Tag Archives: RDP

Sumptuous Spring

Sucker punches fade;
These thawing skeletal shards,
the harbingers of rebirth

So . . . last night’s post took me forever to write — like eight hours or so, with the constant diversions of doing my job while sitting in the building’s control center. But the real issue wasn’t working around work, but trying to figure out WordPress’ interface. You see, I haven’t been posting regularly for several years, and so I find myself paying the price of having fallen behind. The interface changed. In a way, it was totally alien from how I was doing it before, and so there is a learning curve there.

Fortunately, I’m starting to figure this thing out, and it looks like I might actually have a few more toys to play with. Building a post, it’s now like stacking Legos, and how much better is that than hacking together html, copying, pasting, etc? It seems like there’s even potential here for site layout design.

I’ll keep digging on that.

But anyway . . .

Believe it or not, Spring is right around the corner. Here in North Dakota, where we have a reputation for cold weather, proper winter didn’t really set in until several weeks ago, and then a couple weeks ago the temps just plummeted. An unseasonably mild winter became car-killing weather, as though Mother Nature jumped, realizing that February had crept up on her and cranked it all the way down to -11.

And the irony of it is, even if we’ve really only had a month or so of bitterest cold, it’s still too long for my taste. I hate cold weather. I’m still not lucky enough to have a home without drafts or cold spots, the window panes have thick layers of frost on them, and even keeping the thermostat at 68 does little to ward off the cold that likes to sink its teeth deep into my flesh.

But I think there’s a sumptuous spring right around the corner. Literally and figuratively, we’re in a position to rebound, to move forward and make things better. Four years of bald-faced political chicanery. Insurrection at the Capitol. No real closure. Winter storms, power outages, water shortages . . . staggering losses. Human losses. Have we had enough yet?

Some people fight change, while others fight for a better tomorrow. It would be nice if it felt like there were more of the latter than the former.

Let’s bounce back. We can make tomorrow even better.

Tanka Tonight

Dreaming astride an abyss
then sailing away
anteceded sudden loss —
as though stars fade out
while slumber eludes my grasp

Wisdom is a funny kind of thing. It feels like one of those things that, it would seem, the more of it one has, the less of anything else they have. In spite of this, some people relentlessly seek it out and perhaps for the same reason some people avoid it like it’s a disease.

Not to be confused with common sense, which surely works the other way around, wisdom comprises a set of indissoluble truths that can only be truly gleaned through honest observation of, and interaction with, the Universe. Like Pokemon, some believe you gotta catch ’em all, and yet it seems like each one is as wriggly and slippery as an eel. Each truth is hard to hold, harder to keep, and one can’t possibly internalize the entire set in a single lifetime.

Maybe it’s an undesirable side-effect of middle age, but it feels like the more time wears on, the less wisdom is in evidence in the way affairs are carried out in the world; common sense, too, seems to be falling by the wayside. The news is full of examples of this seeming decay.

Perhaps it’s only a matter of time before we are all plunging into that infinite abyss I saw in my dream — each of us just one in a crush of lemmings driving recklessly toward the edge precipice.

"Dark" by Revise_D is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0
“Dark” by Revise_D is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0

Is that too negative? I don’t know . . . I can’t pretend to have an infinite well of optimism. Perhaps there’s little wisdom in saving my writing for just the sunny days. There are other days — darker days — and those need to be aired out just as much, if not more.

Pugilism

I like to beat the bag like it owes me money. Sometimes it feels savage, sometimes it feels like more effort than it’s worth. And while many might think there’s catharsis in such activity, I feel like doing it for that reason alone is dangerous . . . because even when you do it for the physical aspect, when it gets you dialed into a meditative state, makes you sweat, makes you want to win at everything — it still trains the brain to know what it’s like to punch something. And sometimes when you’re dealing with a particularly difficult person, part of you is curious about what that feels like.

Of course, for me that’s very rare. I tend to be cool, and when things heat up I’m more likely to walk away than lash out, because the skin of my temperament is so thick its lineaments do little to betray the scars of my youth; the rifts and cracks long left behind now barely show, to the point where I sometimes question their continued existence. At this point, they’re fading quickly into the past. That’s where they belong.

There are days and then there are days — those days when you happen to find the one person who is going to test your patience. My thinking is, it’s best to have a deep, deep well of patience if you hit a bag on the regular.

No issues here, and no regrets. My well is so deep.

Not just another Tanka Tuesday

Have you ever found yourself clearing out a craft space that has long sat unusued, only to discover a finished product that never saw the light of day?

I said the other day I’d be working my way through the handful of drafts in my draft folder. Here’s one that I found today, and it was fully written. Here it is, with zero changes. Originally written on December 20, 2016, this post dates from about a year after the lights started going out on my original spate of blogging . . . about three years solid, and five years since post one (seriously, I just scrolled through all of it; Holy Hannah Banana, I have a ton of material!) Today this blog is nearly eleven years old and I have some cobwebs to clean out, but as it turns out, I also have something left over to offer — a little look into the mood that pulled me off the page for so long . . . .

room by room
turning off the lights
unsure as to why
I get the impression
it’s time to withdraw


I’m pretty sure I’ve been islanding. I’m almost certain that it’s not entirely my fault — I blame some of it on climate change. Things aren’t the way they used to be, and I can’t tell whether that’s because I’m always either resisting or having trouble keeping up, or whether it’s simply because I am no longer a kid, and I get that now. 

Every year the ocean levels are rising, and the shores of my island become smaller. I’m being forced inward. 

Or maybe it’s supposed to be like this. As the drum beats time marches on, and as we disconnect from the Matrix of old social paradigms the tubes and wires connecting us to them pop off, leaving us cold and alone in our very own pod, surrounded by a sea of machines and trite little tchotchkes, a blip of life in a Universe drowned in invisible data.

But I can’t believe that; it’s fatalistic. It’s dark, I know — and I promise that it won’t always be this way. But sometimes to find treasure you have to be willing to dig through a mountain of trash, decaying remnants of old life, mouldering bones and offal. It’s a dirty job for sure, but someone ought to do it. 

I’ve had the good fortune to be a WordPress blogger for years, even in spite of long absences, and this place has helped shape who I am. Writing gives us an outlet and a place to put our thoughts and ideas in order. To put ourselves in order. And I must write more, or risk losing myself in the shuffle. And I guess that means getting some of this stuff off of my chest and working it out. 

I find it ironic that I use this space to talk about how I see technology as an increasingly efficient disabler of the natural social construct, leaving unfulfilled more and more the visceral call to community that built the world that made WordPress possible. 

Maybe it’s evolution, or maybe someday it will turn out that my job was to document the fall of humanity. If so, then I might be woefully behind as outsiders have already set up shop within our borders. Or maybe I’m just looking for something other than myself to blame. 

This is me, digging.