Two Poems Before Sleep

Written in Maine, late, before bed…

A few minutes left, that is all
And night descends like a curtain call
The mind runs through its lines, then night
And enter demons for the fight
But not a moral play plays out
Only the self to freely doubt
And then to wake again to live
As though there were and order given
Past a hundred thousand lines
All delivered, “I am fine”
Till our illusions become real
And as uneasy as we feel

—

Here I kneel, not out of homage
but to straighten my crained spine
as the harbor howls, filling with fog
and the book of prophets lays open
before me on the table beside my bottle.
My ghost in the glass accompanies me,
“Not fame or fortune did I seek,
but first knowing, finally arriving.”

Tim Ferriss On Blogging

Tim Ferriss talks about blogging (50 mins). Here are my notes:

  1. he has used WordPress from the beginning, 3 yrs
  2. Why blog? Why do you do anything? To love, be loved, and never stop learning.
  3. not for income, for access to people and resources: authority equates to access to important people, events, etc.

    4. For the full list of 40 tips… Continue reading Tim Ferriss On Blogging

Our Tribes

I’ve been reading Tribes by Seth Godin, so I thought I’d try to state what our tribes are, plain and simple.

My wife Maile is leading the tribe of people who know that the right thing to do is to teach immigrants English at work.

I hope to help lead the tribe of artists and non-profits who want to use the Web to accomplish their missions, dreams. I’m a digital ambassador teaching anyone how to create a killer Web presence and connect effectively with their supporters.

J Chaplin In The Big City

I don’t remember much, but I woke this morning from a dream in which I was wandering around NYC, aimless, comical, like Chaplin, Keaton, perhaps even Harpo.

I had the sensitive, innocent, mischievous look of a man with nothing but curiosity and attraction to guide me, the comical little movements, unrequited and longing looks at all the disconnected people, buildings, stores, phenomenon, the optimistic magnetism of one trying to connect with everything only to be quickly followed with the sad thwarted look of a man turned away by everyone, finally resolved, each time, into the plaintive, content look of one who settles for his own little adventures, trip of emotions, hope of finding a woman who cares, a simple returned glance, a friendly smile, a friend or at least partner in melancholy among the homeless, the old, the children, the animals.

I was full of perfectly awkward gestures, little slips, contained modest movements…attempts to dance with the city like a big crude partner that keeps whirling me around, stepping on my feet, crushing me against the walls, the others, paying me no attention.

It ended with me sitting on a stoop, in a lonely corner slightly away from the crowd and it was all in black and white, silent.