War & Squabbling stops oil

Iraq has the largest untapped reserves in the world.

Yet thanks in part to three wars, and the combination of international sanctions and a government that opposed foreign investments — and the technological improvements they bring — over the past couple of decades, Iraq has the lowest reserve-to-production ratio of all major oil-producing countries.

Norway and Russia can’t agree on borders in the northern sea. Pirates and border conflicts stall oil development in the South China Sea. But Libya has opened its doors. From a Geotimes summary report, ‘Oil Around the World

Nuts enough to love

The bird on the moon writes how great is the right to love.

One for the nameless

It has been windy
Here in this valley of winter
Here in this fantasia of familiar turned skeletal
Here in this body, even, this weathervane of memories.
With the wind, much is scattered about
Reckless debris being driven to who-knows-where
And who-knows-why.
Among the leaves, the bottles, the crumpled rejects of some scribe,
I know that scraps of love, pure love, are on wanton trajectory.
Ownerless love, spent and used love, outgrown love, love beyond repair…
Blowing around as plentifully as any other careless thing
You wouldn’t know that there’s so much orphaned and stained love
Rambling about each time the wind picks up.
There may be a worried and passion-worn photograph
In a flurry with all our other forgotten nameless jetsam
Skittering across the road, and you’re lost in your own whirlwind,
You might not see that one scrap winging by,
You might not see your own face
Caught in an amber of momentary bliss
Now darkened, now sloughed off, now as common as twigs and paper bags.
With all this bluster,
Let there then be a madman…
One who chases fruitlessly after all the trailing bygones
Who stitches together the improbable random stories of love lost
Who collects the discarded tears of broken dreams
Who exalts the song of love from atop a heap of time’s rubble
Who, though sullied and calloused by dashing here and there,
Vindicates love even in its waste
And from his daft collecting,
Holds up one for the nameless, the forsaken, the broke,
Summoning light to again enter the trashed years
I’ve left thoughtlessly behind in the wake of desires untouched.
Let the madman’s work remind, no, exclaim,
How great is the right to love
And cruel we are to toss it out the window
Wheeling down the road
Done with it
Without passing it on.

Let us all be madmen.

And bird on the moon writes for all of us.

Written for Friends

Love is the force most mysterious
For it abides through dark and light
Above and below
Through the royal sky of day and the bejeweled canopy of night.
Love has infinite names and no definite place
Yet it is written in your own bones
It wakes you and dreams you
Crystallized in a clear moment which none can own.
Love compels us to know ourselves
When distraction and hullabaloo competes to win
Self knowledge is galactic
Through it, we propel forward, and give from within.
Love propagates from itself
And creates potential in its wake, a gypsy dancer
You cannot help but to jump and exalt
For the question of love is its own answer.
Love is the force most mysterious
Yet somehow, you can touch it now, here;
You chose it, love chooses you,
Just this once, trust its embrace, for as with all Creation
It is ever present, and yet you are the one who chooses to hold it near.

The bird on the moon combines,

Madness and Love, Perpetual

O Virtue of the starry night
In the affirm’d sanctuary of friendship
That carries aloft the tears to the clouds
To let the crazed proclamations of seers and sages
Rain down as love and goodness upon the drought-strick’n land
I raise to this the offering my own heart’s illogical celestial drumming
…that through the life-willingness of the Earth
Shall ever deeper love and faith sprout
From the smallest and hopeless of

The Personally Minded

Alexander Kjerulf clips from George Bernard Shaw:

This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap; the being a force of Nature instead of a feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.

And also the only real tragedy in life is the being used by personally minded men for purposes which you recognize to be base.

All the rest is at worst mere misfortune or mortality: this alone is misery, slavery, hell on earth; and the revolt against it is the only force that offers a man’s work to the poor artist, whom our personally minded rich people would so willingly employ as pandar, buffoon, beauty monger, sentimentalizer and the like.”

And Alexander says,

Oh man – that has got to be one of the most inspiring, uplifting things ever written.

The passage about “being used by personally minded men for purposes which you recognize to be base”… if that’s not unhappiness at work I don’t know what is, and yet that’s exactly how many people feel about work.

I’m with Shaw on this one – we must revolt against it and be artists of our own lives.

Hello, butterfly.

You have lived so many lifetimes thinking that you were a caterpillar but dreaming of flight and feeling cursed to crawl along on the ground with an inner knowing you were meant for something more. You are, but that is not because you are a grounded caterpillar. It is because the caterpillar was just a delusion. You are a butterfly.

Grieve your lost self identity. Grieve the pain of consciously facing the fact that everything you ever thought you were was actually the very prison you always hoped to one day walk out of a as a free being. Grieve the sun that will never shine on your free face, the dance of freedom you will never dance, the knowledge of your great self that will never be found. Grieve, for the only freedom that is real is the freedom from you.

Goodbye, caterpillar.

While wondering

Better to hear youJust as the highest and the lowest notes are equally inaudible, so perhaps, is the greatest sense and the greatest nonsense equally unintelligible. – Alan Watts

In fact, everything we encounter in this world with our six senses is an inkblot test. You see what you are thinking and feeling, seldom what you are looking at. – Shiqin

[whiskey river]

Eliminate the Presidency

Eliminate the presidency.
Divide the USA into a half dozen or so regions (northeast, mid-atlantic, etc), and have each set of states elect an executive representative to serve on the federal executive cabinet.

And related advice at nordic graceland:

Put prerequisites on almost all political offices:
Only state governors or senators can run for the executive cabinet, only county EO’s can run for governor, only mayors can run for county EO, etc. Work your way up.