Thursday, July 31, 2008

a beginning perhaps

Gambryon 1 poem was moved to tg00008 the ghost in the dumpster on 2008-08-31. Rho00132

Wednesday, July 30, 2008


[2008-07-30 note: Rhodingeedaddee major categories (to which others may be added) presently are poetics, autobiography, poets, money, note, poet, environment, health, books, civilizations, philosophy, poems, science, poem, aesthetics, review, photos, evolution, society, religion, list] * use back arrow to return to this page * directory2007 poetics autobiography poets money note poet environment health books civilizations philosophy poems science poem aesthetics review photos evolution society religion list essay technology poetry Rho00131 *

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

avoid credit learn to save

Peter D. Schiff is a seasoned market analyst who says the coming bailouts of Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac will only add fuel to America's economic fire, and he explains why; but I am not going there in this post. Rather, today I am providing a link to an archive of articles by Mr. Schiff and also to one particular article in that archive: "China's Simple Solution". Peter Schiff's archive Read this brief article carefully. There are links of interest in this article. One is to his free on-line newsletter. Do a Peter Schiff search for more information. Right or wrong--and there is no way to know--Mr. Schiff says in one video that had this nation not gone off the gold standard in 1971, oil would now be $3.50 a barrel. Not everyone agrees with his views, but he has been right during this century. Rho00130

Monday, July 28, 2008

read why bye bye democracy

Recently I subscribed to emails from Edge [see in my E-Whip Oases], an organization pointing toward where Earth's community of humans is heading. In this morning's email from Edge is A Talk By Mark Pesce feature: "Hyperpolitics (American Style)". This talk explains why and how sharing is replacing the primacy of the individual. Think Twitter, Flickr, Facebook. Think interconnectivity. care and share Rho00129

Sunday, July 27, 2008

allergy research news

If you, like me, have allergies, especially dust mite and cat dander allergies, a Swiss biotechnology company's news release from earlier this month might interest you. The trial period for their injection is not yet over but results so far are promising, and the product is at base better than those currently available. The company's name is Cytos. The release is in PDF format. News I found out about this company and its in- trial product through the weekly e-mail I get from KurzweilAI ( Rho00128

Saturday, July 26, 2008

a United States debt clock

Ed Hall's U.S. debt clock and much more can be found here: a U.S. debt clock Rho00127

Friday, July 25, 2008

Paul Hoover on US

In his links post for Friday July 25, 2008, Ron Silliman has a Paul Hoover link to a page where he responds to questions about the US as it presently is. So far, the simplest way I have found to get to that page is by doing this Google-search: Paul Hoover decadence US Rho00126

Thursday, July 24, 2008

revisiting me and artifacts

My view may not be a popular one, but I learned early on a made object is only as good as are the judgments of those who attend it. This does not mean that a maker of an object can avoid being concerned about quality; but it does mean that whatever the medium or mediums, whatever the tools, whatever the construction, however refined the maker's judgment is, the values of a finished artifact exist beyond the opinions of the person who made it. Therefore, once a maker has crafted an artifact and is willing to share it with others, those others should be allowed to discern its worth. The maker can answer any questions about it, but should not get on a high horse about it. If no artifact a certain person makes is considered exceptional or even mildly good, then that's that person's maker fate. One does what one is moved to do, and if what one is moved to do results in objects unacceptable to this or that coterie, so be it. It is a horrid mistake to fashion something just to appeal to the promoters of some current taste. In the poetry sphere there is always someone or a group--usually more than one--practicing and advocating a different way to make poems. What else would one expect as arguments fly like rooks out of night? All such is interesting / useful. I, however, despite how often I/ proffer comments, remain aloof. Rho00125

a history of US money

At his blog, Mike Hewitt presents a history of "paper fiat currency" and the role of the central banks in these United States in a long article: "America's Forgotten War Against the Central Banks" This article is available at several sites, but here is his article as it appears on his blog. Rho00124

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

gold and the gold standard

* * There have been times when the price of gold equalled the value of the Dow, and there is a market analyst who thinks it is going to occur again soon/ and may even become the norm. So, unless the Dow (DJIA) falls below the current price of gold, gold is likely to rise to that value the Dow has, be it 7000 or 27000. This means that if he is right, gold could well go much higher than it now is. Some think the gold standard should be put in place again. Some think that would not work. At the Truth is Treason in the Empire of Lies is "The Central Bank's War on the Middle Class" posted on 2008-06-04. Mark Thornton sides with those who favor going back to the gold standard. This search: will take you to the site. For the article, search: 04/the-central-banks-war-on-the-middle-class/ But here is a link to it: . . . . . [ Note: On the page the link connects to it says that the post was made by freemarketman, and I have no way of knowing for sure if freemarketman is Mark Thornton. ] - [ see comment ] - Rho00123

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

somewhere apart

Dead Zone is a poem that was here but was moved to tg00007 the ghost in the dumpster on 2008-08-31. Rho00122

the present moment in America

Essentially, the reality the interview and the two articles point to here is: free market capitalism/ is dead. "Nightmare on Wall Street: Washington Can't Bail Out the Sea of Red Ink": William Greider's conversation with Bill Moyers is available at moyers/journal/07182008/watch.html but the type in the script of that conversation (interview) is larger at Therefore, it is best to go there. Paul B. Farrell's article: "11 reasons America's a new socialist economy" can be found at story/eleven-reasons-america-new-top/ Matt Taibbi's article: "It's a class war, stupid" appeared in Rolling Stone. 21830103/its_a_class_war_stupid Have decided not to provide links, but a search such as Matt Taibbi class war might work; or you can try copying and pasting. 10:36 PM - Had trouble with copying and pasting the MarketWatch URL, but just tried a search that worked: Paul B Farrell America socialist economy ~ Rho00121

Sunday, July 20, 2008

In Transit four

While in high school the notion of being a priest obsessed me, leading me to the Jesuits. When they answered my query, they said that since I had not been in a Jesuit high school/ I should first attend Marquette University for one year. I knew I might be totally wrong, but I also knew I had to explore my desire; and so--with help from an aunt--I went to Marquette. My year there did not dissuade me, but it should have. The inner me was like two persons at odds with each other, a condition that was already at least seven years old. Had someone been able to follow me, that someone would have noted how the outer me mirrored the inner me. Two events that I want to relate would clearly show the split in me, but I am going to reveal something other. I was informed by another student in the dorm wing about a personality test of some kind. Some had taken it and, while that wasn't a sufficient prod for me to take it, I did. Actually, although at the time I didn't consider that possibility, the whole thing could well have been a ruse. I know opinions are formed about me, opinions I'm never made aware of. Anyway, the test said/ I lacked integrity. I dissed that result, but was unable to stop pondering it. I simply was not ready to face the truth. In that dorm wing that 1959/1960 year each room had two beds and two residents. Schroeder Hall was a huge dorm. In a room near the south end were two dark-skinned--Negroes was probably the term used then--residents. The one from Chicago was small like me. The one from Rochester, NY, was of medium build but over six feet tall. He and I got into evening bowling together at the university's lanes. He had a cooler character, and often tried to cool the temperature of mine. Usually--maybe always--on our return, we stopped at the White Tower restaurant for a quick snack such as a buttered bun. That was the extent of our relationship. I haven't forgotten his name. When the day came to head up to Minnesota north of St. Paul, a passenger with me (a high school classmate who had an older brother who was a Jesuit) on the back seat/ was a welcome surprise, not that he and I were friends or ever would be, but it was good to have someone to converse with. I had an uncle who for a while operated what was then popular and was called a teen bar. I told this passenger I had never been to a teen bar. He told me I hadn't missed anything. Of course, I didn't need to go out to a bar. There was a bar in our basement. Even with that, I wasn't a drinker those days. What I do remember were the parties my parents had and the frosted bar glasses, each of which had a clear keyhole and through each keyhole one could see a sexy lady painted inside. I also remember the cases of Kingsbury beer. Still, even though I ate lunch with three other guys during high school, and even though there was a large neighborhood of kids around us and I did get somewhat close to a few of them, I remained essentially distant. So we arrive at this grand property outside of St. Bonifacius, MN, where a structure shaped like a cross loomed. Priests and brothers and four years of seminarians were housed there. Each seminarian had his own room, and each was provided with a traditional Jesuit garb. For me it was perfect at the beginning. Somehow, while I was there, I and one who became and yet is a Jesuit, entered into a friendship of a kind. Memories from those Novitiate days are numerous. I did learn from that experience, but in the end I was not fit. So it was that on Pentecost Sunday in 1962, after having come within moments of dying from complications due to a ruptured appendix, I--after being blessed by one of the priests in a cloister walk while Mass was being celebrated within--exited. I did write poems while I was there. The most important of them are online over at Sprintedon Hollow (Salchert's Hermitage / Salchert's Hole). Further proof of part of what was wrong with me. Perhaps still is. One constant in my life is my push to learn. I am always on a learning curve. Problem is that by the time I have learned something/ much of its value has long passed. Lime vodka sweet. Guinness stout. Michelob dark. I was a mystic. Rather, I was a Miss Tick, and no Tock. - Rho00120 Gustav Holst The Planets Op.32 Neptune

Saturday, July 19, 2008


This is a plug for my E-Whip Oases. Peruse it. Access to some valuable reads and sites are there. Even if you come here just for what can be found through the hyperlinks in this section, fine. I would recommend several, but it is best if you make your own choices. The list is not static. Today I added an interview with K S Mohammad on Flarf. I am not a Flarfist, but the description Mr. Mohammad provides is the best I've read. The connection to the Poetry Foundation's Harriet is a favorite of mine. Rho00119

Friday, July 18, 2008

In Transit three

Three After finishing Morning Kindergarten, I was placed in Afternoon Kindergarten because it was determined I was not socially ready to enter First Grade. What they did not realize was that I would never be socially ready. The Second Grade I was in also had students who were in the Third Grade. A day came when the teacher was teaching Third Grade math. I was watching. She saw that I was watching. Strangely, when a Third Grade student up at the blackboard (greenboard?) was unable to produce the correct answer to the problem there, she asked me to try. Since I do not recall the problem, I cannot say I answered it correctly, but my emotional memory says I did. No big deal, though, since I didn't get moved up to the Third Grade. When I was in the First Grade, my parents had me take piano lessons, but there were two conditions against me: small hands and poor brain-to-fingers coordination. It happened I became ill with measles during that time. Dealing with them gave me time to think. I decided to/ quit taking piano lessons. My parents also got me into a cub scout den and then into a boy scout troop. What I learned from those experiences was worth the while, but I never made First Class as a boy scout. Due to breathing difficulties I was unable to overcome, I couldn't swim the required 50 yards. One summer I came upon an empty "tiny" white cardboard box, a box which may have been for some item of jewelry. I took it and made it a magical box, placing short curlicues of white paper in it & other things, all of which I made magical. It was then that the word "Rhodingeedaddee" arrived. Why? From where? I have no clue, but that is the way I remember it. What they did not realize was: I never would be socially ready. When I was eleven or twelve, my interest in space and stars made me want to become an astrophysicist. However, I was exploring other disciplines also, one which resulted in the crafting of my first poem. I call that poem a verse now. It, along with 23 other early verses, is online in my S H. In high school I found math and sciences less appealing than the humanities. My grades were on the exceptional side/ but had I been placed a grade higher/ I feel to this day/ I would have put more effort into what I was studying. I did resume trying to write poems, and one was sent to a national high school competition and was included in an anthology and a year or so later in an issue of the Marquette Journal. It was my first sonnet, but it began as a longer, looser poem (verse). Somehow, while in high school, Charles Péguy ..... drew my attention. Attempted to imitate him, but just once. Rho00118 Gustav Holst The Planets Op.32 Uranus

Thursday, July 17, 2008

In Transit two

Two Shortly after I was born/ I was taken back to the hospital. Somehow I had contracted impetigo. That disease is contagious. I've been told I was placed in a warm room and was unclothed. Recollections of those days are nil, but I have an unprovable theory about them. Since it was somewhat like returning to the comfort of the womb, I think it may have had a positive effect on me. On the other hand, since I was unclothed, I think my exhibitionist tendencies and/ may have begun there. Although I do not recall those times either, I was, apparently, somewhat aggressively precocious. One of my sisters has told me I would get up on top of the kitchen table and attempt to argue with my dad, but as he wanted nothing to do with it, he would just eat a little faster and go outside. One day when I was yet quite young I had a conversation with an adult female neighbor while sitting with her on their family's front steps. The contents of that conversation I have no memory of, but I later found out she told my mother I talked like an adult. We and our neighbors lived near what then was the west edge of FdL, yet we had sidewalks and sewers and street lights. Oh the stories they were props in! Unlike most other kids--being a dreamer and adventurer, during my tricycle days I sometimes pedalled beyond our corner lots. Two such got me into trouble. Around two blocks to the south/ the sidewalk along the street our house faced/ passed a vacant lot, and there was a shallow dip. Don't recall how I got past it going south, but I do recall deciding to ride through it on my way back north. Suddenly, the dip proved/ I was the dip. Incident two was propelled by curiosity. I heard music in the distance to the east, and I pedalled off in search of its source. I found it: a band, a marching-type band, near the railroad tracks just north of the train station. That station was nearly a mile from where we lived. On my way home, my parents showed up in the family car. Am unclear about that, but I think that is what happened. When I was older, my sisters and I got the brilliant idea of twirling our bodies around in our livingroom. It was a dizzy idea, and who was the first victim: I was. Splat. My forehead against the wooden arm of dad's easy chair. Mother called the family doctor and rushed me to his office. 4 stitches. One of the first questions a neurologist asks when you visit him/her because you have had a seizure is: "Have you had any head injuries?" I haven't kept a count. Rho00117 Gustav Holst The Planets Op.32 Mars

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

In Transit

One It is late; but I am beginning here a something: a ponding brook, a cloud of debris, an opening. The majority of my days as a viable human/ have passed, and I--now the hermit I thought I always wanted to be--am grateful, yet lost. There is in me a quivering understanding of how I got to where I am, moment into moment into moment; but no understanding at all of what comes next. A swirl of humans accompanies me/ on this planet: some of whom I interact with; most of whom I do not know. I have and use a name: a family name, a first name, a middle name, and a chosen-by-me Confirmation name. Yet, I constantly question it/them. Who am I, really? In my imagination there is another me who is a philanthropist, or was a philanthropist. My existence at this moment is an absolute mystery, a mystery which is the result of choices beyond comprehension. The choices include choices I have made, choices of all levels of good and evil. Really, who am I? Why am I? What motivates me to pursue what I pursue? It is late. Rho00116 - Gustav Holst The Planets Op.32 Jupiter


from 2008-07-16 ..... - Rho00115

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

Sex at Noon Taxes

is the title of a book of poems by Sally Van Doren which the Academy of American Poets recently mailed to me. I hadn't done a book review in many years, but I was considering one for her book. However, after finding an online review by Melinda Wilson which was published in coldfrontmag, I thought it best to link to it. When I first read this book containing 59 poems divided into four sections thusly: 15 15 15 14: six or more the poems I somewhat liked. After a second read-through, three remained. I offer no explanation of why they appeal to me, but their titles are "Pronoun/Punctuation" (page 23), "Revisitation: Key West Cemetery" (page 31), and "April" (page 48). In the review is a comment about the word "taxes" which was also my original take on that word. Then it occurred to me that one could see sex at noon as being taxing in the sense of tiring, of depleting energy. Presently I prefer this definition. ..... - Rho00114

Monday, July 14, 2008


Regarding Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac: If it becomes necessary, "The Bailout Will Be a Bargain" (from MONEYBOX at Slate) posted by Daniel Gross ..... - Rho00113

darkflag 2

James Howard Kunstler's "Event Horizon" post: ..... - Rho00112

Sunday, July 13, 2008

artificial photosynthesis and airships hopes

Thanks to Chinese researchers, nanotubes bring artificial photosynthesis a step nearer as per article by Colin Barras ..... - Airship articles: (caveat: questions about helium supply and highly-combustible hydrogen remain) Four new 'blimp' designs in Poplular Mechanics: ..... Return of the Airship 01-10-2007 Jeremy Eades ..... Floating an Old Idea: Zeppelins Return by Lamont Wood Special to posted: 14 May 2008 12:40 p.m. ET (Don't miss Led Zeppelin story here.) ..... - Rho00111

Friday, July 11, 2008

atmospheric chemist Paul J Crutzen

One of three winners of the 1995 Nobel Chemistry Prize, Anthropocene, the name for the present geological age, is attributed to him. Links of interest: biofuels and global warming ..... Holocene geological age ..... Anthropocene geological age ..... some information about Paul J. Crutzen ..... Professor Crutzen's personal page ..... Of related interest: - A recent article by Mike Davis which is at several sites and can be found by Google-searching Mike Davis welcome next epoch - Rho00110 *

Wednesday, July 9, 2008

the thing from 2000

In 2000 a Gateway computer with an AOL deal came my way. Another's generosity. One day I stopped at the site of a million poems, where they want you to post your poem, but I wasn't ready to do that. Then I thought: Oh, I suppose. So extemporaneously I floundered ahead. Have said I would not post any of my poems at Rho--, but today I'm going to break that rule unless what I'm about to show isn't really a poem. I am fairly sure it is not at S H. Given that I was surprised by the invite at the site of a million poems, what I entitled it fits. Step aside, Genghis Kahn. v^v^v } } } } } } } } } } } } } } } } } v^v^v [ The poem that was here is now at tg00006 2008-08-31 the ghost in the dumpster ] Rho00109

Monday, July 7, 2008

frugality matters

When it comes to money, I have too often been an idiot. This post links to two sites wherein there are links to other sites pertaining to personal finance. Practical Money Skills ..... Why you should start early. Get Rich Slowly ..... If you didn't start early, start now. [ Note: Your worth as a human does not depend on your credit score; nonetheless, keep your credit score high. Tread carefully, since financial land mines are everywhere. If you don't need it, don't buy it. The more you save, the more you will be able to give to your church or other charities after you have died. That is, if the awry capitalist civilization we live in doesn't turn itself and us into ashes first. I am not a money advisor, but I know what I/ could have done. ] Rho00108

Friday, July 4, 2008


* * * * * * * * * * * * * Rho00107

Thursday, July 3, 2008

poems about

Sometimes my Thinking Complex under my skull produces thoughts/ I should reject: haughty thoughts, silly thoughts, seedling thoughts. My tendency has been, however, to let such out. Not sure why, but fear it is a false need. Poems about. That is, poems which once existed or yet exist. Ten trillion? What got me into writing poems? This is a question I've repeatedly asked. This is a question I've repeatedly answered. Combining two major responses to this, one gets: Be a maker of poems/ only if you must. The point of this, I surmise, is that the making of poems should arise naturally from who you are. What about liking to hang around modes of communication, exploring the possibilities of them? Does this equate with/ arise naturally from who you are? Should one care? What got me into writing poems was my realizing I found it easier to work with words than with numbers. I did have a need to express myself; and I had tried painting, map making, building railroad layout scenery with wire and plaster of paris, wood burning, plain and colored sketchings. Why am I pondering this now? Topics related to it have been posted variously recently. Certain comments beneath those posts have been, to me at least, on the mark. Whether a poet is led by an idea (a predetermined aesthetic) or by a medium (the symbols being used) or by both, the fact of a willingness (deriving from the pleasures therein) to spend time crafting an artifact/ is reason enough. Whether the efforts expended come to something of value to others is, or should be, secondary. Making a thing as perfectly as that thing can be made should be primary. Matchsticks or words, or, or, or: it is what is done with them that falls or flies. At whatever point a maker is satisfied, a made thing sits and waits, an object in stasis. If no other sentient being ever interacts with it, its inherent worth does not change. If an other sentient being does interact with it, and praises or dissses it, its inherent worth does not change. Made things exist/ for their functionality. Made things exist/ for their lack of functionality. An accidentally made thing can be just as functional or non-functional, just as beautiful or ugly, as an intentionally made thing. What today gets high judgment marks, tomorrow may get low judgment marks; and whatever marks a made thing gets always depends on the aesthetic perspective of that sentient being who is judging. Humans have widely variant aesthetic perspectives. Robots? I do not know enough about them, or the possibilities about them. In writing this I thought of many others whose opinions I could have quoted or paraphrased, but I have purposely/ not done so. - Rho00106

Tuesday, July 1, 2008

In the horse latitudes

my painted barque is, and only a recurring Aaron Copland melody companions me, adrift and yet unable to move; and venturing forth on the airs of thought--a dark night enters me--assuages little. Effortlessly/ so many ramble on, word upon word. Not this hermit. My sense is, though, this quiet, this space unfathomable to me, may be presaging a turn toward--toward what--something my mind has not defined yet. More later, if later comes. - Rho00105