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I hate you.

Well, no, it’s just that you live
in poetry and dictate in
tightly worded prose.

It’s a still life edged in
static, or an aeroplane
underwater.

But that’s not the point:
you’re leaving the cage
and I’m leaving the
tower and neither
of us is guru;

maybe we’ll meet in old
and middle ages
respectively.

We’re not so different,
you and I:
we both take coffee
with our cream.

A piss-patter
raindrop multiplies
and an icicle
radiates outward
on the asphalt
where roses are
thorn and thistle:
I was waiting
for that one
to fall
like words
that won’t stop
crashing in maths
on graphs all
pebble and tar
where maps are
made and cast away
like yesterday’s
newsprint bunched
and plugging the
drain those people
waltz through
gingerly like little
glowing tinsel fairies
atop a tree:
you’d punch them
in the face to stop them
smiling but all you’d
get would be a “have
a happy holiday!”
as if you were rain
and they were
teetering on the edge
of eavestroughs.

I just finished reading one of Iain M. Banks’ “Culture” novels, Excession, and I have to say it was profoundly unsatisfactory. Rather boring. Self-involved, as if he was so fascinated with the space opera he was creating that he forgot to actually make it interesting. When you get to the end, you’ll understand that the book wasn’t about the Excession itself, but rather about the drama that surrounds it. The problem, of course, is that the drama surrounding it is rather boring. I can relate to a ship mind, or at least revel in imagining it, but the minds have to, you know, do things and stuff.

The Algebraist on the other hand has the same sort of ending with a semblance of a climactic sequence, but is much, much more involving. It is, in fact, quite a good scifi novel.

Even Consider Phlebas was better than Excession, and that’s not saying much.

The problem, I think, is that while the Culture and its foes are a great backdrop to what could be a great space drama, Iain M. Banks just can’t follow through with very much story. This is in direct opposition to Kevin J. Anderson’s Saga of Seven Suns which has, if anything, way too much story. Or to put it another way, Iain needs a little bit of Kevin, and vice versa.

Also, on a book-related note, I’m still waiting for the next Tale of the Malazan Book of the Fallen (very cumbersome tagline, that, but I like it). The preceeding novels were simply too dreadfully marvelous to not have a proper sequel.

dan (has written much about books)

And we forge ahead…

Q. 4. What is God?
A. God is a Spirit, [7] infinite, [8] eternal, [9] and unchangeable, [10] in his being, [11] wisdom, [12] power, [13] holiness, [14] justice, [15] goodness, [16] and truth. [17]

I’m not sure what more I can add here, other than to note that this is probably the definitive question of all human existance: what is God? And of course the Westminster Shorter goes on to also define who God is in the subsequent questions, though that of course takes a bit more involvement to answer.

dan

Before the universe
exploded into the void
I was at the hand
of the watchmaker,
waiting.

He never told me your
name, but I drew up
the schematics and
called you a watch all
the same,
though he only showed
me her substance
and her form.

I began to tick
as he spun the gears with
his finger,
and in the ages
to follow I
found her many times,
as you did.

But at the eleventh hour
we were finally getting somewhere,
you and I,
and we found her
like an olive branch
in a raven’s beak;
in the ages to follow
we reveled in her.

Before our world fell
open like a book’s middle
chapters, she tore
herself out in
a rending of springs
and inner organs,
and we understood,

that as the watchmaker
pushed you slowly toward
existance in your mother’s
womb, I descended like
a dove above those waters
into existance and we
left for a short time.

His pain our pain now,
but happy in the thought
of us turning toward midnight,
and her turning toward
the east,
both returning home
to vacant Nirvana.

And in this book, it was talking about leadership. Specifically leadership in a team, where all the team members are pulling together, whether they agree fully or not.

It left me thinking: no group of leaders – exectutives, church councils, charity boards – is ever going to be in full agreement all the time, right? But decisions still have to be made. The question isn’t, then, isn’t whether or not we fully agree all the time, but whether or not we can get behind a decision even when we don’t like it all that much.

Reaching a constant concensus in a group of leaders is essentially paralyzing. Not only that, any group that tacitly or otherwise insists on it isn’t showing the sort of wisdom one would expect from leaders – at least successful leaders.

dan (there will always be situations where someone will have to do the right thing, and the tough thing)

There are some questions that tapdance a figure-eight around my head, and this is one of them. Of course, it’s not in me to give out the question like the sun gives out light: the question seems more important than the answer.

The answer is a road, and how to travel it. Which is, in itself, more a question than anything else. If a road, then how to walk?

The answer is also a bird, and how to sing. The questionable science of minor keys always enters here, but that’s hardly the point. Once again, the science is not the answer to the story’s question; and whether or not our narrative is biography or fiction hardly enters into the equation.

Yet, the answer is wine going sour in a bottle. Somehow, this reminds me of a ship. Wine was meant for the stomach, and a ship for tongue and stomach of an ocean by degrees. But whether the wine goes sour or not isn’t my concern, or yours. We drink and are happy and sad by degrees. We see, we hear, and it brings us to both the sun giving out light or a question in the dark. Again, by degrees.

The answer, finally, is a fig tree. It flowers in the oddest of seasons and bears fruit when it shouldn’t. The axe is always laid at its root, but the axe is held by a woman, or a man. Either will do, because she is he and is both.

I lied, because the answer is another thing, or ten. It’s that thing you hold tighter, but that – like oil – slips between your fingers and runs to a thirsty earth. It’s that bird you let go, only to see it returning later with an olive branch or bright future in its beak. It’s when to sow, and when to reap. But more than that, it is more.

God, grant me patience with the people around me; the stupid, the smartassed, and the lazy. Give me grace to deal with those who store up their grievances so they can shoot them at people when they’re angry. And since you apparently won’t change anyone else, change me into a more loving person. More to the point, if you won’t stop throwing curveballs, at least give me a glove.

Also, remind me often that I’m all these things and more; that publican guy is me, just with a shorter prayer.

Help me to be brief.

Dan

Onward and upward!

Q. 3. What does scripture primarily teach?
A. It teaches what mankind is to believe about God [5] and what duty is required of him. [6]

Note the “primarily” – that’s of course not all that scripture teaches, but it’s the Big Thing. And isn’t it odd to think in terms of duty? It’s not really a concept that enters our headspace much these days. But there it is.

I’ll be brief on this point: notice how it says what I need to believe (what goes on in my head), but also what I need to do (what goes on with my hands). The point is that scripture isn’t just a bunch of propositions that you can affirm – it’s something that requires revolution. And no revolution ever happened because a bunch of people sat around a table drinking beer and eating pretzels, chatting about how their minds had all been changed about the government, if you get my drift.

dan (what a great way to start the afternoon)

Yes! It’s that time again: the Poetisphere Poet of the Month has once again dropped like a ball from heaven.

I encourage you to all go and check http://feithline.com/journal/ out. Stay for a while. Make some comments. But most of all enjoy

dan (PPOW!)