Of Gas & Precipitation

Presented, to your dismay, sans contrition…

A Poem

He blew two sequent farts
of such obnoxious distinktion
that the effluviatic foetor
malingering in the domestic atmosphere
drove him out of doors.

Yea, verily, even into the rain
that, proverbial Bardolotriessence,
raineth quotidiantic,

— Tuesday, 29 April 2014


Episodes of Epistaxis

Recently, Life has, repeatedly, given me a bloody nose. And I don‘t like or understand it.

I never previously suffered with nosebleeds (okay, possibly once when I smacked my face into something, but not frequently and not mysteriously, as has been the situation this past month). Now, not to panic — such bleeding has only occurred four (or five) times, and it always clots away pretty fast, in an hour or less, nostril squinched closed between fingers clutching blood-absorbing kleenex (okay, Big Corporate — “facial tissues”). I havenʼt even been deprived of much of my precious sanguinous fluid, but this bodily misbehavior is new and puzzling.

Sure, it has been very cold (last night may again have set a record subzero low) and therefore dry both indoors and out, but I never spontaneously spouted red before… I would like to know what‘s up.

And that (rather moderately strongly motivated) curiosity prompts me to (after yet another two-month gap) to post anew here on Wakdjunkaga‘s Blog.

I have for years been taking a prophylactic blood-pressure-reducing (and arthritic base-of-thumbs pain-alleviating) nightly aspirin (or two) which I have ceased for several weeks, thanks to this novelty of spontaneous bloody eruptions from my left nostril. Did (optimistically) thinning my blood cause this (possibly age-related) unpleasant phenomenon?

And, abashed, I acknowledge that I do possess witlessly a lifelong unwholesome habit of digitally disentangling dried olfactory viscidity, and an errant fingernail may have in a thoughtless moment abraded a surface vein or capillary. (Yeah, sometimes my affection for periphrasitic pleonasm may have its euphemistic benefits.) And such boorish personal expurgations (but always restricted to private moments) may have unconsciously occurred since the epistaxis began…

However, I have diligently attempted to cease both possibly conducive activities — medicinal and chamferous. So far to no avail.

WikiHow "How to Stop a Nosebleed" — There are an amazing number of manga images of nosebleeds when one googles the term Try it yourself.

WikiHow “How to Stop a Nosebleed” — An amazing number of manga images of nosebleeds result when one googles the term!

The first incident was February 2, as I was bent over trying to tie my shoes before we left town for the day (which we did but an hour or so later than we might have done without exsanguination). I had the idea perhaps the stress of doubling my fat belly to reach my ankles might be causative (and I still wonder, as you will see). A small second eruption seeped spontaneously while we were looking for birthday cards at Target a few hours later; I plugged myself and sat on a bench by the doors, feeling inadequate until she had bought her selections, by which time, maybe ten or fifteen minutes later, it had ceased.

The second was the most startling so far (okay, maybe third). February 8, in the evening, as I was just begun on my shower, suddenly there was red all over. It took me a minute both to see and to realize. And it was really gushing, too. Just great. Janet scurried to my aid, and I had to stay both naked and incompletely dry for too many minutes before clambering one-handed into nightclothes and sitting myself quietly in my TV-viewing recliner for a good forty minutes (or more). She had to clean up my phlebotomistic mess, unfortunately. I eventually went to bed dreading that I might suffer another bout onto my pillow — although I did not.

Assuming I didn‘t skip any events, the third/fourth experience delayed until the 26th. During the gap I did halt the aspirin intake, mostly, but had returned to a baby tablet at night while we had been away for her birthday celebration at her sister‘s house. So I had consumed minute aspirins five nights (maybe fewer, as I don’t recall if I took one every evening). This time I had just finished dressing myself to head east for the nightly workout when I realized I had swiped blood onto the back of my hand. Eff! This bout extended over an hour, with several resurgences, each always on a reduced scale after I believed it had stanched. No workout that night…

And the fourth, most recent was yesterday morning (thus two within a week lately). I had arisen, not particularly early, ready to shovel snow, as we had received a new four inches or so overnight (actually all Saturday afternoon and into the night, and I had scraped away what might have been two inches midafternoon, after a previous inch Friday night). This time, I had gotten outside and pushed two big passes of snow away, realizing I really should get out the snowblower, when, on my way back across the driveway to the garage door, I saw red spots form on the snow. Effing eff of eff! Yesterday, I pinched my nose for maybe twenty minutes and three absorbent paper squares until She-Who-Must was ready herself to do the snowblowing, when I just jammed a new kleenex (“nasal tissue,” whatever) into my nostril, most of it hanging down over my lips, and quickly hatted and gloved to go out and help/show her how to get started. I kept at it (scraping at snow and machine tracks), with one replacement of the instantly frozen kleenex until the job was done a half hour later, and my epistaxic episode had concluded. (I liked not feeling like an invalid, worthless, while the incident proceeded.)

And that is where this new unpleasantness in the corporal husk stands as of now. Puzzling and distressing. Is exertion to blame? Am I headed for apoplexy? Will a perhaps lacerated blood vessel heal and end my predicament? No more aspirin, ever? Should I investigate nosebleeds as a consequence of lisinopril and/or simvastatin intake? Suggestions?

Advice or insight on this annoying development would be appreciated.

(Sorry about the gruesome topic, but I did previously write on ocular migraine symptoms and lipoma surgery. This issue — hideous pun — seemed to be right in line with those topics — quite popular, at least by hit counts. And I really would appreciate some advice.)

(composed with Bluetooth keyboard in MacJournal for iPad, transferred by wifi to the computer for editing and uploading for further editing to WordPress)

©2014 John Randolph Burrow, Magickal Monkey Enterprises, Ltd, S.A.

Cold Because Warm, plus Pathetic Denialism

I just read online that after forty hours below zero (Fahrenheit), temperatures in my region have at last risen to positive integers. Whoopee!

This event has only marginal significance, even for me. Weʼre supposed to exceed the freezing point finally on Saturday. That will mean something, as we may at last begin to melt some snow.

What stimulates me after some months to write on the blog again is a pathetic citation I noticed in my Facebook feed just now. You see, yesterday Scientific American instructed me via Twitter about the “polar vortex” that reporters in various media have been misconstruing. Supported by an interesting YouTube video, it reveals how climate change (“global warming”) has, by heating the arctic, caused us to suffer extreme “arctic” cold. No big deal, sure. Some basic climate science, really (just stuff I hadnʼt known before). But I posted the links on Facebook and tweeted the same. Another few seconds online, really. However, an old friend, of apparently dextreme opinion, felt it necessary to post a pathetic bit of deceptive rhetoric from the climate-science deniers at The Center for Research on Globalization (funded by whoever knows what excrement-load of Kochoildollars to deny deny deny at all costs whatsoever).

You should click on the link above to read the jumble of words presented as an argument now.

As poor argumentation, the page is worth deconstructing…

source — NASA

source — NASA

Faked “fact” 1 — Climate has always changed, and it always will. The assumption that prior to the industrial revolution the Earth had a “stable” climate is simply wrong. The only sensible thing to do about climate change is to prepare for it. Nonsense: no one, except delusional straw men, has ever claimed the climate never changed. What climate change science has shown is a stark rise in global temperature since the industrial revolution due to dramatically increased greenhouse gas emissions (i.e. exhaust from burring fossil fuels). I guess if you are a Koch stooge, unwilling ever to modify our energy sources, you may believe all one can do about what we have done to global climate is “prepare,” but thatʼs false, too. Deception technique = Straw man.

Faked “fact” 2 — Accurate temperature measurements made from weather balloons and satellites since the late 1950s show no atmospheric warming since 1958. In contrast, averaged ground-based thermometers record a warming of about 0.40 C over the same time period. Many scientists believe that the thermometer record is biased by the Urban Heat Island effect and other artefacts. Apples and oranges. But he is also merely reproducing a pseudofact about the weather-balloon data that I cannot find anywhere except from climate change deniers (and none of them present any source for the assertion, merely repeating in lockstep the same hot air). Is it merely a lie? I suspect so, and our “authority” proffers no evidence for us to think otherwise. His “many scientists” is just the old FoxNews “many believe” lie: who are these many? Nematodes? His “many other artefacts” is simply words without meaning — if there are “many artefacts,” name them. He doesnʼt; ergo, they donʼt exist.

Faked “fact” 3 — Despite the expenditure of more than US$50 billion dollars looking for it since 1990, no unambiguous anthropogenic (human) signal has been identified in the global temperature pattern. Invent your own terms (and moving goalposts). The denierʼs invented unfound”signal” goes undefined (and therefore unfindable, eh?) whereas science established decades ago a clear connection/parallel between human-caused greenhouse gas emissions and climate disorientation. The cost of research is irrelevant to the argument, no matter what (as it will be again later), even if his unsupported number is accurate, which we cannot tell because he offers absolutely no support to his statements ever, anywhere in the article, relying instead on the fallacy of authority (calling himself such).

Faked “fact” 4 — Without the greenhouse effect, the average surface temperature on Earth would be -180 C rather than the equable +150 C that has nurtured the development of life. Just another straw man — no one wishes there were no greenhouse effect ever on earth. The problem is how we have spiked its effects over the past 250 years (and morons who close their blind eyes and shout “No, no, no; I don’t want to hear” instead of working sensibly to do something about our greenhouse gas emissions, I suppose).

Faked “fact” 5 — On both annual (1 year) and geological (up to 100,000 year) time scales, changes in atmospheric temperature PRECEDE changes in CO2. Carbon dioxide therefore cannot be the primary forcing agent for temperature increase (though increasing CO2 does cause a diminishingly mild positive temperature feedback). Now I am getting bored, so letʼs just point out that there is no evidence presented for this assertion sequence — none whatsoever. And no one accepts what he says (well, 97% of scientists disagree).

Faked “fact” 6 — The UN Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) has acted as the main scaremonger for the global warming lobby that led to the Kyoto Protocol. Fatally, the IPCC is a political, not scientific, body. Hendrik Tennekes, a retired Director of Research at the Royal Netherlands Meteorological Institute, says that “the IPCC review process is fatally flawed” and that “the IPCC wilfully ignores the paradigm shift created by the foremost meteorologist of the twentieth century, Edward Lorenz“. Cherry-picking evidence: one climate denier has a single friend who may or may not agree with him (notice we have no link to the source of these clearly partial quotations, so we have no way of knowing what the old Dutch guy actually said in toto). So what? And that “main” before “scaremonger” (nothing but name calling there) is a weasel word — the real meaning is that there are plenty more sources promoting Kyoto or there could be no “main.” Of course, the UN panel isnʼt itself a scientific body (the UN is a political body); their political work, arranging treaties and protocols, relies on the science our denier ducks (the “scaremongers” this guy fears to address and so ignores).

Faked “fact” 7 — Having introduced his single variable, our densewit denier continues to run with it (and with further unsupported nonevidence). The Kyoto Protocol is easily attacked, being a result of compromise and therefore by definition imperfect in itself alone… The Kyoto Protocol will cost many trillions of dollars and exercises a significant impost those countries that signed it, but will deliver no significant cooling (less than .020 C by 2050, assuming that all commitments are met). The Russian Academy of Sciences says that Kyoto has no scientific basis; Andre Illarianov, senior advisor to Russian president Putin, calls Kyoto-ism “one of the most agressive, intrusive, destructive ideologies since the collapse of communism and fascism“. If Kyoto was a “first step” then it was in the same wrong direction as the later “Bali roadmap”. Once again, a single voice (who may or may not even be scientific himself) expressing merely an opinion — cherry picking and substituting opinions for facts. Likewise the false flag of the cost of Kyoto, quickly substituting that ball for the real payment issue — our hothouse future.

Faked “fact” 8 — Climate change is a non-linear (chaotic) process, some parts of which are only dimly or not at all understood. No deterministic computer model will ever be able to make an accurate prediction of climate 100 years into the future. The argument avoids acknowleging the utility of statistical projections (such as those meteorologists made to warn us of the current cold snap, duh). And crystal-ball-gazing (our denierʼs flatfooted prediction of future events) is as illogical as it comes, boys and girls. I bet heʼd have claimed weather people would never predict weather patterns with any accuracy whatsoever if heʼd been writing in the 1930s. Straightforwardly, Mr. Denier doesnʼt know the future and doesnʼt even have the guidance of computer models (unlike climate science, which does have models doing just what he says they donʼt).

Faked “fact” 9 — Not surprisingly, therefore, experts in computer modelling agree also that no current (or likely near-future) climate model is able to make accurate predictions of regional climate change. This is actually just number 8 repeated, sadly, and the “experts” go unidentified and therefore unreal. The lie is substituting regional climate for the actual topic; heʼs a wonderful three-card monte sleaze artist.

Faked “fact” 10 — The biggest untruth about human global warming is the assertion that nearly all scientists agree that it is occurring, and at a dangerous rate. Actually that statement is simply false. Nearly all scientists do so agree (just less than a hundred percent).

And now having faced down his weakest (but weirdly last) pseudo-facts, my boredom limit is achieved. The guy had nothing there, just subintellectual legerdemain, and clumsy sleight-of-hand at that. Our denier also later presents some”myths,” too, and I will address those if anyone insists or is interested (almost all are simply more straw men he erects himself to wobble with his own hot air).

Oh, yeah, I am mad (at such stupid deception and those who apparently fall for it), so thus my stylistic choices above — none of which invalidate my points but merely express my limitations as a human.









©2014 John Randolph Burrow, Magickal Monkey Enterprises, Ltd, S.A.

Going Modern (Maybe)

I’m trying something new here. Once again I am dictating; however, I’m not talking into a microphone on my computer.

Normally (and previously) when I created blog post, I’ve been working on my iMac. And I’ve either been typing directly into WordPress online, using a browser, or I’ve tried various programs from which the text is sent to WordPress online. Using Scrivener, I had to export as HTML, open in a text editor, copy from there, and paste the HTML code into the online WordPress nonvisual text window. It worked pretty well – mostly because I like Scrivener a lot. But the process was klunky and required many steps. Then I got the program MacJournal in a bundle, and when Chronories became defunct with Lion and Mountain Lion systems, I started trying to keep a little journal in the new program. And one day, fairly early on, playing around with the menus I noticed its blog publication and tried it. It worked! From thereon at least the beginning steps of my blog publication always commenced with MacJournal.

Of course I have not been regular in the past couple years putting anything on the blog, but I have at least been playing with it.

With my bug trapping job returning this summer, and me being on the road overnight for even more days than last year, I began to feel really cut off in hotel rooms in the evening. Although My Beloved had expressed a definitely alternative, negative opinion about my solution, I knew what I should do for myself. I wanted a tablet, an iPad.

And with money coming in, even with thousands spent already for our vacation this fall, I decided I could do what I wanted. So I did.

Our Kindles have been such a pleasure for us (a little more on that, maybe, to come, as there have been some issues with The Lovely One’s Paperwhite) that I thought a tablet and the ability to get online when away from home would be a wonderful thing in my life. Our lives.

Last fall, when we were in Santa Fe for vacation, we used the “experimental browser” on the Kindles to check out restaurants and other possibilities while we were in our casita. The browser, definitely experimental for us, worked better on her Paperwhite than on my basic Kindle. I realized then that a tablet — for me, meaning an iPad — would probably be a good idea. Both at home and on vacation (or on the road alone, working, as I originally indicated).

And Apple is probably getting ready to release an improved (Retina-screened) iPad mini right now.* So prices have been dropping. Somewhat.

Somewhat temptingly…

the Mini shooting itself

the Mini shooting itself

Yeah, we all guessed it: I bought an iPad mini. (Don’t tell Her-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed! Okay? She doesn’t yet realize it, even though I used the mini to find a late-night restaurant and check weather, repeatedly on that latter activity, when we were in Des Moines for brother Paul’s ordination into full eldership among the United Methodist clergy. — I suppose she thought it was just the ole Kindle’s old experimental actually working…)

And for the past five or six weeks I’ve been adding apps and getting used to the little thing and what it can do. It has been fun and useful to check email and Facebook on those nights away from home, and I’ve even found a few fascinating little applications that enhance my life and inform and entertain me.**

However, the point of my post today is not the device but its latest app — the WordPress app.*** I’m talking to that app as I write, and it will be the system I use to get this post up (at least we hope so). So far it’s working pretty well (note an issue or two in footnotes below). And it’s been kind of fun, wandering about the house, anywhere I want (untethered by cords or Bluetooth range), talking out my erratic thoughts.

So now let’s see if I can add a picture and my usual formatting and get this thing up. I hope you are reading soon!

(Yep. So I clicked something and published a little ahead of schedule while getting the photo. Itʼs edited now, ten minutes later.)

* With my eyes, I bet I’ll never see the difference (what I’ve got looks pretty clear to me; and I seriously somehow doubt/know that video and gaming will [not] increase in my life in the next decade — the typical Wakdjunkaga lifespan for devices, based on admittedly limited prior experience).

** Perhaps there are some blog posts on iOS apps that could come. Maybe…

*** Surprising, and annoying that the app doesn’t seem to recognize its own name when I say it. I had to correct two words, “word press,” into the name of the site and the program WordPress. (And yet again.)

©2013 John Randolph Burrow, Magickal Monkey Enterprises, Ltd, S.A.

from an auroral episode

I wrote a poem this morning — renovative experience, nearly novel for this old man.

Writing poetry interests me…  I composed words in my thoughts striding southwestward (some of which still occur more or less in what I merely recall later with uncertainty), seeking colors and description for what I halfwittedly observed.

Pity now that I had no camera to coldly record what my warm eyes saw, because then I could have a decent photo to include here. This (pretty) photo I found has too few clouds but has some of the effects correct (far too orange for my experience, however, as readers will perceive for yourselves).

But the words come first.

I wonder if this is the real last draft…

Aubade in retrospect

rags of cloud,
bluegray and crumpled
like fat ash frozen,
empurple the western sky,
a vault of frayed slate
shredding to ultramarine overhead

eastern cloudfringes,
pinked and bright
crumpled rosewhite beachheads

That moment was
already past
then, now astray —
the pink prows
of those tattered cloudsails
neon white

and the rest
to the west
declined to gunmetal, grim.

Wednesday, 1 May 2013

©2013 John Randolph Burrow, Magickal Monkey Enterprises, Ltd, S.A.

Cromwellʼs Descent

Sitting at my chiclet keyboard on a gloriously sunny, clear-blue-skies afternoon,* with Eric Claptonʼs exhilarating Derek & The Dominos-era guitar ringing from the iTunes-inspired Bose computer speakers, I realize that my previous perfervid post wasnʼt much of a literary review. I really just raved about how excellent was Hilary Mantelʼs Wolf Hall (and I really did like the book, a lot). Letʼs rectify that slackness just a little.

This portrait (of Thomas Cromwell) and Holbein painting it receive much attention in the novel.

This portrait (of Thomas Cromwell) and Holbein painting it receive much attention in the novel. Mantel successfully brings this hardfisted, aggressive fellow to sympathetic life (and her character even sees himself reflected somehow truly in Holbeinʼs image).

Wolf Hall is the story of as-yet-to-become English Lord Chamberlain Thomas Cromwell, whose reality had until this novel been thoroughly colored, for me, by Leo McKernʼs indelible and ruthless characterization in the film version of Robert Boltʼs A Man for All Seasons.** The (21st century) book covers most of Cromwellʼs life, from childhood (it begins with a shatteringly evocative, harrowing sequence of young Cromwell being beaten by his father — the provocation for the youth to leave England and commence his wayward career toward politics, via trade, mercenary soldiering and finance) through the execution of Sir Thomas More. Some of the bookʼs pleasure, for me, arose from clever (and appropriate) resituating and revisioning of Moreʼs memorable bon mots as recorded in Boltʼs play and film. The published (and also Man Booker prizewinning) Bring Up the Bodies covers the years through the execution of Anne Boleyn, and the third volume will take us through Cromwellʼs own extralegal but state-sponsored demise.

Mantel turns Boltʼs seriously cold, cruelly calculating villain into her protagonist (perhaps tragic hero) by placing the novel firmly within his point of view (that vivid opening set piece establishes the perspective while promptly and efficiently promoting our sympathetic identification). Seeing the world from his mindframe keeps him very human (uxorious, family-loving, generous in spirit, cultured) even as his actions gradually turn vengeful and (not noted to himself in Mantelʼs prose) scheming. Cromwell reappears, grown to middle age, as Cardinal Wolseyʼs utterly competent jack-of-all-trades*** just as the crimson-robed butcherʼs son is about to fall (failing to acquire Henry VIIIʼs desperately sought divorce from first wife Catherine of Aragon). Wolsey, perceived through Cromwell, of course is also a mostly positive figure, whose humiliation, defeat and death earn our sympathy (and Cromwellʼs, naturally — very importantly stimulating motivation for the blacksmithʼs sonʼs subsequent political career in this novel: those behind and present for Wolseyʼs destruction almost all “get theirs” by the end of Wolf Hall****).

Once Wolseyʼs died, Cromwell moves into the orbit of Anne Boleyn, unwillingly (she caused the cardinalʼs fall, after all) and over the years (and the pages) while suffering his own losses and successes arranges the necessary divorce, then the royal (not legally a “re-“) marriage and crowning for Queen Anne, meanwhile putting various enemies (unstated, until toward the final pages) and friends in their places (negative and positive places) as he rises and grows close to the king. What Cromwell and Anne share is then-modern religious feeling and theology, both being firm to-be Protestants supporting vernacular translation of the Bible and corresponding faith and doctrines.

Thomas More — also by Hans Holbein (one of the fun moments during the book was figuring out who “Hans” might be… )

Thomas More — also by Hans Holbein (one of the fun moments during the book was figuring out who “Hans” might be… )

Stubborn, fanatical zealot Thomas Moreʼs descent from power and doomed course toward execution — all capably managed by our sympathetic Cromwell (he really does sympathize with the thoughtful Catholic philosopher but not with his heretic-burning, self-flagellating, regressive and reactionary creed). As More participated in Wolseyʼs ruination (not to mention multiple burnings at the stake for personal friends and religious compatriots of Cromwellʼs), his destruction brings our protagonistʼs rise from the ashes of his becrimsoned mentorʼs defeat to a vengefully victorious climax. Also, tellingly (although the book ends with Cromwellʼs scrupulous care for Moreʼs bereft, scholarly daughter being able to acquire her traitor fatherʼs head for burial) we witness in the final stretch Cromwellʼs satisfactions here and there as various enemies are managed (capably, competently, effectively) and revenge (for Wolsey and others) accomplished. Clearly, the abused boy (grown to calm, proficient maturity) has coarsened his character, steeled his soul, descended morally — he is quietly but definitely headed toward his own fall, barely six years in his future.

It is a lovely book, engrossing, colorful, detailed, marvelously told and brilliantly written. It brings both the people and the era to vibrant and fascinating imaginative life.***** Mantel richly deserves her many accolades and awards for this wonderful book.

Now to relax a bit. Claptonʼs still playing (the computer has offered almost no blockages to my work, even with iTunes in action), and the day is yet lovely. Later, gentil readers.

* (it snowed, heavily — huge flakes obliterating any view whatsoever for hours midday — yesterday, piling up at least two and a half inches of snow here in Our Town, more to the north)

** Andrew students had to suffer (or possibly enjoy) that movie to introduce Renaissance England (and ultimately Shakespeare and Hamlet) in Advanced English for, I believe, decades. (I at least enjoyed the ritualistic annual indulgence in great storytelling… ) Just as McKern made Cromwell in my perception (from my mid-teens onward), so did Orson Welles embody Wolsey and of course Paul Scofield for Thomas More.

wolf-hall*** His capable and smooth omnicompetence (at just about everything, so literally so) is the manʼs major characteristic in the book. We witness the multitudes that he knows and understands within himself and how others (at least say they) perceive him; the king in particular comes to value Cromwellʼs ability to get done whatever needs to be accomplished.

**** And much as we may come to identify with and care for Thomas Cromwell (invariably in the book just “he,” often confusingly — but deliberately so), his hardening heart and vindictive progress are revealed… quietly.

***** Thus we come to the big topic — historical fiction. But I have said so much on just this book that I had better reserve my thoughts on books about (and from) the past for some other post.

Images from Wikipedia

©2013 John Randolph Burrow, Magickal Monkey Enterprises, Ltd, S.A.

Nothing to Say?

So, itʼs two months and a week since my last post. What else isnʼt new?

Well, jaw-droopingly enough, The Lovely One  has actually asked me to try posting regularly. (I know — tradition holds she hates any time I spend at the computer, even writing, and she has always thought my pathetic posts here on Wakdjunkagaʼs Blog were, uh, pathetic.) So at her behest more or less, letʼs  conclude the ten-week hiatus:

ClocksI have been doing nothing much with those 69 days. nearly nothing at all. (I did finish and revise a short story to submit for possible publication — the result still suspended in the atmosphere somewhere/somewhen. “Scholarsʼ Folly” takes Søren, sans Judah, from northeastern Iberia to Córdoba for a really bad day with supernatural intrusions, his subsequent ethical self-flagellations being reserved for what will become the following chapter in the final novel. However, that effort filled less than a week, really, the original composition having been part of my NaNoWriMo 2012 enterprises. The revised product was e-mailed for editorial consideration way back in mid-January.)

Today, having actually gotten a break from nearly daily snowfall (no lie — culminating in three days of flood-inducing rain), punctuated by regular weekly blizzards (both requiring me to shovel rather than head out to exercise first thing in the darkness before dawn), I did my time on the elliptical and came home feeling genuinely determined to do something (for once) today.* So here I am pecking away…

Unfortunately with nothing to say.

You see, that (lack of postable content) has been the major problem (other than lazily and worthlessly diddling all my time away each day) preventing the blog from acquiring updates. Nothing to say…

(And when I consider all that I found myself able to blather in 2010 when I did the post-a-day thing so glibly and logorrhea-cally, perhaps the current chastity of content seems less pitiful and more prudent. Perhaps.)

The same lackluster life (mine) has also prevented me from keeping my letter-writing particularly current (and I do need to write both to my long-suffering aunt and communication-deprived bother later today or no later than tomorrow). I havenʼt even added more than a few thousand words to my creative endeavors. Plenty of mental composition but nearly nary a word even smartpenned to paper for eventual upload into the (contemptibly frustrating) digital presumed-reality.**

However, even with this despicable deficiency of (for equally miserable want of better terminology) subject matter, I felt as though I must post something. So this drivel is it.


* Of course, my eff-viscerating, worthless computer has had other ideas: those first few sentences have taken some seventy minutes to get on the screen, as multitudes of pointlessly intrusive background processes have taken over the computerʼs processor cycles ahead of my considerably-less-than-feeble keyboard smashing (but regardless how fiercely I punch a key, for some reason Spotlight uselessly updating its database or the virus-protection programʼs mercilessly intrusive “Behavioral Injection” activities take precedence regardless). Yep, nothing has changed; and the computerʼs incompetence frustrates me and drives me away from the infernal screen/mouse/keyboard to do something that might seem potentially productive (or at least less emotionally traumatic) — like reading the Kindle instead (but more on that tomorrow). Appleʼs demonic apparatus and its meddlesome softwares even contrived to get me to delete somehow the original final sentences of the parenthetical conclusion of the paragraph above the one to which this footnote appends.

** And now, suddenly there is no ceaseless drive-grinding (blessed silence on that front for my tinnitus to fill with ethereal cacophony of unreal audio-effervesence instead), and the menu meter indicates merely four percent of the memory and processor active — thus my letters and words actually transfer from brain-and-fingers through the keyboard to the machine and thus the screen (and eventually, we hope, onto you). Astonishing.

Facebook Timewaste

Once again, I do have reports on reading (and recommendations thereby/fore), not to mention some travel and maybe even other items, for future posts — assuming as inevitably ever, the damned device permits.

©2013 John Randolph Burrow, Magickal Monkey Enterprises, Ltd, S.A.