Ancient intellectual property infringement

Left: Tibetan scientific illustration, 1300's. Right: Operation game board, 1965.

Clearly Milton Bradley has some explaining to do. Here are a few more ancient Tibetan anatomical illustrations...

Alan Watts' Voice (unlimited power=ultimate boredom)

Alan Watts was America's most loving teacher, our devoted guide, Rinpoche of the wild west. He is more or less responsible for any main-stream modern interest in eastern philosophy and religion in Europe or America. I love him for his untamed lucidity, his majik-mind-compass... he could begin on the distinct trail of one thought or question, then wander way off-road following seemingly disconnected and vague paths, and then quite naturally arrive at a conclusion both profound and simple... often deceptively simple. He wrote with such clarity that his words seem to form in my mind before I read them on the page... I could go on and on...

Below is an audio clip of a lecture he gave (in the 70's, maybe). This is ripped from a longer podcast from alanwattspodcast.com a site run by his son that posts posthumous lectures weekly. The pseudo-oriental music at the beginning of this clip was their mistake not mine, try to forget about it fast and focus on his majik.

Gary Snyder's Voice (2 poems)

Here we have two poems written and read by Mr. Universe Gary Snyder. Such is his clarity of mind that he effortlessly reveals the cosmic nature of eating. And (against all odds) Snyder makes his relationship to his computer feel wild and beautiful! Hear is his voice.

"The Song of the Taste" & "Why I Take Good Care of my Macintosh Computer"

Forever Wild Above Us, Pt. 2 & 3

The Canyon (Financial) District

The Rock-Dove is a remarkable flier. She can adjust her short wings and tail within a fraction of a second to account for a strong and sudden gust of wind. Evolution insists on these precise adjustments and movements when you nest and fly and feed near the walls of cliffs and in canyons... These Doves must change with the wind that is channeled through the canyon, or bounce off the rock walls themselves. The city offers many of the same challenges, and the Rock Dove thrives here too, living under its urban nickname the Pigeon. The wind that blows down the canyon floor of the financial district is a force to reckon with, especially considering the way traffic enhances the danger and unpredictabilty. Yet a sudden blast of air from a bus speeding by is taken in stride, and the Rock Dove simply flaps on.

Eternally Bonded

The Rock Dove, although magnificent, is not the top of the canyon (city) food chain. Indeed they are (and have always been) culled by the Falcon; bonded eternally as bio-regional foes. I sat reading in Dolores Park (my surrogate wilderness) sometime last year, I looked up from my book coincidentally at a beautiful moment; the timeless wild was revealing twenty feet in front of me... I watched as a Falcon struck a pigeon from above. The force of the blow pushed the Pigeon into the grass, where it fought for its life, trying to get out from under the Falcon, as it in turn tried to hold on tearing feathers from the Pigeon's back, leaving little grey clouds behind them. Somehow the Pigeon managed to get out from under the Falcon and back into the air, it joined its fellows there, falling into evasive formation flying, confusing and frustrating the Falcon. The Falcon settled in a tree, quite close to me and rested for nearly an hour, I watched it the whole time in wonder. No doubt it was exhausted, and even more hungry.

(photo notes: from the internet)

Forever Wild Above Us, Pt. 1

Ravens and Red-Tail

Ravens amassed above a gas station on Divisadero (San Francisco). Construction meant traffic, so I got to watch with my friend Rob, speculating on the kerfuffle... "A cat on the roof, near a nest?" Unlikely, but "surely some predator, a raptor maybe?" Sure enough a Red-Tailed Hawk rose up from the canopy of the Shell Station and flew a few feet to rest on a street-light right in our sight-line. The other birds followed and resumed their pained shouting and molestation, dive-bombing and croaking ceaselessly. One enraged Raven pulled a feather from the crouching Hawks head, startling him. A small something, a Raven chick, fell to the street faster than the feather. And the hawk took off, and the ravens flew away, and grieved together.

(photo notes: from the internet)

Yugen Movie II (anti-viral video)

Yugen Movies. Short videos of boring things... a.k.a Anti-viral Videos. Actual locations of little importance.

Lofoten Story

“Let’s walk around that lake.” I said, or Dan said, or we both said. It was early evening in the endless arctic summer day on Å (pronounced: Oohah) an island in the Lofoten chain of islands/mountains in the Norwegian Sea. These mountains peak out of the ocean then run along its floor and don’t come up for air until Scotland. They are crumbling, and considered by some to be the oldest mountains in the world.

Å is an exotic vowel meaning “creek” in Norwegian, and there was indeed a tiny creek flowing out of the lake. I had a Nalgene™ water bottle 1/3^rd full, Dan had nothing, and we walked. No camera, how strange, no lens or screen to capture the world, instead it captured us, and nearly killed us twice. We tromped through marsh, mud, bog, and giant wet sponge moss, and so our shoes were soaked through. Four waterfalls fell around the lake, high and thin and misting. They seemed to say: “be wet with us,” and smiled, so we were, and did.

Our rations were depleted already, the water drunk, I filled my bottle with water seeping through a rock face, percolating there for centuries, the world’s most effective Brita ™. It was very cold and very good. The mud became a giant sinkhole, impassible. We hiked up above it, and walked a cliff’s edge, nearly fell (both of us) and crawled the remainder.

Beyond the cliff a stand of stunted pine trees stopped us for a while, we rested and went back to the lake-shore. There was a rock-pile like a castle there, we climbed inside and cannon fire seemed to ring out from an enemy fortress, in reality it was the sound of an enormous boulder trundling off a cliff, rolling faster than anything and splashing down in the lake. Enormous sounds! Enormous splash! Enormous boulder, rolling right through the place where we stopped to fill my water bottle… twenty minutes between certain death by rogue crushing stone, and play in an imaginary fort.

Four hours later the stroll we took on whim was complete... lake looped. The sun was up, as always, but the only restaurant was closed, so we bought slices of cake from a glass display and drank beers on the pier™ for dinner.