How could something so affecting last only thirty seconds?

I had a heart-breaking moment at Bumbershoot on Saturday night, an inspiring caught breath experience, the circumstances improbable. Tony and I were crammed impossibly tight into the tiny, toy rollercoaster by the foot of the Space Needle, grinning, teeth bared in freshly minted joy, blazing against the darkness in the glare of the amusement ride lights, when there, at the very top of the first hill, poised like a hammer between one vital minute and the next, was the perfect moon, uncannily full, reflected like liquid heat in the metal of the EMP, trapped innocently so precisely, so exquisitely in my line of sight we seemed even with it, as if lifted into the sky, as if we, in turn, were about to learn to fly. My heart stopped beating then as I became a porcelain doll, created only for this moment, to stare forever into the face of this exact place and time. In that stillness, every detail was preserved, the shaking click of the tracks, the hollow echo inside my eyes. Then I broke it with an even, awed tone, the voice of a calm, holy child, look at the moon, exactly in time. As the last syllable left my mouth, a whole thing, finished, palpable, the fiercely rattling car suddenly swept violently down to the right, wrenching us screaming down, roughly down, and away from that trapped moment as gentle as a butterfly landing in the palm of an upturned hand.

Edit addendum: A local Grade 11 English honours class has been given an assignment to write a “snapshot” or a short moment in time piece where they describe one moment that had an impact on them, and this piece of writing has been chosen to be presented to them as an excellent example of what the teacher wants them to do and how so much emotion can be expressed in a very short space. I’m thrilled. I don’t believe my writing has been presented to teenagers before, only adults and very small children.

The Universe Is On Fire (could have sworn I’d posted this already)

via the ever delightful Ben Peek, who delightfully came up in conversation recently as “the person farthest away from here to say Hello To That Mike for me”:

“This celestial object looks like a delicate butterfly, but it’s far from serene: what resemble the dainty butterfly wings are actually roiling cauldrons of gas heated to more than 36,000 degrees Fahrenheit.

The gas is tearing across space at more than 600,000 miles an hour — fast enough to travel from Earth to the moon in 24 minutes.”


for when the king dies

Blood Lamp, 2009, a single-use light that draws its energy from a drop of blood, by UK artist Mike Thompson, creator of the wifi dowsing rod.

For the lamp to work one breaks the top off, dissolves the tablet, and uses their own blood to power a simple light. By creating a lamp that can only be used once, the user must consider when light is needed the most, forcing them to rethink how wasteful they are with energy, and how precious it is.

the science of missing you

My bed swallows me when I am alone in it. Buried in multiple blankets and small
avalanche piles of throw pillows, red and

gold and gray, I wake tangled, lost, cradled in the absence of other days,
sensitive only to the books stacked at my feet,

the cats stretched, stretching, asleep. I take up less of the bed than they do,
the pages, essays, non-fiction, and novels,

the small bundles of sinew, bone, and warm black fur.

If you only read one article today, let it be this one.

There is a fury and and sadness inside that I cannot express., by Classically Liberal:

I want to grab our “society” by the shoulders, shake it violently, and scream at the top of my voice: “Don’t you fucking understand what you are doing? How can you let this happen? How can you demand that it happen?”

Here is the photo. I’ve looked at it again. I can’t look at it and type at the same time, it is too upsetting. This boy is one of the many kids that our society says are sex offenders. The interfering politicans, the would-be Nannies, do-gooders and passed ill-conceived laws to protect our young, and instead, they are devouring the young and sacrificing them to the god of safety.

What was once considering a normal rite of passage, typical curiosity that the newly sexualized young have about themselves, their bodies, and the bodies of others, has become a heinous crime. Not long ago a curious adolescent or child, caught exploring, or playing doctor in the back yard, was given a talking-to, sent to bed early, and warned to not do it again—a warning most heeded for at least another few years, after which time warnings were useless. Today, it has been criminalized, and criminalized in a way far exceeding crimes of violence. A youth who has sex with another youth, even if voluntary, could well face legal sentences far worse than if they had killed their friend.

Also of note, this follow up post, A partial listing of our material on teens, sex offending, and the infamous registries, which offers proofs of evidence to the substantial minority attempting to defend these atrocious laws.