I think this is incredible.

http://news.ufl.edu/2008/06/26/energy-consortium/

“Remember how long you’ve been putting this off, how many extensions the gods gave you, and you didn’t use them.  At some point you have to recognize what world it is that you belong to; what power rules it and from what source you spring; that there is a limit to the time assigned you, and if you don’t use it to free yourself it will be gone and will never return.”

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations

I am presently surprisingly bored, unfortunately broke, and deliriously tired.  Believe it or not, but Vegas becomes stale quite quickly.

On a better note…

I re-read You Can’t Go Home Again  by Thomas Wolfe this weekend.

“Some things will never change.  Some things will always be the same.  Lean down your ear upon the earth, and listen.” 

I have for many years been in awe of Wolfe and his epic-time-description.  And to put my sentiments quaintly… nothing changes.  His words impress more deeply upon me each time I lift his pages.  With each passing moment of my life, his literal life seems to become a greater mirror of mine.  Even if you have never missed and longed for someplace so violently that even in your unconscious dreams it brings a blunt and wakeful pain to your heart… his words are worth your while. 

“You found the earth too great for your one life… But it has been this way with all men… You have faltered, you have missed the way… And now, because you have known madness and despair… We who have stormed the ramparts of the furious earth and been hurled back, we who have been maddened by the unknowable and bitter mystery of love, we who have hungered after fame and savored all of life, the tumult, pain, and frenzy, and now sit quietly by our windows watching all that henceforth never more shall touch us—we call upon you to take heart, for we can swear to you that these things pass.”

The man knew how to pull a pen across a page- and make it last, make it momentous.  It is all very real, very true.  He does not mimic… for there are mortal recollections and emotions more memorable than pure sadness that only those who have left their true and beloved home—left it against their better judgement—have felt.  It is a unique pain, a different yearning.  A desperation unknown before that first foolish, weary step.

“…it was silly, anyhow, to feel as he did about the place. 

But why had he always felt so strongly the magnetic pull of home, why had he thought so much about it and remembered it with such blazing accuracy, if it did not matter, and if this little town, and the immortal hills around it, was not the only home he had on earth?”

It’s not depressing; though I know it may seem tiresome.  It is rather, a companion to lonesome wanderers.  A textual beacon from the past that has ceased to fade.  Will never fade so long as there are restless fools such as myself who act with stubborn insistence upon a sporadic and momentary urge to move.  A mistaken epiphany leads dreamers and wanderers much further into solitude with such unceremonious brevity that it is years before one can even begin to notice they are no longer home; that they have left, and kept moving.  It is quite a time before one realizes that the faces surrounding are not the same, the streets have changed their course, the music sings of foreign loves; Time has passed, the past is now your future. 

“…and he had an instant sense of something re-found that he had always known—something far, near, strange, and so familiar—and it seemed to him that he had never left the hills, and all that had passed in the years between was like a dream.”

Ironically, the restless wanderer has kept stagnant while the immovable past has fled.  As long as there are those who once believed that love was something that one could do without, as long as we— the simply ridiculous and clearly delusional—continue to flee, his Homeric lamp will burn.

“…Must the beggar on horseback forever reel?”

“All he knew was that the years flow by like water, and that one day men come home again.”

Havisu Falls

I feel the urge to share this hidden spot.  Because it may just be the place you’re looking for but have never known. 

For those of you who hike, backpack, camp or just genuinly like to get away… Go Here.  It’s majestic, secluded, dramatic and beyond breathtaking.

This is Havisu Falls.

It is NOT Lake Havisu.

It’s this unbelievable phenomenon in the middle of the desert.  Located in the Havisuapai Indian Reservation, in North Western Arizona.

This is the bottom West end of the Grand Canyon.  And that above is a waterfall in the desolate South West desert. There are two; below is the big one, Mooney Falls. 

* You can climb down a “ladder” to get to the shore of this one.*

This is real.  Real in every way.  

There is no electricity.  There is no connection.

The Supai residents here still have thier mail delivered by donkey. 

At night it is only you, the sand and the sound of flowing water.

It is a 10 mile hike down into the canyon to get to the village.  Leave early and it’s a truly pleasent adventure.  If you don’t, well, literally you will be hiking through the desert in the middle of the day. 

We all know how smart that is. 

Along the way, you’ll come across some pretty amazing sights.  And you may even see some wild horses.

From there it’s about another mile or so to get to the waterfalls and the camping areas.  But when you see that carribean blue water pouring out of sunburnt canyon walls, you’ll forget that you just trecked through overheating desert.

* The intense Green-Blue of these waters is caused by Travertine.  Surreal.*

Camp sites are located along the gently flowing streams that flow down from the falls.  There are beaches to relax on by the falls, and infinate pools to wade around in.

NOTES:

• It’s the DESERT.  Don’t forget that.
• The TEMPERATURE rises quickly as you descend.  By a lot.
• In the desert you need WATER, yes, but you also need sugars and salts.  This is important, make sure you have GATORADE or something like it along with your water supply.
• The HEAT does not go away at night.  Be prepared for this.
• Those holes in the sand, are SNAKE holes.  Try not to pick the campsite that is in abundance of them.
• The water is COLD.
• You and all your belongings WILL be covered in orange sand when you leave.  Don’t try and fight it.
• Start out EARLY.  DO NOT attempt to hike down after Noon.  And 4p.m. heat is worse than you imagine.
• There is a helicopter available for a very low price.
• You can also arrange to ride a horse down.
• Or you can have your belongings brought down by horse and make the hike on foot. After hiking down with my backpack, personally, this would be my preferred method next time.
• Remember that 10 miles down the Canyon is not the same as 10 miles up the Canyon.  Double your liquid.
• Reserve a campsite BEFORE you go.  It’s quite inexpensive.
• A raft is a nice thing to have to float around on.  Find a light one you can blow up when you get there.
• Don’t forget your swim suit!

 Because there’s no better day to be at the bar.

JUST DO IT!

 http://www.proposition317.com/stpats.html?deepLink=null

 Random thought of the early morning

I have never loaned a book that I ever got back. 

Handing one over is basically writing a check to the other person for the amount of the book.

Why?

Does this happen to everyone, or do I just happen to have one-way book karma?

Seriously, I love it.  Not having to worry if the next page that uploads is going to sing me to sleep or blast the obvious reasons why I don’t like most popular groups. The Silence of the Blog World is Beautiful.Cheers! 

Question:  What is your favorite book cover? 

Feel free to offer numerous titles.  If you’re up for it, I’d love to hear your reasons, whatever they may be. 

Have you ever bought a book based solely on the cover?

Please, anyone at all, I am beyond curious about others answers!  The reasons are below- but even if you don’t read them, I’d really like to have your responses anyway.

In the past few days it has come to my attention that the majority of book covers are incredibly ugly.  Most of them show a complete lack of care or interest; this annoys me because, really, what’s contained inside is usually of the opposite nature.  This is a stunning revelation on my part, for many reasons.  Were you to look in on me at any moment in time, you’d see me surrounded by a room walled with spines atop cherry horizons.  Pillars of proof and prose, awaiting the addition of new wooden apartments.  Shorter stacks rest upon every surface, recently researched pages resting next to pillows.  This trail of definition follows me throughout my house and a few even manage to travel on a daily basis with me to and fro.  You could make no mistake on this matter; the tangible book is something  I truly love.  So, even to myself, it seems incredibly silly that before now I have been unaware of the lack of visual appeal that most book covers possess. 

But, alas, I see. 

Though this epiphany will make absolutely no difference in my reading patterns, it is something I’m strangely intrigued by.  Possibly because I’m in awe of the fact that I can be so utterly unperceptive.  This I feel surpasses my usual ability (others tend to not use the word ability…) to be completely unaware of the world around me. 

It became a bit of a project.  I have wandered among store shelves looking for the aesthetic attraction - a new and interesting action for me.  I tried my hardest to find books among my collection that I may have unknowingly bought solely on the cover… this was to no avail, for even those that may appear to fit the description, I actually found interest in the contained paper. 

So, again, I ask for your input concerning this tangent I’ve stumbled off on.

Happy Searching!

So, as I’m working on recreating the shelves of my surroundings in digital form I came upon this book and I was once again reminded of my disappointment.  Clive Barker has for a very long time been one of my favorite authors but this last novel left me yearning for the pages of his previous titles.  Though this would be a masterpiece for the majority of writers that attempt to be authors these days, spawning from the genius hand of Barker it is more than lacking.   

I had expected to find myself once again happily drowning in pages that created vast worlds, vivid atrocities and gnawing emotion with mere words.  Barker has this unreal and unnatural ability to summon unimaginable things from his imagination, a feat in and of itself just to harness and comprehend these thoughts; To be able to convey these across a blank page, with the most intricate details to a point that a reader can actually invision the very cells that make them, is heroic.  He had always done this fluently and painlessly, no matter how tourturous the events; making him almost mythic.  My eager expectations were far from sated. 

It’s just not the Clive Barker of old, to put it simply.  Yes, the grotesque creatures, mayhem and truly original plots are all there, but it’s as if he provided half of everything and let someone else add the rest.  He put forth ‘Dev-’ and some other pen wrote ‘-il’ and left it at that.  The Barker of,the past would have seen ‘De-’ and created Devinity in his Devil.

Though I’m saddly let down by this addition to his works, he remains one of my favorites.  I can, and probably will at some point, go on for ages about the brilliance of his earlier books.  It would take miracles to destroy the monuments he created previously.

I’d like to know how others feel about this.  Perhaps it’s only me.