Grace Paley, one of the great American short-story writers, has died; she was 84, and had been battling breast cancer. Paley was an activist and teacher, and former state poet laureate in both New York and Vermont. She died Wednesday in Vermont, where she had made her home in later years. [NPR ]

Pigeon dung examined in bridge collapse – Yahoo! News

Inspectors began documenting the buildup of pigeon dung on the span near downtown Minneapolis two decades ago. Experts say the corrosive guano deposited all over the Interstate 35W span's framework helped the steel beams rust faster.

“Remember we’re all in this alone.”

— Lily Tomlin

In a recent post, I explained my plan to start my long wrought novel completely over from scratch, and try to write it right. I thought someone out there might be interested in how it’s going so far.

ha ha ho ho and hee hee

Well I’ve worked on it every day, for as long as possible. I’ve written six sections, or short chapters. Maybe they’re scenes. Doesn’t matter. What matters is that I think they are better. More truthful, deeper. Some of it is based on previous work, some is brand new.

I’m writing in first person. It’s a much different world. Shall I tell you a little about myself? Perhaps another day.

I’ve been writing in coffeehouses a lot. I go to one in nearby Summerland, which seems to have a good … hmm … vibe. Yes, it’s a vibe. A vibration. No crazies. (Well, there’s a psychic that offers readings at a table sometimes, but I don’t think she’s a nut. I call it prelest, a Russian word essentially meaning spiritual deception or illusion. But I’ve digressed. ) The starbucks here in Carpinteria is OK sometimes too, but more distracting. Some crazies, and loud tourists. Do they really talk that loudly in European cafes?

I’ve taken to carrying with me at all times a pair of ear plugs and my trusty iPod. The plugs are always useful for writing, unless there’s inspiring conversation going on. The iPod is great unless the cafe has it’s own music going.

The writing is going well, considering my other priorities don’t afford it my full time attention. See, I’m looking for a full time job. And I’ve got this trying to survive and recover from morbid obesity shtick going. That takes more time and effort than you might think.

No, I’m not posting any samples for your annoyance. I’ve learned my lesson on that.

“Writing a book is a very lonely business. You are totally cut off from the rest of the world, submerged in your obsessions and memories.”

Mario Vargas Llosa , Peruvian Novelist and Essayist

Marc Ash of Truthout, on Rove::

“I never thought Karl Rove was a genius. Rove is not brilliant; he’s ruthless. There is a difference. What makes Rove dangerous is he will take risks no one else will take.”

Protesters show up in force near Cheney home:

We organized it because of the war in Iraq and what an injustice it has been,’ Walt Farmer, retired Air Force captain and registered Republican said. ‘The Vice President has received a pass in Jackson long enough. We want to let them know we don’t approve of the war or how they play fast and loose with the Constitution.

See Dick.
See Dick’s house in Wyoming.
See Dick’s house get marched on.

It is good.

Exhaustion and combat stress are besieging US troops in Iraq as they battle with a new type of warfare. Some even rely on Red Bull to get through the day. As desertions and absences increase, the military is struggling to cope with the crisis. [The Guardian]

Welcome back to Peaceable after its two week hiatus.

My first reaction to this article was shoot, millions of Americans back home rely on caffeine, just to make it to lunch. My second was I wonder if the company that makes Red Bull is publicly traded. My third, and the one that I’m going with, is Another proof that Bush is marching this once great country, boots first, straight into hell.

Of course the soldiers are exhausted. Soldiers are always exhausted in war. War doesn’t have office hours. But war, though always insane, is presumed to have a discernible objective: whop the crap out of the enemy and go home. This one doesn’t; no objectives, nothing to win, everything to lose.

I don’t know about you, but even sitting here in my comfy desk chair, I’m pretty farking tired of it myself.

Impeach Bush and Cheney.

Hi.

Welcome to Peaceable. The blog is on a break, probably for a few weeks.

I’m trying to concentrate on my writing, life and time, and the itchy inconvenience of consciousness. I blog about that stuff at Metaphor.

Feel free to browse the archives. There are over 1700 hot and juicy posts in there.

Peace.

I’ve still got it on my mind that I may have to abandon this blog in hopes the other one will survive. It’s not getting hits, and creative writing is what I care about, far more than politics or social rhetoric.

I can be terribly indecisive. I am aware that it can be annoying to the point of homicide. Have you ever been stuck in a restaurant with some guy who just won’t put down the menu down, and the server keeps coming back, “Y’all need a few more minutes? I’ll come back” But you know it’ll be 20 minutes.

Just pick something! Get a sandwich! It’ll all be shit in an hour anyway!

It’s basically the same here, and I know it. It just doesn’t matter!
It just doesn’t matter!
It just doesn’t matter!

Do I even need to do anything? About anything? Should I do something, or just wait and see?

They say that time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself.
— Andy Warhol

Perhaps this line from the movie Hook is more appropriate. Capt Hook is about to give Peter Pan’s son Jack an ear piercing, with his hook: “Now laddie, just lie your head like so and don’t move. ‘Cause this is really going to hurt.”

Los Angeles Times:

“Antiwar activist Cindy Sheehan and 45 fellow protesters were arrested at the Capitol for disorderly conduct in demanding the impeachment of President Bush.”

I guess she couldn’t retire just yet, bless her heart.

The Democrats in Congress suck. Amoral cowards. They refuse to do the right thing and start impeachment proceedings because it’s not convenient.

Airports warned about terror dry runs – Yahoo! News:

“The seizures at airports in San Diego, Milwaukee, Houston and Baltimore included ‘wires, switches, pipes or tubes, cell phone components and dense clay-like substances,’ including block cheese.”

Hey, this is nothing to be jokin around about. I’ve had the terror dry runs while traveling, and it’s … well, if you’ve ever known the pain and embarrassment …

Anyway, I think the worst seizures there are have to be those involving pipes and block cheese. That’ll really do for you – make you want to just stay home a while.

Oh, I’m so blind Oh, I’m blind
I wasted time Wasted, wasted, all too much time
Walkin’ on the wire, high wire
But I must let the show go on

Do you ever stop in the middle of doing something seemingly inconsequential and wonder why you’re doing it? Sure you do. Maybe you suddenly wonder why you’re taking the time to gather all the rubber bands tangled in the junk drawer in the kitchen, and loop them around the doorknob on the inside of the broom closet. It’s rational, and they’ll be there when you need them. (I’ve never done it; I just made it up. But I made it up because I can picture you doing it.) But wouldn’t you, if a 747 dropped on your house, just hate that you wasted those last four minutes of existence that way?

Anyway, I made such a stop in the middle of writing that last post about Bush’s guts, earlier this evening. I was sitting in the Starbucks here in Carpinteria, watching a family of tourists from Europe trying to vain find a decent cup of joe in the culturally dessicated US. I stopped and wondered why I keep doing this anti-war blog thing. I’m not convinced it’s half as rational – in my case – as that thing you do with the rubber bands.

So I admit there are times, having wasted 22 minutes writing, linking, editing, and posting one of these yawps against the Shrub, that I’m forced to say Well, there’s 22 minutes of my life I’m never getting back.

It’s not that I don’t care about my readers, all 3 of you. Actually, I think there are two of you, consistently, right now; one of my regulars has opted out of my insegrievious ubiety for a time. So it goes. (Don’t you love my vocabulary? I should sell it on e-bay. Back in elementary school, they called me Webster. Don’t blink now, ladies and gents, he’s workin without a net up there!)