• Life,  Mac


    “Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma, which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become.”    – Steve Jobs

  • Mac

    I remember those dark days.

    From John Lilly’s tumblr: ‘Fuck Michael Dell’  “It was a tough time at Apple — we were trading below book value on the market — our enterprise value was actually less than our cash on hand. And the rumors were everywhere that we were going to be acquired by Sun. Someone in the audience asked him about Michael Dell’s suggestion in the press a few days previous that Apple should just shut down and return the cash to shareholders, and as I recall, Steve’s response was: “Fuck Michael Dell.”” Awesome. Someone ought make T-shirts. I know I’d buy one.

  • Uncategorized

    The Guardian by Joseph Mills

    I don’t think my brother realized allthe responsibilities involved in beingher guardian, not just the paperworkbut the trips to the dentist and Wal-Mart,the making sure she has underwear,money to buy Pepsis, the crying callsbecause she has no shampoo even thoughhe has bought her several bottles recently.We talk about how he might bring this upwith the staff, how best to delicately askif they’re using her shampoo on othersor maybe just allowing her too much.“You only need a little, Mom,” he said,“Not a handful.” “I don’t have any!”she shouted before hanging up. Laterhe finds a bottle stashed in her closetand two more hidden in the bathroomalong with crackers, spoons, and socks.Afraid someone…

  • Uncategorized

    October 1st entry From The Gardeners bed book by Richardson Wright

    THE MONTH OF OCTOBER Verses for a Night Walk. Autumn brings me closer impacts with reality than any other season. The balmy airs of Spring and Summer breed in my mind only pretty pantheistic sentiments, but let a tang spill into the air, and my comfortable and easy-going soul is spurred on to great adventure. On nights such as these I disappear over the back wall and head across country. The stars are sharp and brittle. Odors of dying vegetation rise from the ground. I tramp on, searching for what Vaughan said he saw–“I saw Eternity the other night,Like a great Ring of pure and endless light,All calm as it…

  • Uncategorized

    KURT VONNEGUT: Agnes Scott Commencement, Sunday, May 15th, 1999

    Hammurabi gave us a code which is honored to his very day by many nations, including my own, and by all heroes in cowboy and gangster films, and by far too many people who feel they have been insulted or injured, however slightly. However accidentally: An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.Revenge is not only sweet – it is a must! What antidote can there be for an idea that popular and poisonous? Revenge provides revenge, which is sure to provide revenge, forming an endless chain of human misery. Here’s the antidote: Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. Amen. Some of…

  • Life

    My favorite selection from “A Father’s Story”

    printed from the book Selected Stories by Andre Dubus  I have said I talk with God in the mornings, as I start my day, and sometimes as I sit with coffee, looking at the birds, and the woods. Of course He has never spoken to me, but that is not something I require. Nor does He need to. I know Him, as I know the part of myself that knows Him, that felt Him watching from the wind and night as I kneeled over the dying boy. Lately I have taken to arguing with Him, as I can’t with Father Paul, who, when he hears my monthly confession, has not…

  • Poetry

    In the Basement of the Goodwill Store

    by Ted Kooser In the musty light, in the thin brown airof damp carpet, doll heads and rust,beneath long rows of sharp footfallslike nails in a lid, an old man standstrying on glasses, lifting each pairfrom the box like a glittering fishand holding it up to the lightof a dirty bulb. Near him, a heapof enameled pans as white as skullslooms in the catacomb shadows,and old toilets with dry red throatscough up bouquets of curtain rods. You’ve seen him somewhere before.He’s wearing the green leisure suityou threw out with the garbage,and the Christmas tie you hated,and the ventilated wingtip shoesyou found in your father’s closetand wore as a joke. And…