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.


Monday, March 10, 2008


Venturings Commencement Still must I contend with vanity, and lose. For certain matters matter past all will, And though a poet would desire to die In purer worlds and there renew his life, The paradox reverses in its time. So days like this bring scratchings on a page With more important scribblings of mistakes, What then? But questions are irrelevant, The patron says. And so this little frame Sweats out its dusty task and cultivates A desert for his race, and so this youth Expends some thousand minutes swinging blanks Against a vaporous crowd; and so, at last, He really dies (his brothers will not miss Him though a few may hang his picture on Their inner walls); yet there's the patron, friend, And even if I were an angel low There'd be a ceiling to repair, a cell Which I could not escape but by a hard And satisfactory epic sky and cramps An old marine would rather not recall. But I procrastinate, as all our pseud- O intellectuals say. I must begin. Four years for most; still, nothing has an end, And we are what we make and what makes us; And if our senses slice through every realm Or every realm attacks and slashes them, Those days that rolled the snow across our eyes Or dropped the sun a certain million miles Are both our gain and never once our loss. How I despise these platitudes I raise Though they may well be truer than we feel (A spider's web could say as much; perhaps Much more); but there's the patron, sir, and though A mallow or a friendly wink would soothe In better ways anachronistic bones As these of mine, the world must check and mate Me if I ever hint at such a move. A grave iconoclasm now prevails Which, somehow, each of us must shatter out: But there are years and trees and many births-- Yet not a billionth of a spark of time-- For us. So where is our commencement won If not beyond these wrinkled vines, if not Beyond these growing stones, if not beyond? Someone will speak of orbs to us, but we Do not want orbs but herbs; but we do not Want herbs but love: learning all our lives. (1965-1982) - Brian A. J. Salchert

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