Rock & Bread Roll

Amy. Civil Engineering student. Tennessee.
Think XKCD: romance, sarcasm, art, math, and language

Mother love. Father love.
Warm feelings. Light.

Light from the sun
Lasting 4 hours a day.
Light candle
Light electric lamp
Light for the prevention of giving up
Sister light
Mother light
Spirit light!
Hold strong to your light
Go forth and live
Boldly with your light
Light in your window
Light on your ceiling
Light the dark places you need to change.
Father light
Brother light
Everyone light!
Folded hands behind my head
Unarmed in the light
Folded dreams burnt in the fire and the light
Delight in the light
Make all things right in the light
The sun of God the son is here
Be freed by the light
Stand in awe of the light
The light is your hope and you are light.

I’m neither a fighter nor a revolutionary. I’m not a leadership position holder.
Don’t call on me to get shit done. Don’t call on me to speak out on what we believe.
I don’t know why I am here, if I’m just a warm body to be counted or anything more.
Hell, I’m not even a poet.
Unless failing to express myself in any other form except the written word counts as poetry.

What fire makes a woman burn for what brings her joy?
What fire makes a woman radiate love and hospitality?
What fire makes a woman forge a blessed family?
Discouragement thoughts unfairly compare all I could have to all I haven’t.
The yet-to-be-done to the already-have-not.
The vacancies of the past to the unknown tenants of the future.
But here in youth, I still have hope. Hope to be host to a great Somethingness.
 Hope for the wild ignition of the passion-fire.
The blazing of persistence and excellence.
A “yes-I-can”-fueled fear-destroyer.
A locomotive engine, pulling hopefully out of station.
I feel dizzy thinking about it.
About that first one-hundred yards, more trying than the last hundred miles.
Pulling every car, full of heavy Discouragement thoughts, up to speed
The Passion-Fire Force earnestly overcoming the Fear-Inertia.
Stoke the fire with Hope! With a mentor’s belief.
Stoke the fire with Diligence! And with Love, and Valor, and, Faith and Patriotism.
Throw whatever ideals you have into the fire!
Burn away all your ideals!
Ideals pull the train out of the station.
Ideals burn in the deep Passion-Fire of a woman with eyes set on the horizon,
and it overcomes Fear and the sometimes unbearably discouraging load.
And then full-speed, Focus.

Distant foothills, layered in rich colors, like sheets of ripped paper, beyond the endless stretch of velvet green triangles of old-growth forest spreading out before me in every direction.
Trail-side tree-windows frame plunging valley. Balanced on this rock, I see her, crisp against blue sky. She presides among the hills, instructing the trees in which direction to grow.

Me and Cary at the center of the universe above the vast green. “I’m going away.” Quiet desk calendar, circled day. Enumerated until school begins and he returns.

 “Without unison between the right- and left-brain, neither is useful,” so we ascended into concert with knowledge and belief. Never giving name to mountain or tree or hawk; satisfied in allowing the ubiquitous pine to become our breath.

 I found a wild daisy pressed into my palm, yellow with slender white petals. I twirled it between my fingers and looked through a valley-window. Tucked into my hair, my crown. Although wilted and dead, the daisy still sits on my desk. I had worn a tank top, but when dusk fell he wrapped his extra-large hoodie around my shoulders.

Today I saw foxgloves along the trail, afternoon sun and the shadows from trail-side trees. I thought about life, and existence, and faith, as I gave name to the trees and mountain. I said a humble mercy prayer as I left that rocky evergreen outlook, and came home for lunch.

Passion and Neglect

“I’m a god, I’m not The God… I don’t think”
“Frank Sinatra is God and David Bowie is Jesus, like in Ziggy Stardust.”
“Ziggy Elman, now that’s one great jazz name!”

Yeah, a shining-golden frozen-snake, a bent-up tube of brass, an extension of the musician, so alien to view, to hear, but an animal-deep impulse says it’s so natural, something so pure that causes volumes about its power to fill entire bookshelves in the quiet, dusty, library.
Passion and neglect. Like a dismissed Great Idea. Bone-yard for what spent a period in a Mind that called it once “good”. Like a spinning, dying Earth going to pieces… The façade of care and attention, like a comic book collection sealed in a vault, may be to blame. But, it’s much more than that. Ownership turns passion to neglect. From Author to librarian. God to humanity. And imaginative boy to neurotic adult. The passing of hands, from the passionate to neglectful.

Gin and Tonic

Where is my Ginsey
My Johnny, my muse?
Where is my coffee mug!
I drink water and self-respect. only.
I drink Gin and Tonic
If chronic dreams gin and lofty goals tonic.
Stirred up, mixed up, smashed up
dreams of gin and tonic
An Ayn Rand world populated with Biblical characters: Jesus overthrowing the tables of the non-profits who think they can save the world with personal sacrifice, the Sermon on the Mount lauding the enterprising tent-builders. And John the Baptist on a train! Pulling into every train station to shout “Repent!” and baptizing the believers in the name of Rearden Metal.

Honestly, I haven’t finished either book yet.

I finally figured out a way to record my show.

Sludge Factory Oct 12 for MP3 download

The first bit is cut out because I forgot to hit “record” before I started. Sorry!

…The volume of his mathematical output did not seem to be affected by the distraction of thirteen children or the fact that he was totally blind for the last seventeen years of his life….

My math book about Leonhard Euler

As much as his little ‘e’ has given us hell through the years, you gotta admire the guy.


The areal images of Florida’s suburban/cul-de-sac communities at The Big Picture are intriguing, beautiful, and at times slightly disturbing. Prev, 2.

You’d think after hundreds of messages in church services, I would have been instructed to see services as part of a spiritual life… but I feel like I was taught that life had to be elevated to the spiritual high of the services.

I love conversations with intelligent friends, with mutual interest and respect for each other’s ideas and opinions. And sometimes, they draw out ideas I had not yet put into words. Sometimes in just the right way, like this, too.

Want to learn some Arabic?

asalama lekhm

means “peace be to you”

and the response

alekhm salaam

means “and to you”

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