopping today wore me out. Am not in the mood to proceed with my June update, but--. At least found a light text color that seems more pleasing to me, and it's a safe color too: ccffff. - PM 11:00 - Saying I was not in the mood to proceed with my June update must have given me the energy to proceed. June is updated. - ------------------------- Alois Riegl's Kunstwollen Thank you again, Lanny Quarles. Brian A. J. Salchert

Monday, October 29, 2007


Read R C's poem "Don't Mess With Texas". - Planet Earth has changed so/ since I was born, and continues to/ ever more rapidly: I feel the root of who I am is antediluvian. Is was. The danger zones humanity/ in these times passes through/ will test it intensively. I want to be optimistic. My soul awaits// the New Eden. - Spent part of this evening learning about Republican Ron Paul. My background is heavily Democratic, but I am seriously considering supporting Dr. Ron Paul for the office of President of the United States. - Brian A. J. Salchert

Sunday, October 28, 2007


st = Sprintedon Tracker and with this entry I am changing st's design. Am doing this mostly for reasons of economy, but also because I do not like seeing a bold Sprintedon Tracker on each entry. Besides, without it st then can also stand for Salchert's Trivia, not that all of what is in each st entry will be (in my mind) trivia. - Shortly before shutting down last night I visited Greg Rappleye's blog. Immediately saw I had made a good choice. In my Other Journals is a link to his site, and to 49 other sites. The majority are/ maintained by poets. - Keep a stiff in your closet. - It is likely I will be adding my extant first poems to Autobio. If I do, I will then cease using Autobio (a), allowing st to be where I place autobio information. There's a chance the rtj (Regarding This Journal) series will also become part of st. Opinions (o), too, will end. There have been few, and they can easily be covered in st. Maybe st simply means Several Topics or Some Things. Could give it a DNA twist, and think of it as Sentient Twinings. Okay, okay: I'll just call it Stupid Talk. Satisfied? - "You're hired. I like a guy who can work while he's sleeping." - February's updated. Only June left. - Stan Apps has posted two of his 16-line sonnets. Am unable to respond to them tonight. They are intriguingly strange. They are not similar. Ideas have gelled; so I am responding tonight. ------------------------- see famous painting housed in Milan - Brian A. J. Salchert

Saturday, October 27, 2007


Good morning. This is a man who has made many wrong choices, however unintentionally. Can those choices be blamed on person- ality flaws, mental disabilities, unfounded fears, and so on? Perhaps. Good morning again. This is a man, being imperfect, who can't say he will not continue to make wrong choices, however many right choices he also makes. Quite often/ choices are made, not because one desires to injure oneself or some other, but because of a need to explore, to learn, to better understand oneself. But it is possible to do the latter in relatively safe ways. Good morning. - I am not going to go into the implications of what I have written, nor am I going to give examples. They are simply thoughts worth pondering. - Alas, risk is a penchant of mine which/ has been obsessive at times. That is one of the "reasons" I am drawn to the making of poems. "Madman" is one of the numerous nicknames I've had. That was in the last decade of the last century. I did not attempt to discover why I was so labeled. § Due to the updating I'm enmeshed in, an essay on E. A. Robinson has been sitting in draft for days over at my Rodingeedaddee blog. Had I been able to avoid visiting blogs where intriguing discussions of literature occur, I would have finished the updating days ago; but I do not want to avoid those blogs. Earlier I read "Classical Music Between Adorno and Bourdieu" at Robert Archambeau's samizdatblog, a post which is also about poetry and history. There are approximately a dozen blogs I visit regularly. Until this year I had kept myself deleteriously isolated. Even if I am always merely tolerated by those whose blogs I visit, I need the knowledge they share. § PM 12:04 - For the next five days (including today) the weather will essentially be non-weather. § Entered a fill-in-the-blanks Spicer/Lorca poem try-it// on Jonathan Mayhew's blog. I doubt/ any word I used/ is right. § Before 10 PM I visited Detainees, and while there I took a link to another post on that blog. As I was reading, my security system lost it. Got it to working again, but when I tried to get back to my blog via the backspace arrow, the screen froze. Had to turn my computer off using the toggle on the surge protector. Not sure what caused the problem. - - Brian A. J. Salchert

Friday, October 26, 2007


The chameleon speaks:~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ - PM 4:46 - May is updated. - ------------------------- Do a search for "The Sole Surrealist Poet: Cesar Moro (1903-1956)" by Jason Wilson (University College London) Brian A. J. Salchert

Thursday, October 25, 2007


So much for yesterday's 7:55 record: woke last today at 8:02; but was up till nearly midnight trying to read the 56 comments beneath one of Stan Apps's recent posts. Quite interesting, all of it centered around Stan's gardist categorizations. At some point, a voice in me, 'minding me of Shakespeare, said: "Avaunt, gourd." This morning, when that thought returned, this thought followed: It could be said every new poetic voice (no matter how weak or imitative) is a kind of avant-garde/ in that each maker is unique// and each made thing is perforce unique due to the unfathomable set of concurrences which fostered, nurtured, imbued, and birthed it. Perhaps such poets as Rimbaud and Stein are obvious exemplars of newness, but right now all of us virtuals are engaged in the construction of a communal new. If you really want an avant, wait until Robert Jastrow's prediction of a fourth physical fold of the human brain encasing the present cortex appears. - Best rain chance this evening. At the moment, AM 11:24, it is windy clear. PM 1:22 - Clouds have taken over. - Though the English language is--in some ways--drear, lacking nuances present in certain other languages [ here Nicholas Manning's thought about other languages makes me feel we need to strive to prevent languages from disappearing and to (if we can) resurrect those which have disappeared ], English is a word-accretion / form-changing language. Witness "s/he": a form someone first used which is slowly garnering general acceptance. The Internet has spawned/ English- language changes, but English has some inherent flaws a radical re- visioning of it would eliminate. That, however, is a book some AI being may one day write. For now, this: I do believe, if one is open to it, thoughts can enter one's consciousness directly from the Universe (meaning God or some other higher intelligence). Dreams have been/ sources. Still, nothing that comes from an imperfect being is sourceless. Most of what comes is a reconfiguration / reconceptualization of what is already known. I could point to myself for examples of all of this, but why should I. Each person has his or her [ the existence of "his" and "her" stand as proofs of what is inherently askew in the English language ] own examples. Irony is "big" these days, but irony has a negative aspect: it tends to negate honest humor and thusly to promote taking oneself too seriously, which is the door to insanity. Let us have our arguments; but let us loosen up, which (hopefully) allows me to say: I enjoy J B's "Vallejo says hi!" - ------------------------- regarding Hugo Ball and dada phonetic poetry, first scroll down to NOTES - Brian A. J. Salchert

Wednesday, October 24, 2007


Went to bed early last night but woke twice during the night. Each time the wind was into its end-times yeowling. Shortly before my third sleep period ended I had a weird dream in which in placing my left foot on a step I hurt it. Then I actually did hurt my left foot, which harshly woke me at AM 7:55. I haven't slept so late since who-knows-when. The wind had abated and as I pushed open the drapes I noted the sky was cloudless and the bush at the southeast corner of the apartment building north of this one/ still. Had to change my morning routine since it was nearing time for me to take my ep med. Moments later when I peeked out the west edge of the drapes in the living area, the bush was quivering. Windy is part of the description of today's forecast. - Yesterday it occurred to me INFP could be an acronym for Internationally Nefarious Fugitive Person. How that relates to its M-B meaning is an unknown. Games/// brains// play. - For the last few months my electricity bill has been under $25. Not anymore. Looks like my monthly budget's going to be so tight/ I'm going to have to eat my shoestrings. - A note on ego: My conception of ego is such that a person who was either born with a severely depressed ego or who had found a way to radically supress his or her ego/ would cease to commu- nicate in more than a minimally conscious manner. Therefore, all the pronouncements about excising ego from the creative arts are ruses. - ------------------------- brain of Homo sapiens: from a book by Robert Jastrow -- see credit beneath text - Brian A. J. Salchert

Tuesday, October 23, 2007


00 11 22 33 44 55 66 77 88 99 aa bb cc dd ee ff For clarity's sake, I am going to let "a" = 10, "b" = 11, "c" = 12, "d" = 13, "e" = 14, and "f" = 15. ff = 255 and f0 = 255 - 15 = 240. ee = 238 and e0 = 238 - 14 = 224 | dd = 221 and d0 = 221 - 13. 17 is the difference between each adjacent set. 17 x 15 = 255. So, cc = 204 and c0 = 204 - 12 = 192. This page's background color is 8080c0 in HEX, or 128 128 192 in RGB. - Did get rain yesterday amid the gusts. Slept only 3 hours during the night: from near midnight to near three. The winds were quiet, but I had a physical problem that made me afraid to get back in bed. As it has been chilly, about every 50 minutes the heat flowed 9 minutes, going from near 70 to near 75. Before dawn/ the gusts returned and stayed, though they seem weaker and less prevalent than they were yesterday. It is AM 9:40. PM 5:22 - Sky is clear. PM 7:33 - 53.1° - Added some information to S H's site map and Autobio links entries so visitors will know Autobio contains an e-chap and where the 16 poems in it are. Am next going to the homepage about this. Well, I went, I saw, and I went away/ because I could possibly add other poems to Autobio. - PM 4:41 - If I didn't miss an entry, January is updated. - S T is becoming such a catchall/ it might also replace Regarding This Journal. - Tony Tost on being poetically out/in -- "Monday Evening Ideogram" 2007-10-22 ------------------------- teAchnology - about us - Brian A. J. Salchert

Monday, October 22, 2007


Overcast day with winds whooing and sometimes wheweeing. The storminess that was hanging out to the west of us appears at this PM 12:37 to be edging closer, partly because the storm band has widened. I'll know soon. - Continued updating. Made several homepage changes. Have begun working on January. Having changed the page background from 808080 to 8080c0 forced me make color changes on some entries. Shades of red have been problematical from the first. 808080's luminosity is 120. 8080c0's luminosity is 151. It seems kickin' crazy that I'm using colors I've been avoiding, but this page color, this purpled gray, is both soft and more luminous, and so it does not blare at my eyes and it contrasts well with black text. Even the link color I've been using seems more solid on this shade. - ------------------------- Ken Wilber's "Why Do Religions Teach Love and Yet Cause So Much War?" - Brian A. J. Salchert

Sunday, October 21, 2007


Forecast change: expected high today is 83, but the overnight low 47, with overnight lows for Monday / Tuesday / Wednesday below 40. 70% rain chance Monday with high in the upper 50's will make Monday the coldest and most unpleasant upcoming day. - Had to put off taking my early-morning Sunday med until tomorrow bacause I awoke too late. Also discovered, due to being in a hurry at that time, that I recently purshased a wrong supplement. Figure I'll contact the company from whence. It's worth a try. - A while ago I visited Brian Campbell's blog, and there made my initial acquaintance with the poet Li-Young Lee. Brian's post has taken me to both and, both of which I went to directly. From this poet's page at the latter, I read several of his poems, and then the interview Brian posted about. Everyone knows our (humanity's) existence is shrouded in mystery; and many, including myself, have variously written of this. Here is one of Lee's statements from the interview: "There's no way to account for any thing or any event." I am providing a link to this interview beneath the 25 en dash line. - PM 10:24 - finished updating April entries. - ------------------------- The Totality of Causes: Li-Young Lee and Tina Chang in Conversation - Brian A. J. Salchert

Saturday, October 20, 2007


Although I'm not an investor, I was in AOL's finance area earlier, reading about and taking notes on 15 stocks and 1 fund featured courtesy of Kiplinger. - Since the history of my writing life has lately become for me more important than the value of it, I may place my first poems (those I still have) up in this journal. The contrast between what I wrote then and much of what I have written this year is, I think, extreme and bewildering. - Just changed sidebar color. See homepage for code. - PM 2:23 - Today and tomorrow it might make it to 80, but the following three days it won't make it to 60: vuva-vuva-vuva-vuva. - Can't stop dickering with/ this blog's colors. - Florida beat Kentucky, and are now 5-and-2. - ------------------------- teach peace - Brian A. J. Salchert

Friday, October 19, 2007


Hovering around 70 today. The sky's clear. The air's mild. - October changes are holding sway, leading me to do things one might not expect I would do. - Anyone know what a robin's egg tastes like? - Let's see: Have updated November, December, March, July, September, October. February is going to be the last month updated. It has the most entries. - Because I spent the earlier hours of this day laboring in here*, I haven't felt well since. Still have plenty to do; nonetheless, what I've accomplished I needed to, and am satisfied with. . * my apartment - ------------------------- teach tolerance - Brian A. J. Salchert

Thursday, October 18, 2007


Much of what passes for and of/ life on this planet, passes because of what we (as individuals and as a community) do not know/ those moments/ when possessing the requisite knowledge or possessing it with sufficient confidence would have prevented a life from passing. - Via the Welcome screen/ I did some body . aol . com searches this morning, and will be entering yet another experimental health period. I have some lifelong afflictions I have been for years trying to cure or at least ameliorate, but most of what I have tried--much of which is still being recommended--did not work for me. Often those remedies made matters worse. There are numerous drugs, however helpful, I am at a point of refusing to use/ because of their side effects. I want those ingredients known to work. Therefore, though I find it difficult to eat nuts, I am going to try// eating walnuts. (One of my searches encountered a study which reveals the value of a walnut ingredient for warding off pancreatic cancer.) If I didn't have to eat walnuts to get that ingredient, but could get it in some liquid form, I would. Will post about my various food consumption and other experiments as I reach conclusions about them. Chocolate is one. Healthful as it is, what if one is allergic to it/ as I was when I was a child? The only without-a-test way I can find out is by eliminating it from my diet for several weeks. - Am diddling with my IE background colors this clear, cool, breezy day. - PM 2:44 Now, as small scattered puffy clouds ease east, I'm diddling with my blog colors. See new codes near bottom of homepage. ------------------------- Nemerov's "The Blue Swallows" poem with commentary and swallow photo - Brian A. J. Salchert

Wednesday, October 17, 2007


Since the inclusion of a slant homepage for Sprintedon Hollow, I have been (when I am in the mood for it) busy updating this journal once again. Today is such a day. The major benefit of this has been the finding of internal link errors. I use HTML, and AOL Journals has a built-in link-error detector. I have an MS operating system, and presently my 5 IE general-use rgb's are: 000 000 000 for text, 170 170 153 for page background, 000 255 255 for hover, 153 000 000 for visited link, and 000 000 153 for unvisited link. When I click on Edit Entry, the entry goes to TEXT mode, and the entry's colors become the IE general-use colors. If a link to another entry exists on the accessed entry, and that link's color comes up blue instead of red, something is wrong with that link's code. Conversely, if after a link has been inserted, and the entry's scroll bar has not been moved when the journal's scroll bar is moved down so that the page can be saved, and the inserted link comes up red when Save is clicked, that link's code is right. Therefore, I am trying to train myself to check the internal link colors when I click Edit Entry. ------------------------- Magic Smoke - Brian A. J. Salchert

Tuesday, October 16, 2007


weather: cool and hazy cloudy, but rainless - The renter in the apt adjacent to mine owns a small dog. The renter in the apt above mine may own a cat, but does own some kind of pet recently acquired. I have heard it scampering around, and for several days I thought that maybe a squirrel had gotten beneath his floor and above my ceiling, but then I heard him roll a ball and the pet chasing it. . Aside from my being allergic to dogs and cats, I have had one dog and (while I was married) three cats, with each of those four experiences ending disastrously. I could not, and would not, have a pet of any kind ever again. - PM 3:47 - Was out doing some groceries-mostly shopping. - I no longer own a TV, nor do I want to. I do own 3 radios I rarely turn on. Am not as interested as I once was in what those mediums have to offer. I never was much of a movie- goer. Don't even remember what movie I saw last. It may have been 2001. Stumbling around inside my head interests me more. Some would say I'm an online junkie. - Have spider problems every now and then in this apartment. Most recent invaders are quite small and are reddish-brown. Found a spider photos site on which is a picture of more than a dozen spiders which look exactly what I have encountered. The picture was taken by a person residing in SW Missouri. The site owner said they might be Hobo spiders (er, actually, Hobo spiderlings). They're members of the Tegenaria family of spiders. This member, unfortunately, is venomous. See www . spiderz rule . com / photos . htm - read site intro info. Anyway, even though I'd rather not, I should contact a pest control company. [ PM 7:11 - the heat came on ] Will be buying some sticky strips, looks like. - - Below are links to two luminous essays: Reginald Shepherd's "Why I Write revised" and Tony Hoagland's "Fragments, Juxtaposition, And Completeness: Some Notes And Preferences" ------------------------- Reginald Shepherd's Blog - Cortland Review issue 33 - Brian A. J. Salchert

Monday, October 15, 2007


Autobio some quick insights 2007-10-15 I am a somewhat reclusive poet of mixed poetics. - Some of my works are stylistically of a piece. - Though I cannot curtail it, I prefer I/ not be compared to/ any other writer. - Some of my works/ may seem/ antediluvian. Some are arcane. - Is there a constant in my writings? I do use signs. - There are (as of yet) defining parameters. Example: I am not able to value either Elizabeth Bishop or Gertrude Stein. Example: I have never used a Chinese sign. Example: I believe in an active Triune God. Example: I am a 66 y o Caucasoid male. Dang. Example: I have a quirky/ sense of humor. ------------------------- Brian A. J. Salchert


Autobio US States I've Resided In This morning while looking at a weather map, I got into tracing where I have resided. So: I arrived on this planet in Wisconsin. In 1960 I moved to Minnesota. In 1962 I returned to Wisconsin. [ Since I got married in 1965, the following I's are really we's. ] In 1965 I moved to Iowa. In 1967 I was briefly back in Wisconsin. In 1967 I moved to Illinois. In 1970 I was again back in Wisconsin. In 1970 I moved to California, but I was shortly back in Wisconsin. (In the summer of 1974 I "escaped" to New York City, residing there among the Gays for less than three weeks, drove on to visit some aunts in Swampscott, and down into Boston to see 2001 and visit two partnered guys. Early in August I drove home. However, due to some accidents I'd had, I had to have our Sunbug repaired.) In 1976 I moved to Maryland, but shortly was back in Wisconsin. [ At this point I am at the moment not certain about some year dates. ] In 1978 I moved to Idaho, but pollution sent me back to Wisconsin. In 1981 I moved to Texas for good reasons with quickly bad results. In 1982 I moved to Florida, where I lived in Gainesville from June [ in which city of trees and UF/ in July of 2002 the we became I again ] of that year until December 2, 2006, when two of my nephews who had driven down from Missouri/ hauled me out of Florida. Since December 3, 2006 I've been residing in Missouri; but I'm supposed to be/ buried in Wisconsin. - Brian A. J. Salchert

Saturday, October 13, 2007


homepage Opinion Earth's Environment PM 10:30 Springfield, MO - Thanks to a notice on Collin Kelley's blog, earlier this evening I registered at Blog Action Day to participate in a special environment day. That day-- from their location on this planet--will arrive 15 hours before it does here. It is Monday, October 15, 2007. Even if you cannot register in time, post something on your blog about the environment. About 14,000 blogs have registered so far. ~ AM 10:24 2007-10-14 Over 14,000 and/ it appears they have closed registration, but there are codes for banners available. There is also other participatory information. Wyland Foundation and its Clean Water Challenge ------------------------- Brian A J Salchert


Seminary 3 Written in 1961, this is the third of three elegies on spiritual life. Manuol (A fetid congeries of dung, Of rotted flesh and ashèd bones; A desert waste of shifting sand, Of unrelenting storms and poison pools-- This was the final lot of Manuol When loneliness and devil-deep despair Invaded full upon my pavid state.) O Manuol, O Manuol, Thou unified totality of man, Unparalleled descent your person saw. What grief have I. Who can allay a turbulent Aenean sea Or turn aside a hurricane of hate? No man can lift himself from endless depths. In fiery hells I ponder reasons why; From conflagrations uncontrolled I wail: Release me from this adamantine pit. Extend to me the ladder of Thy light; The darkness of confusion roams about And blist'ring whips of eerie hues accost My dying heart with punishments supreme. O Saviour humble crucified, With tear-filled eyes I gaze Upon the image of Thy wondrous death:-- I gaze upon the crucifix And ponder reasons why No man can lift himself. But He Who is Himself the Light, The Life of every man; Who calls Himself the Son of Man, Alone can lift Himself, and has. All reason fails to grasp the meaning of Your way-- It fails to gather fruit, For what of good is found upon a dying Vine; In vain it comes to reap, For what of value stays in blighted Wheat; In fear it nears the holy tree, For what of worth remains in bloodied wood? Unaided reason mystery evades For fathomless are truths of Love Divine, And yet, a greater part may mankind see; May mankind now believe what wisdom hides: In all illumined verities of Thee, Where reason falters, faith undaunted strides. My faith:--in gratitude I cherish it. Unchallenged spheres of mystic light This ever-present gift can penetrate. But oh this wonder men do marvel at And saints in union unified employ, What qualities of peace engenders this When dark reality deprives a man of joy? (My faith is yet within me. Allow it always to remain, In blessed peace or purging pain.) In purging pain? Excruciating whips of pain, Volcanic gurgitations borne in solitude, Disgusting dregs of nauseating person-love. (So senseless is this martyring of self.) My eyes reveal Thy purity of love. Why idle then am I? Why do I harbor sordid ships Along the waterways of thought And seek in shame within their holds to hide? Return to me the life Redemption bought; Reteach Thy laws, O Saviour humble crucified. That evil pedagogue of thrice Deceiving, caustic fefellations! Begone, Satan! Begone! Do not so torment one desirous to be free. Incarcerate your wretched wrath In crimson ebullitions roiling wild. I shall not plead with thee. O misery, begotten friend, Yet ever churlish foe, Beget yourself another reed to bend. A lonely waste Where wicked bowls of desert sand Engaged by cataclysmic airs Attack the dunes and masticate themselves. As dismal night in silence wanders by, Its presence strengthening the realms of gloom, It spreads a morbid, purple shadow-shade Upon the pools of deadly consequence. To this degree of decadence, O Manuol, To this extent you plummeted the doom. Alone I must accept the blame For causing you such disrespect. O Manuol, O Manuol, If ever I might mold thee new. Impurity upon impurity, And all is self-abusing pride. A million months of melancholy morns Could never equal this degrading fault. In measurements unmeasurable to men This active God-escaping escapade In utter senselessness deprives The total man of that totality itself, Without which oneness, life no meaning has. No longer do I poetize, But speak with straight and forward fact; The poetry existence is relieves The need of weak, artistic act. Yet still the dreary truth prevails: The fort is but a desert dune, The fountain but a venomed pool, And she, the happy maid, in sorrow fled. O silent Virgin, Mary pure, On humbled knee I pray to thee: With malice I have turned my face from God, From God, the spring of all my happiness. In gladness full I drank the waters new That course in endless rivers from the throne, Rejoicing like the harbingers of growth Or bounding as the spritely antelopes; In innocence I lived and loved my King. But now my thirst is quenched on filth and slime, on acrid draughts of worm-infested self. Within this state I kneel before your feet, Revealing here my dastard murderings. Accept my plea for simple chastity; My prayer for grief-expelling grace, Betaking them to Christ, my one desire, That hell may never torture me with fire. Do thou thus intercede for me, your son, Your lonely, wayward prodigal, O silent Virgin, Mary pure. The setting sun a bloody picture paints, A beauty-bound creation, speaking well: In me, the end of day, is Jesus crucified. How then on night, a canvass made for death, Are stroked the horrid nimbus clouds of fear, Concealing all the splatterings of stars. These treasures have I hung upon a crumbled wall, Artistic labours wrought by God and man-- The one, by sorrow deep, is framed; The other, emptiness has claimed. Yet, neither is devoid of timeless worth, Though both disclose the blackest void on earth. And thus, from death And desolation's depths I cry: Where can I go? What can I do?-- So great despairs my path belie. But life from One shall rise anew. Seminary book intro / links to poems ------------------------- Humanity - Brian A. J. Salchert


Seminary 2 Written in 1961, this is the second of three elegies on spiritual life. Spiriel To dusty depths declined, A desert dune, a transient creature formed And blown away by midnight winds, My fort of flesh was last reduced. But Spiriel, immortal soul, Deprived of ivory-orbing grace, Dwelled in damp and fog; In mossy muck and mires Of mortal-wounding death. Here stood my soul: A fountain in the rampart's court. Then Spiriel fell: A weedy, muddied desert hole. (Imagination quickly tires When ponderous thoughts Impose an equal sorrow Upon the inner man.) So dark became the pool Of Spiriel, the calm And clear reflection Of Almighty God, When that transparent, unseen grace, The life of life from Life, Returned to Him Who makes; Who gives and justly takes. O Spiriel, O Spiriel, I've sentenced thee to deepest hell. And now objective musing Does recall The hidden truth within Those once insurgent entities Which long subjective musing Would forestall: The turbid nimbus Of deep, unchecked desires A fatal poison pours. Exciting thus emotions Causing melancholy moods, Recharged imagination Excogitates this mighty, Interrogative reproach: Insane instant, What thought of gain Aroused your blind approach? What happiness abides Within infernal fires? Do thou answer me or not? Oh, how my heart evaporates Beneath the torrid streams of gloom, Desperation and despair, As dew beneath the summer sun. I am weak, so weak. O my soul, how black you are! How coal-like are your waters; The pool of life, How putrid and defiled it is! My life is but a nigrous stench. Would that my skin were night And my soul were white. Return, return, I cry aloud. Return, O purest grace. From mirky dungeons I petition your attention. Bend your ear To the yearnings of my voice. My suffering heart entreats You: Come, my soul's sweet life. Dear Faith, at least you still Remain to keep me near To that Forsaken One Of Whom my mouth did form This phrase: Tolle! Tolle! Crucifige eum. Through you I wish to pray To Him, beseeching Him With mercy-seeking tears. Be thou my messenger, My wingèd Mercury. Confusion conquers Spiriel. Hurry, Faith! Hurry to theSon of Man Whom I have crucified. Beseech Him. Beseech Him E're I lose thee. Beseech Him: Have mercy. So pusillanimous am I. My soul, why did I let you die? O wondrous, fruitful man-growth, Exceeding beauty have you, But he who understands this not Has labored to enslave you. Impelled by need for happiness This juvenile misused a good And hurled that holy thing Back into God's all-loving face. I am that youth. O Spiriel, Where is the radiant light of grace; Where is your vivifying friend, The creature God extends To fill the souls of reborn men? A natural gift was wrongly used; A supernatural gift diffused, No, more than this-- It was expelled, cast out Before/ a laughing viper's hiss. Timidity, you weakling. Unchanneled curiosity, You devil in disguise. Begone, double fault! Attempt, attempt-- Attempt what? So depressed is my spirit, I can not free myself; I cannot escape the hands of filth Nor tear the heavy shades of night. My soul, O my soul, Unceasing are my tears-- Dewdrops of despair Condensed by inner emptiness:-- And yet my course remains Unchanged, remains unchanged. O desolation unsurpassed! Seminary book intro / links to poems ------------------------- Spirit - Brian A. J. Salchert

Thursday, October 11, 2007


Seminary 1 Written in 1961, this is the first of three elegies on spiritual life for which revisions exist into November of 1965. One day perhaps. I was a novice in a Jesuit Seminary in Minnesota at that time. These elegies are passing strange. I know not how to premise them. - - - Aerual Three years my life in essence lost When mortal hate my senses took, And darkness hid a once pure soul That slipped and fell--the bridge not crossed. As pages from a sacred book Were ripped, These raven powers, April grasses, stole. Thus Aerual my spirit left; My angel wept new unborn tears. What Hates loomed above the shell As Pluto stole the happy maid. A markèd black so quickly spread Throughout the fort where she did dwell It fell corrupt, all life bereft. The added thrust to twisted thought Which fed upon Satanic bread Entangled spring, though barren dead. O Aerual, O Aerual, I've cast thee from thy only home, I've battered down your humble wall; I've sent you sand on which to roam. What deed more dark? What deed more dark? No longer can my pencil move. (The heavy cloud that hides me now Will not a further thought allow, Till quiet rest the zephyr prove.) How lost, awaited zephyr, was my life: A soul in death, the fort of flesh Sand-slaved by sand-enslaving airs. (How sad: how sad the very thought Of loss, the loss of Aerual, The thought of loss, the loss of Aerual.) Such repetitious sorrow; And yet, such sorrow does repeat. Harken then, thou joyous zephyr, rest; To you I elegize my life, My Aerual, the donum dat. I lived, a man, a child in Christ; My ways were children's ways-- Abundant tears, imagined fears, Excited smiles, and happy whiles. My play was children's play-- Mud pies, and castles formed from sand. My joys were children's joys-- A festive time, the trees, the wind. In dreams; in acts, I was a boy. A member, one, but lastly, none: From living town, Love-freed by free and loving grace, To desert fort, Sand-slaved by sand-enslaving airs, My being clothed in night did fall Away, a nomad all alone. O Aerual, O Aerual, I've castthee from thy only home. To rest among the April grass, To move with men of life and light, To work beneath the vernal sun; To live where spring eternal grew Were all alone an innocent's delight. But now delight by newer path Has satisfaction found-- A path of death and burning ground. But first, before this path it took, "Twas Aerual that led the way-- The way of free and loving grace, The narrow path, the open way. How quickly life did fall away! A soul; a body maketh man. The first by grace, his being, vivifies; The last by dust, his being, fortifies. This last was then the home, the fort Wherein my Aerual within The first did find abode and made Alive the whole, the total man. From this abode the maiden Aerual, While leading me across the bridge, Was forced to flee, and I to drown withal. In Pluto's arms was she, and I in desert-sea. An innocent, a child of God, Impeded self in growth to grow. A child of God, when spring was full, Impeded self, his growth to know. Emblazoned now upon his heart Were Pluto's glossy, raven words. And thus he trudged the Stygian trail Enfolding night around his home; Expelling light from its abode. An empty shell, the home of flesh, A fort corrupt, on sand appeared. No mere mirage, this fort bereft Of all released by spring. Reality besmeared with grime-- A monument of dust to time, To time ephemeral. A passing night enjoins the whole And empty is the dawning's role. But yesterday a splendid fort; Today a dune protects the site-- A monument of sand to night, To night unchangeable. Within the body reigns a soul, Abode of Aerual, but/ The soul is dead; the body dust, For Aerual from home was thrust. O Aerual, O Aerual, I've battered down your humble wall. The fort, a stronghold physical, A stronghold true, and yet a fort Surmountable, was overcome, Because its life interred Exposed a vapid, empty 'hold To desert's bold, relentless dust. The mystery of midnight airs Across the barren wastes insued; Its weird and wild cacophonies, Charged perplexities of demented joy, Caught sands and dashed the wall With Vandalic force, levelling all. Unmeasured miles the eerie storm Expressed a power ominous. With morbid moans and strident screams Implanting fears within my heart, It raged and razed the ramparts strong, Unleashed wrath of Satan's art. Amid the primal blooms of spring: Anemone and daffodils, My Aerual, that maiden pure, Was wont to live; to be with God. Upon the ivied garden wall She rested still, unrestinggrace. In her repose/ the action/ did abound; Her quietude is one/ of love/ unbound; 'Though still, is ne'er inactive found. Within this tranquil state of act, I also sat with Aerual. Together we enjoyed the view Which spoke of God's exceeding love: The flowers fair, the gentle wafts Of balmy spring's Aeolian air, The olive meads bedecked with dew, Each nascent blade in beauty born And silver-spanned by spider webs; The faithful trees that burgeon new In wooded vales, on wind-swept wolds. Above this peace serene, Apollo's flaming chariot Made hot the wall which she did grace. As Aerual's companion true, I also/ sat upon the ivied stone Enthralled by spring; engrossed in spring, The wonderment that filled the earth With multitudes of living things. The heat of day intense became Upon the humble wall, So Aerual, and I for shame, Were forced to leap. Forsaken rock, A rampart built of flesh for man, In solitude you wait for death. Prevailing westerlies arise And all the air, a turbulence, foretells. The reigning sun, a common pact With Vulcan, now decrees; Incarcerates the hapless realm By sending rays of whitened heat. Portentous calm engenders fear, While darkness, the horizon, hides. Then massive clouds of whirling dust Appear above the western plain. They muster force from angered winds, They roll and toss in frenzied ire, They ebonize the occident In every part that strikes the eyes; They tumble towards the noon-day fire. Tempestuous groans from distant dark Obtrude upon my fearful ears And louder, louder, louder grow, Resounding kettledrums Of monstrous clouds in thunderous roll. A whipping wind invades the place Where Aerual and I remain. It snaps the limbs of stately elms And twists the willows' tender boughs. Beneath the/ burning heat and drying wind, The vernal season's verdant vigour wans. Behold, the umbered ivy dies! Ironic laughs of dirging dust's Blackened bowls inurn my soul And lacerate the garden wall, The fort of flesh, the desert dune. Apollo's oft triumphant car Is lost behind Satanic clouds Of hellish rage. Enslaving all the rites of spring, The savage tempest roars and whines; It claws and gnaws; it reigns as king, A tyrant wrought in dire designs. He rules the depths of mortal death, "Tis Pluto; and the ebon bowls, his robes. To dust the garden wall descends Beneath the/ grinding sand, The jewels on the robes of Dis. A worthless dune the wall becomes Beneath the black abyss of hate, The rising storm of lethal fate. Unearthly cries transpierce the night When witches mouth theirwailings weird As oracles of 'pending blight-- A moment's madness, eternal loss. In trembling and timidity I shuddered; torn between myself, Retreated from the crumbled wall. And running far from Aerual, To her disclosed my pavid state. I hid my face, abashèd thing; In shame I veiled my countenance. Within my veins a heated hate Arose against the Source/ of Aerual, And as the roiling haze, The color and the aspect of despair, Whipped and wheeled 'round about, My life, my Aerual, in sorrow fled. So battered is the humble wall. O Aerual, O Aerual, I've sent you sand on which to roam. Depravèd wretch was I, my bowels wrung By bitter gall. My only food Was rank, Satanic bread, the storm Of boiling ire and all the waste Abounding in its sordid wake. An adamantine land of stark aridity Deposing vital spring's enrobed viridity Alone remains, a masticated realm New-ground by teeth imbibed with hate. Thus Aerual, the highest grace, By thieving cast from soul, the fort In wasting storms became a/ desert dune; I/ fell, and falling, died. Seminary book intro / links to poems ------------------------- Elegy - Brian A. J. Salchert

Tuesday, October 9, 2007


PEACE LOVE COMMUNITY old AOL Sprintedon Hollow Homepage There's a site map link at the bottom of this page, but if you haven't read this page, please read it first. Thank you. [ last modified: 2008-02-10 ] [ 2007-11-07 Note: Major color changes made again. See near bottom of this page new hex colors, but I am back to a gray page. This gray's rgb is 192 192 192. ] [ 2007-10-11 Note: This page is an explanatory adjunct entry, and therefore is not a homepage in the traditional sense. The core page (entry) for this site is p00260jlctr (Journal Links Center or site map), and will always be so. However, this page is important, and should be read by each visitor to Sprintedon Hollow. Thank you. ] [ 2007-10-13 Note: Sprintedon Hollow is a nonchronological record of my life as a writer. Despite being 66, if I live long enough to find out, I may be in the early stages of my writer life. Although I engage reality at every turn, many works of mine are dreamscapes: that is, they are dream-like escapes from reality. In some ways I am like W. S. Landor / John Clare / E. A. Robinson; but perhaps my disclosing this is not wise, so whispers the chameleon in me. ] [ 2007-10-21 Note: You cannot count on my always using the same colors. It is PM 7:28. The present color codes are near the bottom of this page. ] [ 2007-10-22 Note: So, the gray background I wrote about earlier this month has been replaced by 8080c0, which is a purpled gray. ] 10-09-2007 With one thing leading to another, to another, to another, to another, to another with an intermingling of personal troubles, this has been a valuable but difficult day. Long have I considered October to be the month of changes, and with this page/ this day becomes a preeminent day of change for this blog. It is PM 8:05, so "Good evening." I am Brian A J Salchert. Why I am is an absolute mystery to me, but why the background of this page is rgb 128 128 128 gray--a shade that is exactly midway between black and white--is not; but more about that later. To the left of this blog is an "All About Me" sidebar. I've not been happy with it for some while, but I am not going to remove it. However, much of what is there will be transferred to here, and a link to here will be placed on it. The link color for this blog is aqua (or cyan, if you prefer). Several links relating to me or to this blog will be inserted into this page. You will know by the information I present in each/ where it will whip you to. If you have not/ figured it out, I am an INFP: uncertainty is my milieu, creativity my passion, and persistence my compass. Nonetheless, I am such a failed being I recently began calling myself: the ghost in the dumpster . See the green period. That is my sense of humor, which comes from the 1/4 English in me. The other 3/4's are German, with a who-won-the-war wisp of French. I pronounce my surname as if it were two first names: Saul'kurt. Completing this page is going to take a while. Where that while is going to be taken is anyone's guess. Unless theyhave changed them, w3c has a palette of 16 acceptable colors. I donot like some of their choices. The color this text is in is not one of them. The palette AOL uses is (as I have mentioned elsewhere) IE's basic colors palette. The other day I discovered two errors I need toget to MS tech about. The color this text is in is not available on thatpalette either, but the color this text is in is one of the 216 safe colors. 10-10-2007 Of the 16 w3c colors, 8 are among the so-called safe colors. There is, however, a logical reason for this. 255 0 0 is red and 0 0 255 is blue, but 0 255 0 is not green. It is a light green. Equidistant from red and blue is 0 128 0, the rgb code for true green, which is not a "safe" color. Of the supposedly 48 IE colors, one color is repeated, being both at R5 C7 and R6 C7. I have no idea why. Also, in the javascript environment of AOL Journals, the color at R3 C5 is not coded correctly, showing 040080 instead of the correct 004080. All this is really no big deal, but it is curious. Not too surprisingly, there are 8 safe colors in IE's basic colors, the same 8 w3c has. For more about colors, including w3c's colors, see my math links. Though I did not expect it, I recently saw that because I use colors in some of my poems and elsewhere// this gray background best serves my needs. I am a writer. Some background facts about me are in the directory at Poets & Writers. Over the years I have tended to be reclusive, a result of which is the presence of 9 completed books of my poems and 4 others in progress in this journal (weblog / blog / webbed log), with more expected. Math, autobio, and other entries are also here. On June 22, 2007, in another galaxy in the Internet universe, I began my Rhodingeedaddee blog. Its focus is: thoughts on poetry and other wonders. I will not be moving any entry in Sprintedon Hollow to there, nor will I be placing any of my poems or math delvings there. Regarding extra-sites linked to: Personal education is my reason for linking to them. I am not promoting any product which might be found thereon. If a site I provide a link to contains an ad or ads for a product or products of interest to you, exit from Sprintedon Hollow/ and go directly to that site. - Thank you-Copyright Information: No matter what your opinion of it is, if you wish to link to or otherwise use part or all of a post of mine, reveal both the post (e.g. sw00635tlsh) and sufficient copyright information (e.g. © 2007 Brian A J Salchert) AND, if your projected use involves more than a hyperlink or a fair usequoting of me, let me know in advance. - Thank you email: thinkinglizard at AOL . com------------------------- scroll down / look on the left for Most Popular / click on What Do You Do When Someone Steals Your Content Lorelle VanFossen maintains this valuable site which has a some rights reserved Creative Commons license. Read her site's About page. S H's AOL Journal colors: - Page Background c0c0c0 Body Text 000000 Heading Background 00ffff Heading Text 000000 Sidebar Background c0c0c0 Link Text 0000ff sw00635tlsh Site map is at 2007/03/12/sw-p00260jlctr Copyright © 2006, 2007, 2008 by Brian A. J. Salchert Thinking Lizard All rights reserved.

Monday, October 8, 2007


A narrow band of stormy weather extending into Oklahoma where it forks into two bands is rising toward Springfield. The forecast, nonetheless, calls for 100% precip. It does feel muggy in here, and that with the temp at 71F. For now, though, the skies are fairly clear with a high-cloud haze. Temperatures are not expected to get into the eighties the next 5 days, and night- time temps will be falling into the forties. Yesterday I did note a few leaves turning as I watched a brown one waffle into the parking lot, but green remains 99% dominant. In this complex most of the trees are evergreens. It is AM 9:41. The whip from the west is about to lash us/ alive in the ah before the ~. PM 2:03 - The storm band has drifted east. - Have been doing some sorting and rearranging. Found I had lined the bottom of a box I was emptying/ with the Green Sheet from The Milwaukee Journal Monday, April 26, 1976. Obviously in order to save the UPI photo on it, which is captioned: A man of many titles, strong man Arnold Schwarzenegger goes Hollywood. - On Archambeau's Samizdat blog is an informative post about the history of poetry in Chicago. Go to the October 2007 archive. ------------------------- the photo I kept shows a biceps pose, but it is otherwise similar to this one of The Austrian Oak when you click on his name at the History of Mr. Olympia: Photo Gallery [ NB: This has nothing to do with politics. ] - Brian A. J. Salchert

Sunday, October 7, 2007


Venturings Split Nine words words meaningless words swords clink passion gone he lived in a temple of undersong was it the shade? the sinewy grey? we have no record of his demise or even that he ever became some say he wandered high and low we cannot prove those happenings why then do we bother? maybe the toads - Brian A. J. Salchert


Sunday Warning: U S Economy: - recent Alan Greenspan comments "Greenspan predicts double-digit rates in coming years" by Barbara Hagenbaugh USA TODAY . Read these posts: Whatever; Richard Heinberg's MuseLetter #186, "As the World Burns"; and Maxed Out on Linh Dinh's Detainees blog. . The United States of America needs to institute laws against usury. USA citizens need to live within their means. Planet Earth needs to find ways to eliminate human-against-human aggression. One way to do that is: Make passenger pigeons of the lot of us. - AM 9:05 - Springfield, MO skies are clear again. The air is calm. AM 11:32 - A few wisps of clouds and zephyr gusts. - Brian A. J. Salchert

Saturday, October 6, 2007


Lately (every so often) I have been telling myself: "You are not a perfect being." Why? Because not being perfect constantly disturbs my spirit; and I know I cannot be perfect, not nearly as perfect/ as/ some others can be. When and where I have come close, I have done so only because of my persistence. My life is/ replete with failures, and what remains of it may be also. I am seriously considering no longer making comments beneath posts on the blogs of others. Do not ask me why. Suffice it to say, I have my reasons. I will continue to read posts and comments on other blogs, but when I feel a need to comment/ I will post that comment on one of my blogs, and probably create a link to the post which inspired it. There is much I yet want to put in my own spaces/ whether or not anyone reads/ what I place there. I may attempt to get some of my writings published elsewhere, but that is not likely. I see myself as one who is too odd to comfortably fit in, and I have long said no to wasting my time trying to. For as long as God allows, I will blog. All who visit are welcome, even the scavenger types. Any who wish to comment, may, though I cannot promise how I will respond, if I respond. There once was a counter on this journal, but I deleted it/ as it was counting each visit I made as a visit, and I make numerous visits to any one post. Besides, I was (and still am) essentially the only one making visits. Beyond that, the prevalence of RSS readers and the like/ make direct visits unnecessary. Should you happen to see and decide to use one or more of my posts--no matter what your opinion is, I request only that you credit me. - My computer glasses have been fixed. - Today's weather is less breezy, slightly more cloudy, and generally more pleasant. Tomorrow rain is supposed to return, but may not. Monday, the forecasters say, there's a 70%/ rain chance. ------------------------- Walter Savage Landor Walter Savage Landor - Brian A. J. Salchert

Friday, October 5, 2007


Today the skies are clear to partly cloudy. A warm breeze persists. - Greg Rappleye has an excellent post about the "poet-self" from Wordsworth's, Eliot's, and his view. - I have a special pair of glasses for computer use. Today the thin band holding the right lens in its frame/ snapped, and the lens popped out to the right across the rug, stopping on a large sheet of semi-soft plastic. My sister said she'd take me to the eyeglass store tomorrow morning. I've called the store. They may be able to fix them there. Not sure. - Brian A. J. Salchert

Wednesday, October 3, 2007


The Undulant Trees Twenty-One Indoctrination the militancy of mandated mustaches masquerades mellifluously mourning after morning § Farmed Out the jonquils' joyance jeopardizes the genteelness of jackdaw journeyings § Implicated once the/ word is heard herds of words like murd'rous birds stir the nerds - Brian A. J. Salchert


We're back to partly cloudy in Springfield, MO. At PM 2:45 the sky is mostly clear. - See my "Other Journals" for links to the following: * John Latta continues to intrigue with his Furlani / Davenport posts. - Ironic "Poetry Needs To Be More Academic" post at Mark Wallace's site. - Linh Dinh - Reyes Cardenas (R C) - Until I work out a definition of my own, I favor Jonathan Mayhew's definition of logopoeia. There's a link to his blog in my Other Journals list. See his 9-10-2007 and 9-12-2007 posts. - Some minutes ago I perused 20 non-linear poems at Jukka-Pekka Kervinen's site. The 5th one down (the 1st of the sep 4 photos) is the nlp of the 20 on that page which most appeals to me. - AAP's American Poet, a journal I have never seen, was in my mailbox today. I've paged through it &/ read one short poem by Judson Evans. Unless s/he uses words in a singular unwavering way, a reader cannot learn much from one poem. Will get back to this journal later. ------------------------- English Verse - Brian A. J. Salchert

Tuesday, October 2, 2007


Didn't turn computer on until after PM 2. My sister and I, from about AM 9, were out running errands for me. I don't drive. - The weather today is warmer and iffier. There's a line of storms heading northeast out of Kansas. It may flow to the north of us. PM 5:15 - The storm flow out of Oklahoma is not friendly. Here I have had to turn the desk lamp on. It sits at the left back corner of the deep 2-drawer filing cabinet to my right. I have it pointed toward the wall corner behind the deep 2-drawer filing cabinet straight ahead of me. My system monitor sits at this cabinet's right front corner. I sit 3 feet back from the monitor. PM 9:19 - Storminess did arrive but now is passing east. I had to unplug for a while. - Brian A. J. Salchert

Monday, October 1, 2007


Some unlikely sites have found S H. - PM 3:04 - cool, clear, 31% humidity. - Because of what is on one of the 3 blogs I added links to yesterday, I have been spending most of today researching logopoeia. Haven't put together my thoughts on it sufficiently, but I know my thinking diverges from (attempts to encompass more than) the thinking about it, it seems, others are sharing. I do, however, agree with most of what the author of that one blog has said about it. Welcome to the Hollow of obscurities. ------------------------- "Arid clarity": Ezra Pound, Mina Loy, and Jules Laforgue -- by Peter Nicholls - Brian A. J. Salchert