Vacaville News

horror and ecstasy

glenwells — Tue, 13 May 2008 05:29:19 GMT

is not that it is illusion but that it is real the so-called 'downfall' comes as much from disbelief as believing if survival depends on being Leader then of course, there will be leaders. be it reverence, awe, gratitude or love of it as distorted as it can become it prevails.

Vacaville

glenwells — Tue, 13 May 2008 04:54:40 GMT

The city was a Pony Express stop and was home to many large produce companies and local farms which flourished due to the Vaca Valley's rich soil, including The Nut Tree. Papa Roach is a four-piece rock band from Vacaville, California. They broke into the mainstream with their three times platinum major-label debut album Infest (2000). The group's success continued with later releases Lovehatetragedy (2002) and Getting Away with Murder (2004). The group's fourth major album, The Paramour Sessions, was released on September 12, 2006. # Vacaville has the highest per capita concentration of electric cars in the world, giving it the nickname "Voltageville".[2] # Actor Jon Voight filmed The All American Boy in Vacaville the problem with facts. Once they fall apart, they are very difficult to put back together again. in Gettysburg in sunset in green foliage and dead reminders turning stone to soup minerals bequeathed to sons your daughters hearts broken lined across strewn avenues of debris crisis of antipathy a watch and word so spoken adjust to kind and harsh reality subset token art objects barely saved if only in defiance that's not victory

Truth or Reality

glenwells — Tue, 13 May 2008 03:47:53 GMT

unchanging and reality is fixed a backdrop scene setter stealer truth is made light of I'd wish the joke were on me laid loose, all serious stretched skyward haunting some fabric taken up sewn shut muted serenity unclothed revealed beneath shouldered moon shuddered awake

The Mobile Mineral

glenwells — Sat, 03 May 2008 04:21:49 GMT

http://www.qubit.org/people/david/Articles/MMM.html "No other mineral is capable both of flying through the air and playing the piano." - David Deutsch Have a Soul or have soul? If to do or not do is still doing and to be or not to be is still being and to have a Soul or have soul is... Do you have to have a Soul to have soul? What is having soul? What is it to have a Soul? Do you have to have soul, to have a Soul? What if you don't have a Soul? We already know some don't have soul? Or do we? Is it just some soul that is not recognizable? Is it just some soul that doesn't seem so cool? Why are those with soul, so cool? And why are those that don't, are so uncool? If one has a Soul, don't all have to have a Soul? And what if one can lose a Soul? What about the ones with soul? Can they lose it? Whatever that it was that made them cool is gone, or out of fashion, or just gotten old. Maybe they are dead. How much soul can they have now? Just the soul that they had. Just as much as can be remembered. Rediscovered.

Joy

glenwells — Wed, 30 Apr 2008 06:15:36 GMT

Even blind eyes can see the mountain turn into a fountain, that overflows with joy turning into shouts of glee smiles abound when facing each new day no heartache or pain can deny the ever-filling laughter that comes from within and spreads out to the great wide world feel sad for for just a moment, then let the moment fade Joy surrounds the spirit, let the spirit fly free to seek its happiness inside the glow of love take care the treasures you hold dear they are the source from which the fountain flows and the mountain is not a mountain when it moves as a molehill to become a river flowing joyously

The Prisoner

glenwells — Wed, 30 Apr 2008 06:09:53 GMT

the long lost alibi mistaken for a thief stolen hearts and many teeth smiles in bounds swollen feet wrapped in sound toe tapping dancers reel gestures relate the story no motive forsaken truth be told, no misery the crime remains an ideal revolution gains ground it's swell, the fill-up menu eating well stuffed and bated breath releases sound the vibrations tingle mingle with the echoes clowns and frowns silly slap-stick mounds rising with the tides swallowed whole Alcatraz wasn't meant to be the jails have all been set free

the flood

glenwells — Wed, 30 Apr 2008 05:56:00 GMT

a flood of emotions have awakened me from a deep, deep sleep high and low happy, sad I was dreaming of a beach I walked along the shore waiting for a sunset an ocean is still calling as I swim through the feelings at once calm, serene and elated anxious, disturbed and upset I do not watch the news I saw Viet Nam in my teens Will a nightmare never cease?

Wistful Smile

glenwells — Wed, 30 Apr 2008 05:44:59 GMT

a bit chagrined chained loosely to the floor feelings untouched desire of flesh just a wish for sight unseen

Tomato 3

glenwells — Tue, 29 Apr 2008 20:35:25 GMT

while walking today, I saw some fruit dropped, or left randomly. 3 tomatoes scattered over 2 maybe 3 blocks, almost like bread crumbs I followed them. I really like them to eat and the urge to reach down and pick one up to munch was there. but no, I let them lie, maybe for a bird, a squirrel, raccoon, someone much hungrier than I. there was also one really smashed-up cucumber too.

Where Are They?

glenwells — Tue, 29 Apr 2008 14:44:16 GMT

http://www.technologyreview.com/Infotech/20569/ Why I hope the search for extraterrestrial life finds nothing. By Nick Bostrom Technology Review, May/June 2008 Nick Bostrom, director of the Future of Humanity Institute at the University of Oxford, hopes the search for extraterrestrial life finds nothing. He says a finding of some form of ET life might be a sign, in combination with the lack of any known communication so far from ET, that any sufficiently advanced civilization discovers some technology--perhaps some very powerful weapons technology--that prevents the emergence of a space-colonizing civilization, and causes its extinction. And that could be our future if the "Great Filter" (one or more evolutionary transitions or steps that must be traversed at great odds in order for an Earth-like planet to produce a civilization capable of exploring distant solar systems) is still ahead of us.

Another Dead Soldier

glenwells — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 08:29:57 GMT

there's a shadow on the moon far away from dark and gloom it's lifeless and still like all of us no less real when you have doubts jump up and shout! feel the shadow move to this I say- 'What we were, you are; what we are, you will be.' In the beginning, there is presence, light and energy, being of such intensity, no other existence in proximity is possible, as far as they can tell. I remember the time I lived with two gay guys, no wait, two gay guys, a really big dog, I don't remember his name, I'll call him Morpho and a small dog, her name I remember, Kitty. Morpho and Kitty had puppies, well Kitty had the puppies, Morpho just looked on in wonder. The puppies died. They were cute miniatures of Morpho, at least until they got buried. One day I was riding in the back of some sort of hatchback, staring out into the angled sky, the moon was still bright in the early morning, not quite ready to set or fade. It had a shadow, what seemed for the first time, I noticed that it was this ball I was spinning on casting its shadow out and it was somehow reflecting back to me and maybe even me to it. As far as I can tell, Being has some lessons to teach, fear no evil, fear not death, without opposition, proposition, supposition there is no position, no glow, no show. as a slow ebb matching well with a bursting flow a memento in reverse St. Ursula out of verse with vision by Elizabeth justly venerated by death oh sweet sister of mercy set inside, no need to curtsy with veil I melt, without I felt a moment out of such some simple reach of touch with out-stretched glove blissfully seeking you above

Leonard Cohen

glenwells — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 04:48:37 GMT

http://www.leonardcohen.com/ "What is a saint? A saint is someone who has achieved a remote human possibility. It is impossible to say what that possibility is. I think it has something to do with the energy of love. Contact with this energy results in the exercise of a kind of balance in the chaos of existence. A saint does not dissolve the chaos; if he did the world would have changed long ago. I do not think that a saint dissolves the chaos even for himself, for there is something arrogant and warlike in the notion of a man setting the universe in order. It is a kind of balance that is his glory. He rides the drifts like an escaped ski. His course is the caress of the hill. His track is a drawing of the snow in a moment of its particular arrangement with wind and rock. Something in him so loves the world that he gives himself to the laws of gravity and chance. Far from flying with the angels, he traces with the fidelity of a seismograph needle the state of the solid bloody landscape. His house is dangerous and finite, but he is at home in the world. He can love the shape of human beings, the fine and twisted shapes of the heart. It is good to have among us such men, such balancing monsters of love." http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Leonard_Cohen

My Eyes

glenwells — Sun, 27 Apr 2008 06:19:17 GMT

are dreams that see what I protect they show the life that I project some say they are mirrors to the soul to me they are more a reflection of a goal dreams can also be memories and the past can seem like reveries I would rather spin new visions create reality with choices and decisions this freedom is cherished and ideal and cause enough to protect what is real.

Memory Layne

glenwells — Sun, 27 Apr 2008 05:56:33 GMT

http://www.archives.gov.on.ca/English/exhibits/art_comp/big/big_05_bianco.htm Summer Lane, 2002 Tony Bianco oil on panel I recall two poem titles from my teen years. "He Rose To The Occasion" and "The Penance Of A Saint". The first was written after I fell for Jesus and reading "A Stranger In A Strange Land". The Viet Nam War was dominating the nightly news, to my mind the world seemed badly in need of saving. I can not recall the details of the poem, the line, He rose to the occasion, was repeated several times. The He in the poem was dressed all in white, perhaps in a flowing robe, or an all white suit, kinda like the one Tom Wolfe wore. I think the poem described the terrible toll war inflicted on friend and foe alike. The seeming paradox that either side could be right. Another paradox was to bring war into the living rooms of those living thousands of miles away, television had a way of making the war all too real and at the same time unreal, it some ways it was like watching a movie, except this movie kept on going and going. On and on. The poem was a pray and a plea, please someone come and save us. Save us from ourselves. I am pretty sure when the Savior came, He was riding a White Horse. Oddly enough, I think He carried a Sword. Maybe it was a Magic Sword. He would wave the Sword and cause the weapons of war to disappear. The combatants would be confused and stop their fighting for awhile, but before long, hand to hand fighting would break out. More Magic was needed. The Sword was used to cut off the soldiers hands. As I recall the poem was quite bloody. Like the T.V. news. Eventually, it came down to a war of words. Again the Sword was used to try and bring peace to a World that had no use for it. The Magic Sword cut the tongues out of everyone. A World of Mutes who had all means of warfare taken away from them, one by one. Still, in their silence, they did not like each other all that much. The second poem is about me wanting to be a Saint. Why a Saint would need Penance, I am not too sure. At the time I probably did not know what Pentance was, or what a Saint really was. I knew of Saint Joan, Saint Paul and Saint Augustine, but had no clear idea what they were really were. Nothing much has changed. A few years later, I found myself as an aspiring Monk. It was only for a short time. I took vows of Poverty (that was easy, I was already poor), Chastity (again easy, I was still a virgin) and Obedience (easier still, I had no clue what I should be doing). The life of a Monk was quite peaceful, insulated somewhat from the outside world, very simple for the most part. Eat, sleep, work, serve God. God wanted me to be a Monk for awhile. Cool. I also thought I was serving Pentance. I had taken a religious name. Christopher. Actually, Christopher was an ex-Saint by this time. It seemed there some dispute as to if He had ever even existed. If He didn't, I wondered who it was that carried the Baby Jesus across the river. Any way, as a teen I think I thought I was a Saint. Even Saints fall from time to time, and must repent their sins. There may be nothing sadder than an ex-Saint, who may or may not ever existed. "Whatever happened to St. Christopher? Is he still a saint?" Before the 1969 reform of the Roman calendar, Christopher was listed as a martyr who died under Decius. Nothing else is known about him. There are several legends about him including the one in which he was crossing a river when a child asked to be carried across. When Christopher put the child on his shoulders he found the child was unbelievably heavy. The child, according to the legend, was Christ carrying the weight of the whole world. This was what made Christopher patron saint of travelers. His former feast day is July 25. Before the formal canonization process began in the fifteenth century, many saints were proclaimed by popular approval. This was a much faster process but unfortunately many of the saints so named were based on legends, pagan mythology, or even other religions -- for example, the story of the Buddha traveled west to Europe and he was "converted" into a Catholic saint! In 1969, the Church took a long look at all the saints on its calendar to see if there was historical evidence that that saint existed and lived a life of holiness. In taking that long look, the Church discovered that there was little proof that many "saints", including some very popular ones, ever lived. Christopher was one of the names that was determined to have a basis mostly in legend. Therefore Christopher (and others) were dropped from the universal calendar. Some saints were considered so legendary that their cult was completely repressed (including St. Ursula). Christopher's cult was not suppressed but it is confined to local calendars (those for a diocese, country, or so forth).

Bottom of the Well

glenwells — Sun, 27 Apr 2008 05:42:52 GMT

floating free of thoughts missing nothing I have seen catching wind, chasing past the chase enter space, void and filled no mingle in the mainstream edge of darkness, center of light speeding no more, still and meaningless Being sought and found God reflected, my heart dissected all in the middle, blood flows clear feelings lost and feeling felt the One remains, one with all and gone soaring with Glory, full of Grace Peace with peace Truth with truth Beauty with beauty without a sound, no sight, no taste just the touch of Spirit, filling every hole made Whole made Love made Everything and Nothing Quiet and Serene Calmness in the Storm Complete

blessed

glenwells — Sun, 27 Apr 2008 04:57:40 GMT

blessed are the worried they will be reassured blessed are the paranoid they will not be stalked blessed are the complainers they will get double coupons blessed are the unlucky they will find four-leaf clovers blessed are the clumsy they will have an awesome vertical leap

Jesse

glenwells — Sun, 27 Apr 2008 03:42:19 GMT

Jesse with your smile you make me want to walk the mile You took my seed into your love now you have gone and put a song into a dove Our child will have your eyes, that shine so bright you have turned my day away from all that is not right Jesse, so strong, so true with you I can not be blue The child inside you grows for this and more I owe you all my prose

Solvent

glenwells — Sun, 27 Apr 2008 03:38:59 GMT

waiting on a sun ray pedestal to the stars glowing in a dream state whisper wisdom from the rear touch the feelings that try to hide give voice to memory and grind work it out

Peace

glenwells — Sun, 27 Apr 2008 02:29:38 GMT

Piece "That will do to be going on with." * Lost as to what to think. I was no longer sure what was going on, could it be that wizards were for real. Was there really magic in this world, where it had seemed there was no magic at all. I would have to rethink my entire mindset. Asleep in the house of darkness. Alone in the sky of chaos. Apart from contact, there was no one to talk to, that's okay I don't have anything to say. Except this. Memory had taken over all function, instinct had ceased to operate. A soul lost in a space without form, a void that had every appearance of normal life, a lie that had me fooled at many turns. I went about not feeling, not seeing, just remembering an order that seemed familiar but was really just strange. I acted the part of belonging, the shadows spoke back, as if accepting, it wasn't true. It wasn't real. It wasn't real at all. A little attitude. it's a good thing. talking back is polite, but doesn't have to be polite, among friends. when tomorrow breaks, the sky will will light up. the dawn will fall and the fates will call. in dreams we will wait for memories, we got what we asked for. our lot is what we made, we wasn't aware, we were surprised. the future is a time that is not made. the lives we live are a test of our own making. whatever we decide, is when we divide. from one time line to another. each moment is a crucible. each act a manifesto. i believe bacon decreases hair lose. then the moments occur unabated. we have lost the thread, become adrift in the sea of time. back to square one. the peace was non-existent. we were so content. the bomb exploded. we scattered, we imploded, we left the scene of the accident, we were caught looking, * a Dumbledore quote from one of the Harry Potters

Flamingo Tripping

glenwells — Sun, 27 Apr 2008 02:08:30 GMT

Flamingo tripping straining to wake a sleep gods and frog rejoice limping floppily with remorse Tension flaunts legality controlling dreams within reach of Real Evil absconds with liar's thirst eyes aglow, believes it All The drug acts nice yet leaves momentary paralysis while frozen Time reveals its inner workings now, all but forgotten The formula gathers neglect

Immune

glenwells — Sat, 26 Apr 2008 21:53:53 GMT

“Have we touched?” -Dorothy Parker Untouched by war A cut that bleeds Dries And maims all the innocent The killing fields widen Laws brokered, sealed Again, Fathers and Sons Divided Friend and foe alike have beliefs akin Yet fight to the death To have their own Be King Won’t pretend to understand The lies are won or lost In the silence of the dawn Pain immune Can not heal

Catalectic

glenwells — Sat, 26 Apr 2008 21:16:00 GMT

Tis love's opposite shore to hate injustice for evermore with clear conscience Twas green against sky inheritance confined to cry near cloud's rain Whilst engaged in sitting spy the dead carry the living across sea's storm Whence ship's bow broken under crowded halls ghost voices spoken where wind sings * A catalectic line is a metrically incomplete line of verse, lacking a syllable at the end or ending with an incomplete foot. This isn't that. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Catalectic In verse, many meters use a foot as the basic unit in their description of the underlying rhythm of a poem. Both the quantitative meter of classical poetry and the accentual-syllabic meter of most poetry in English use the foot as the fundamental building block. A foot consists of a certain number of syllables forming part of a line of verse. A foot is described by the character and number of syllables it contains: in English, feet are named for the combination of accented and unaccented syllables; in other languages such as Latin and Greek, the duration of the syllable (long or short) is measured. When scanning a line of verse, a poet looks at feet as the basic rhythmic unit rather than words. A foot can consist of multiple words and a single word can contain many feet; furthermore, a foot can and often does bridge multiple words, containing, for example, the last two syllables of one word and the first of the next. To scan for feet, one should focus on the stream of sound alone and set aside the actual meaning of the words. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Foot_%28prosody%29

Dance

glenwells — Fri, 25 Apr 2008 20:00:55 GMT

"No species of performing artist is as self-critical as a dancer" Susan Sontag. This may begin with a teacher. Or perhaps a beginner’s inability to exactly match some dance that is seen, thus the first teacher is introduced by way of example. Complexity is a convenience here and there it is seen to be a necessity. Say that something has symmetry, if there are transformations that might have changed it, but in fact do not. Dance proceeds into what may have been said to be play, perhaps what might now be called work, this transformation is a subtle change, that can go unnoticed, even though everything is intentional, mapped out, strategized, in another word, choreographed. It becomes the precision and exactness that guides the body through and into movement that now transcends beyond the obviously exaggerated forms of ballet. The dancer in essence loses, actually gives up willingly through perseverance, a way to leave while for a time is still witnessed by their audience, even then in the most self-critical moments left alone and transformed not to be a dancer but to be Dance.

REs and DEs

glenwells — Fri, 25 Apr 2008 16:29:17 GMT

For all of those, my dearest friends, who do not survive today, yes the 'button' has been pushed, shoved even, repeatedly, maliciously, accidentally, fervently, unknowingly, expectantly, haphazardly and so on... ...and somewhere on the other side of a world, some button punched, something selfishly good is enjoyed. For some not destroyed, the 'button', is just kind of stared at from time to time, as needed, as wanted conveniently. ..and some turn away to face a brighter day, where any buttons are used a little more judiciously, wisely, and these buttons are disconnected from destruction, wired solidly to reconstruction, rejuvenation, a host of res that boggle the mind. some res and des do whats theys please just because some futures seenable doesn't mean they ain't exchangeable and changeable.

Colours

glenwells — Fri, 25 Apr 2008 05:45:54 GMT

now danger comes thinking thoughts ideas that sweat drops fall or roll swelter in the heat tasting colors drinking blood red eating sunshine yellow chewing earth brown sipping gently on sky blue swallow whole anger crimson choke down forest green gorging fluently on majesty purple now danger passes asleep in blackness emptiness starved no color no food hunger wakes my tongue a flicker of light to taste