When the going gets rough...

Existence has always been associated with compli- cations, for compli- cations somehow, and as absurdly sounding as this cliche continues to feel, no matter how much the pundits of hard-toiling lifestyles insist on pressing their faith-based views upon the rest of us, enrich our passage on this life-sustaining planet, giving our experiences a certain je ne sais quoi that could be equated with the most pleasing and intoxicating colors, flavors and aromas to have ever been produced, marketed and distributed on a global scale.

And talking about markets of global scales, I recently found out, while browsing the latest edition of the Econimist, that certain developing countries, mostly fervent recipients of food-aid programs, addicted to sweet NGOs interventions, have began leasing large portions of their arable lands to richer foreign governments. Imagine privatization blown into the nth degree, and that's how large these deals are.

How did this come to happen? Well, and to the best of my understanding, it seems that countries such as China, South Korea, UAE, Saudi Arabia and Qatar, deterred by the rising price of imported agricultural products and, in some cases the scarcity of water in their own turfs, being major crop importers and all, are choosing to outsource their farming needs.

Now, please forgive me as I raise a suspicious eyebrow, while a few questions begin swirling in my already helplessly crowded cranium in search of clarification. Then allow me to ask the following: How does this type of land acquisition transpire on the ground? How does these large scale land-grabs, water included, affect the local rural populace of such countries as Brazil, Mali, Angola, Tanzania, Cambodia, Sudan, Gabon, Madagascar, and Pakistan? Why am I foreseeing poor farmers being pushed off land they’ve built their lives on for generations? Why am I reminded of certain episodes reminiscent of the colonial era?

Certainly, the fact that the investing governments, in these particular instances, are getting some pretty sweet deals in return, (i.e., tax exemptions, right to import the entire crop back home, the end product being either rice, wheat, barley, or palm oil -you know... for biofuel use- as apposed to a diversely bio-sustainable arrays of food stuffs;) or that a million Chinese laborers, bless their hearts, will be, or are already, transposed on African soil this very year to do work that, I guess, inadequately trained Africans can't possibly comprehend, let alone perform; and let us not forget the use of heavy-duty agricultural technology, mutant seeds, and impossibly sophisticated pesticides, the whole thing amounting to a rather worrisome image, doesn’t help me see the silver lining in this sort of arrangement.

Am I over-reacting? Maybe, I am. Who knows... Surely, I'm just too confused to get a good pragmatic grip on this one.

Be well, and remember not to sweat the small stuff -right?

In Paris...

We frequented the terraces of cafe/bar/restaurant-type establishments, shoulders brushing against many stranger-type patrons, whenever a bodily adjustment was made, so closely were we casually crammed. Conversations intertwined, comments exchanged, questions made, jokes acted out, while pages and pages of personal matters, punctuated by the occasional laughter, floated over our heads carried by thick clouds of cigarette smoke.

Sipping proudly made and served coffee, I noticed how I was loving every ounce of it. Being stripped of my adoptive country's established standards for personal space didn't feel as irksome as I would have predicted had I taken time to consider the issue. Perhaps, this has something to do with my having spent two thirds of my life in an ex-French colony.

On the other hand, I ached for the good ways of my US of A each time I had to pay for restroom privileges, got lost on complicated romantic national roads, couldn't find free Wi-Fi cafes and meatless menus.

As for perfection, I do not think it exists, except in theory, and even then, one has to be compromising.

Be well, and enjoy what is at hand -it is as beautiful as you make it. Now, if you're an unremittingly stubborn romantic with a bend toward seeking perfection, I wish you all the good things you dream of.

Unremittingly stubborn romantic and proud of it.

Overheard tidbits of conversations...

Collected, as the lunch hour slips by, in a bookstore chain cafe. Surrounded by sound, I filter and select, seeking the unusual word, phrase, expression... To my left, a Dell laptop is rapidly purchased, through a six-minute meeting, all vagaries set aside, seller and buyer keeping it to a bare minimum -they had never seen each other. A few minutes after their departure, a couple of talkative characters, highly learned in the ways of TV shows, discuss the world in a most loquacious exchange of critical ideas and thoughtfully formulated opinions. Behind me, two senior citizens, comfortably anchored in two soft leather bound seats, argue, with rich dialectic repartees, what with society, the fall of mankind, the generational cultural demise... All is mixed in, and I'm not sure what the outcome of any of it happens to have been, as I turn off the monitor, and pack my belongings, stand, and ready my noisy-self to exit the building.

In search of inspiration, or sometimes in the spirit of procrastination, every detail counts.

From this window into a writer's most personal corner, I trust you have glimpsed, deduced, determined, concluded, etc. etc... that the creative path is not for the faint of heart.

Otherwise, busy fingertips, a deluge of keystrokes, deeply pensive looks, odd pantomimed monologues -enacted in public of course, a critically raised eyebrow thrown here and there -to the best of my ability, is what I am all about.

Be well, and do support the arts.

Something about phising sites...

invading my privacy, feels rather disturbing, and if someone else had told me about their own experiences with such fraudulent practices, I admit, that I wouldn't have been able to relate to their problem.

However, this past Sunday, and as I was lulling in a peacefulness attributed to living in the Midwest, I came face to face with one of these sneaky predatory tools, disguised as a message from one of my many virtual friends on Facebook. The message asked me to check a certain website, and I, not expecting the worst, went ahead and checked. Suddenly, my laptop froze, and I had to reboot it.

A while later, another message was sent to let all those who might be at risk know about the phishing scheme. Obviously it was too late for me. Or maybe not, maybe my virus protection software did what it was supposed to. I don't know, and I simply cannot discard the wild suspicion that some sort of bug has embedded itself in my laptop. Yes, maybe I let in some Freakish binary spy that is recording every key stroke I make, collecting usernames and passwords, and sending daily reports to some resourceful nerdy villain -now, somehow this idea is stressing me out, go figure.

Anyway, what I am trying to say here, is: If you get some kind of message from me, asking you to check some website address, well, don't. So, there you have it. My job is done.

Be well, keep your guard up, and trust that gut feeling when it tugs at your senses.

Memorial week-end...

passed, the departed were remem- bered, as banners, flags, and radio-wave interviews filled the backgrounds of our Monday. Then there were the mosquitoes, North Korea's missile testings, outrage in the White House, talk of repercussions, UN imposed sanctions. Slowly, but surely, the enemy is defined, as very different from us, immorality incarnated, the embodiment of evil.

Meanwhile, much suffering is felt in too many parts of this small world of ours, as less than 1% of the global population controls, in the most carelessly selfish of ways, more than 90% of the global wealth, blinded by numbers, profit margins, the sanctity of markets, insulated from the cries of children, mothers, the old, the unemployed, the trampled, the forgotten, the used, the maimed, and the departed.

Then, there is music, laughter, friendship, love, the sun when clouds dissipate, the cool breeze on a hot afternoon, Oceans, mountains, hills, valleys, birds, cats, butterflies, ice cream cones, random acts of kindness, children playing, innocence and so, so much beauty...

Be well, as life spins from perfection to imperfection to perfection...

Meadering on Mendota's lakeshore path...

I came across an unexpected character, a snapper, my first. Within a few minutes, a crowd formed around this dinosaur-like creature, as it painstakingly clumped its way, rather ungracefully for my taste, across the path and a grassy ascending hill, heading for a large bed of reeds on the other side of the road. Hands reached into pockets to pull cell phones and snap a couple digital pictures of the thing. Meanwhile, a few of us, acting as good caring Samaritans, moved to stand on the road to save the little oddity from being turned into a dead and flattened oddity.

A little while later, I saw a shirtless young man, wearing a single black glove and playing with a baton, making the same series of twirls, over and over, with dogged determination. For some reason, I found myself wishing he'd stop. So there you have it. Don't say I never shared anything with you.

Be well, and if you're looking for strange occurrences, take a walk around the nearest University grounds, I'll bet you a great deal that you will not be disappointed.

I had a plan...

A well crafted plan, then Shifty Time got involved, and the plan was once again eroded into the finest and most malleable of substances. I say again because I've carried many plans, only to see them, turned into dust, as Life does its thing, prods and tests the validity, the resolve, of my aim. Then, perhaps finding my stance, my vision, too rigid, turns to the alchemist within, and suggests with a knowing nod that he feeds the fire churning beneath the cauldron of Manifestations, while stirring me, body, mind, soul and spirit, into a whirling soup of probabilities. Thus, the dance begins once again -as for the steps... well we make them up as we go.

Be well, and be inspired.

6:45am...

A single engine aircraft begins circling our condo. Immediately, I am propelled to old memories of WWII bombardments -not that I was there, but if you've watched as many war movies in your childhood as I have, you'd probably see it as I do.

Madison is under siege, I maintain -how else could you explain the maimed roads, the police blockades near WholeFoods, a couple days ago, and now this little but awfully loud airplane hovering to no end over our heads. Indeed, Madison is under siege.

Yet, despite the noise and the madness, there is still beauty to be found, glimpsed, touched and appreciated, i.e., tall grass undulating, brushed by the wind, moving so much like the surface of my beloved ocean, swaying trees and bushes, less clothing on people, a blue sky stretching over more shades of green than I can notice.

The bug bites are itching still, but recovery is rather close, such is the price of globe-trotting -on a budget- in the sake of globe-trotting.

Wise bird hummed in my ear sometime yesterday, singing a song about how censored I seem. "Who are you?" it asked, pointing at the flaws in my depictions of the world. Wise bird, I am both this and that, I wanted to say. Yes, caustic, sweetly sarcastic, with a bite of bitter realism to repartee any fancy-dreamy-I-am-so-happy-about-life display that happens to come my way, I am. But, I am also in a state of awe,responding as best as I can to the fullness of life's give-and-take, as change, morph,and hopefully grow in the right direction. Did I lose you? Did I confuse you? Well then, my job is done. I shall keep you on your toes, Wise bird. And I expect the same from you.

Other than that, well, a beautiful day, this is, indeed. There's been much time offered to downloading pictures from the trip. And, I am compelled to say, "Enough already. Out we go, where the sun is being rather close."

Be well, enjoy your peculiarities.

Flamenco music...

accompanies me as I attempt to compose the following, should I add, in the spirit of heroic imagery, weighed down by a sprouting case of seasonal allergies, I crawl, elbows and knees battered by this ego-centered effort, over the rough texture of a blank page.

As for the intended content, well the world is too itchy at the moment for me to concentrate, so bear with me, as I pause and try to find the right jumbled string of thoughts. Yes, here it is:

It appears that Madison has been invaded by a restless army of construction crews. Not only are they restless, but they are also everywhere. I tell you there is just no escaping their blockades. Clouds come and go, but this infestation of urban improvement is of a consistently-present nature. So I ask you: Who amongst us enjoys living in a construction site?

Otherwise, past the allergens and the blockades, the world is a wonderful place, colorful trees and whatnot...

Be well,

Tour-ism...

is quite the endeavor, at least when I have something to do with it. So many places, peoples and moeurs. A thousand digital pictures, a trail of used batteries, a heap of crumpled receipts and brochures, and a good dose of well traveled germs, laundry to be done, bags to be quarantined and then disinfected, and so much, so much rest to be had.

Finally there is a whole world, met and appreciated, all senses involved, now slipping away, Time an ever-growing divide, between the loveliness of places, the cultural peculiarities that elate the mind, the gardens that speak to the heart, and the good coffee that pleases the senses... all a postcard viewed and misplaced, as we a awaken to the realities of our day-to-day obligations, for we are once again, back home -wherever that is.

So Madison it is. For now, at least.

Be well, and if you can, seek the path that awakens