blogging off

why science fails, again & again

poetgrrl — Mon, 17 Sep 2007 05:36:50 GMT

"Many explanations have been offered to make sense of the here-today-gone-tomorrow nature of medical wisdom — what we are advised with confidence one year is reversed the next — but the simplest one is that it is the natural rhythm of science. An observation leads to a hypothesis. The hypothesis (last year’s advice) is tested, and it fails this year’s test, which is always the most likely outcome in any scientific endeavor. There are, after all, an infinite number of wrong hypotheses for every right one, and so the odds are always against any particular hypothesis being true, no matter how obvious or vitally important it might seem." from: Do We Really Know What Makes Us Healthy? By GARY TAUBES Published: September 16, 2007 NYTimes

November 11, 1995: A poem for our car-mad country.

poetgrrl — Tue, 21 Aug 2007 11:45:25 GMT

On November 11, 1995 Ken Saro-Wiwa died also 3 whales, some dolphins, 15 turtles, a shark, tens of terns & marmosets, the odd dozens of ducks & geese, many salmon & flounder & perch, & god only knows how much krill & plankton. Our hand was in it. We had responsibility. Not knowing didn’t stop it. Hands extending today, yesterday, tomorrow, putting money in the hand of a polite gas station attendant. She is working her way through college, supporting a family, grateful to have a job. BP, or Shell, or Exxon, or Royal Dutch should be thankful that so many work for so little. Somewhere out at sea a ship’s captain reports in, the single-hull tanker is leaking. He speaks clearly, not caring if he’s heard, chance is it won’t make the paper; people are tired of feeling guilty, we don’t want to read about that depressing stuff. Our hand is in it. We have responsibility. Ignoring it isn’t making it go away. Hands extending everyday, key in ignition, foot to accelerator, shift into gear, seat belt or not. Insurance & monthly payments, tune-ups & oil changes, all prove we’ve made it, are making it, have somewhere to go. So important, needs so preeminent, tons of machine & hundreds of horsepower must be at our beck & call. The lure of speed, the seduction of power, the ease of driving, the love affair with cars, it’s all-american, it’s our right. Think of the jobs, all those people working we’d not want out on the street, all those drillers & pipefitters, riggers & drivers & refinery workers, the car sellers & repairers, & the gas pump jockeys. How would we live our lives without our cars? It would be so inconvenient we can’t even imagine, the very dream so farfetched as to profane. We have shaped our country in this shape, every city & road, every building & park, around these two ton, three-hundred horsepower, mass weapons. It’s our right to drive them as badly as we will.

day job dependency

poetgrrl — Tue, 21 Aug 2007 11:44:05 GMT

everyone who has one thinks everyone else should have one as punishment or revenge or obligatory indenture fuck day jobs that suck the joy from the day fuck day jobs that waste time & energy more than detroit ever did fuck day jobs that demean & debilitate & cost a million species work is the highest expression of our best selves anything less is suicide annihilation of our souls for material survival homelessness apt reward to indolence how dare you know how to be productive without a boss how dare you organize your own time you need a day job you have to pay to play following your instincts is dangerous who knows where you’ll go a little knowledge is dangerous freedom is lethal you need a keeper someone should tell you what to do for just enough pay to get barely by to spend too much to own too many things to want too much space to hog up the whole world you need a job to justify your existence otherwise, you’re worthless get a job get a haircut you’re a bum why do we give in to this crap why put it on replay in our heads everyone who has one thinks everyone else should have one should shoulder the pain stiff upper lip leave your emotions at the door tactics of the workaholics our heroes in this land of the do-too-much (cuz we consume too much take too much, hurt too much trash too much, complain too much) but never mind that look to the gods of industry & the goddesses of media note the rewards of frenzied activity the satisfactions of owning it all being the biggest money-grubber of course a day job won’t get you there

i love

poetgrrl — Mon, 20 Aug 2007 20:54:05 GMT

i love me the way i love trees & vines & weeds & wildflowers i know i love you cuz i hate you so much & we treat the world & each other with such hate i love everything that way the way i love hills & mountains buttes & canyons & miles long views, smoggy or clear i love everyone that way deserts & forests & open lands stretching to the horizons lizards & deer & little rodenty critters of a 1,000 types i love everyone that way big bue endless sky with a fierce sun burning or clouds in all their forms draped sheets of rain visible alongside rainbows yes, everyone, that way i love the world the way i love the universe the little nooks & crannies we can imagine stars & nebula & black holes & big bangs so far beyond our grasp, beyond us i love us, our joined selves our cooperation, our fascination the way we love together make the future forever i love you, i love me, we are god i love me the way i love you & i love you the way i love me & i love the globe beyond teevee & i love a planet of fussin’ & feudin’ & lovin’ & breedin’ & needin’ all the way

long day at work

poetgrrl — Mon, 20 Aug 2007 20:53:25 GMT

i'm a workaholic, bound up in my never-ending need to prove i'm worthy . . . of what, i'm never sure . . . . . worthy of taking a break, i guess; physically, mentally, what have you . . . . . & who's my taskmaster? me, of course . . . i do what i want, i'm my own boss, so it's all on me . . . . trying to be a good gentle reasonable boss, so as to maximize my productivity, with wiring that wants to go all drill sergeant . . . . . . . . .