Ripley's Believe It or Not

Io, one of Jupiter's moons,

has volcanoes

that erupt

up to 190 miles in the sky.

Barter

Life has loveliness to sell,
All beautiful and splendid things;
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
Soaring fire that sways and sings,
And children’s faces looking up,
Holding wonder like a cup.
Life has loveliness to sell;
Music like a curve of gold,
Scent of pine trees in the rain,
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,
And, for the Spirit’s still delight,
Holy thoughts that star the night.
Give all you have for loveliness;
Buy it, and never count the cost!
For one white, singing hour of peace
Count many a year of strife well lost;
And for a breath of ecstasy,
Give all you have been, or could be.

-Sara Teasdale

Are there no signs ..

A fish cannot comprehend the existence of water. He is too deeply immersed in it.
- Sir Oliver Lodge



The anniversary of my brother’s death is nearing, and I’ve fallen prey to one of those ‘they are still among us’ books. Even after all these years, my need to believe that he is still around is so powerful. This book tells me all things I want to hear, and it’s so tempting to cling to each story and promise (none of which are backed by any facts).

One of my living brothers is an atheist who thinks it’s all hogwash. Everything ends with death, he says. There is no afterlife, no ‘they are still among us’ bullshit. I’ve been researching all those hack psychics like John Edwards and Sylvia Brown and have determined there is nothing more despicable than a lying con artist who manipulates those in mourning. These talk-to-the-dead psychics are like contestants on the Wheel of Fortune (I’m feeling a Y, I’m feeling a K – something that starts with K?); but there was one psychic in particular who (I’m ashamed to admit) I sort of believed. I won’t even name her, because the entire thing is too embarrassing, but it’s that whole ‘they are still among us’ thing again. I am interested in her for the same reason that I love Rob Brezsny’s horoscopes, even though I know astrology is just hokey. I'm looking for poetry, I'm searching for symmetry. I need to believe in something or I believe nothing. I suppose I'm having trouble living in the grey area I've inhabited of all my adult life. In the end, I don’t know if he’s here or vanished. I could say, All that remains of my brother are the bones in the ground. Or I might say, He’s in heaven with angels. Or I might say, he’s come back as a chipmunk. ..

Surprisingly, I’ve learned atheists have a sentimental side.
“He lives in me. My memories of him keep him alive.”
I’m paraphrasing, of course, but it was something to that effect. I suppose, for now, it will have to be enough.

I don't know that I want to be wise ..

I suspect the world is divided into skeptics and believers. And I don't want to pick a side.

I miss crushes.

My crushes as a girl were so strange. They ranged from Optimus Prime -

- to the Artful Dodger from the movie Oliver.

who incidentally was also on the trippiest children's show of all time -

I know this says something about me, but I’m really not sure what.

things i learn from books

The Masai tribe of Africa speak the Maa language. There is no word in Maa for "future," and so they live without hope; but they also live without fear.

death's portrait taken ..

Holbein is my new obsession...

living

and all I could taste was the aroma of the hospital
the smell of pale white gowns
the ends of beds
mysterious and frightening chemicals
more frightening than disease itself
the remedy worries me more than
the cause, the root, the plant

it is the realm of mad science
we try to live forever
afraid to abandon our skin

and decay
in spite of ourselves
the earth’s pull

magnetic

HisWomen

Often too much truth ...

People see the harm in what excessive candor can do.