My Printer Has Attitude

I recently obtained a replacement printer from our local Best Buy. My old HP 812 was grinding and clanking and had to have the paper pushed into the feeder to work. My new HP (photosmart C4280) is much sleeker looking and has lots of cool controls and functions. I printed out a three page document after setting the print quality to "draft fast." The pages were printed at blinding speed (compared to the old printer) and were each shot onto the floor with what felt like contempt. It was as if my printer was saying, "here's your page, bitch!" The best response I could make was to turn it off. I can live with an abusive printer, as long as it works.

Distractions

We are distracted by: cell phones, text messages, web surfing, video games, television, books, magazines, each other, music, pets, love, housework, family, religion, and of course, our own mind. We are even distracted from our distractions. Television commercials, Internet advertising and magazine ads divert our already diverted attention. We are distracted because we want to be distracted. It may be what keeps us sane and manageable. Imagine a world of engaged, focused humans. If we really saw and understood what was happening around us how would we react? Would it be a world of social justice and common sense? Or a world of shrill short-sighted self interest. Since we already seem to have the latter, I would hope for the former.
I have always been deeply suspicious of the marketing industry. I don't think advertisers spend money unless it works, and I believe marketers have become quite good at convincing us we need certain things. Perhaps I should be grateful. The world we live in and the technology I am using at this moment may not exist were it not for the consumer lust at the heart of our economic system. This modulated greed keeps the wheels turning, and perhaps more importantly, it keeps us distracted.

The Dalai Lama says

The Dalai Lama says,
"If you can,
help others; if you cannot do that, at least do not harm them."
This is the essence of Buddhism.
It is simple, but hard.
Like many things:
losing weight, or getting in shape,
or saving money.
So many ways to fail,
but in the end I find comfort in my own quotation:
"Do your best, and remember, you are not
the Dalai Lama."

A poetic break

I was an angry young man.
Now I am just angry.
No.
I'm not very angry.
I'm just a man.
A middle aged man
In the process of realizing
It is all a process
The beginning is lost
The end beyond sight
The current moment,
tearing the cloth of time,
is crowded by the past
and the future.
I cannot just exist
I am an American man
burdened and lifted by
the mythology
of the American dream
by the mythology of
freedom
by the mythology of
strength
by the mythology of
happiness
by the mythology of
success
by the mythology of
privacy, safety, religion, fairness
and finally
I exist in a shell
of pride and shame
but in the end
it is good
because I can know
I exist

A Haiku

A cold veil of white
so still seen at a distance
thinly covers life

A Wal-Mart moment

I found myself trudging through the bright wasteland of our local chapter of Sam Walton's monument to consumerism yesterday. My plan was to quickly make my escape after gathering motor oil and a filter. I quickly found what I needed and made my way to the cashiers. There were some open self service positions, but after previous experience with the self service devices, I'd hoped to find a traditional cashier. As I walked, I crossed paths with a man slightly older than myself with a handful of merchandise. He was also looking for a way out. As I passed him I heard him grumble under his breath, "f*cking Wal-Mart's a pain in the ass." It brought a smile to my face. In a few words he articulated the paradoxical relationship many of us have with the biggest retailer in the world. We curse as we hand our money to them. Over time the pain fades and we return for more.

It is like so many other things.

Listen to my poem

Listen to my poem

She begged him to listen to her poem. He did. It was awful. He grimaced a smile and nodded with approval, but she sensed the truth.
"What's wrong with it?" She asked.
He didn't know what to say. He suddenly realized that he didn't know how to put it into words. He just knew the poem held no music for him. He told her this.
"So what do you think is good? Why don't you let me read one of your poems? Better yet, why don't you write a poem right now?"
He thought for a moment. There was poetry in this moment; could he capture it? He gazed thoughtfully into space for a moment, reached for pencil and pad, and began.

Heart in hand she comes to him,
open and trusting
and needing
approval;
but knowing his nature she expects
contempt.
She is not disappointed;
but what she sees as contempt
he feels as fear
and confusion
and love for the effort
it took
to trap him

He handed her the poem. She read it and said, "This is good."
He hid his tears in a smile.