Seahawks Sweet!

Ellis Island

Now, I am not by nature a raving pro- American.
However, it struck me today...
can you or I even imagine arriving in New York harbor circa 1917 from famine stricken Ireland, or 1980's from war torn Bosnia?
Seeing, for the first time in all her glory the hallowed Lady Liberty, her torch aloft
for you FOR YOU! for the first time?
The culmination of all your dreams...
here!
here!
you are finally here in AMERICA!

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame, With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name Mother of Exiles.
From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

How must that face of hope look on each silent émigré, the awesomeness of a new life
a chance, my chance, my turn, our turn, our children's turn upwelling in each soul?

"Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she with silent lips. "
Give me your tired, your poor your huddled masses, yearning to breathe free...

And we are…or we have been. That is what makes this country great. That is when I can feel pride at who we are. That we can become what we wish, hope, dream Believe!

That is what I am most thankful for today.

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

For at times , I am ashamed of our greed, our capitalist bad boy adolescence body politic.
But I can say that today. Out loud. To anybody.

And still live and breathe to see another day.


-the new colossus/ by poet emma lazarus

Make Prayers to the Raven

Fish and Game area biologist Rick Sinnott holds raven No. 73, which had been shot with a pellet gun and found by a pizza delivery driver.


In death, raven teaches urbanites about his life
Raven No. 73 was known to cruise the Alaska Zoo and local lakes for grub
By DOUG O'HARRAAnchorage Daily News
Published: November 19, 2005 Last Modified: November 19, 2005 at 12:59 AM
A pizza man on a delivery last week rescued a wounded raven he spotted scrabbling along the road in South Anchorage. When his shift ended, he rushed the bleeding bird to Pet Emergency Treatment in Midtown, but it was too late.
X-rays revealed two pellets in the body, bones shattered in the right wing.
It had to be killed.
Lots of injured wild birds die in Anchorage, of course, but this was Raven No. 73, a crafty old scavenger that worked 76th Avenue neighborhoods, stole bread from East Anchorage ducks and snuck tidbits at the Alaska Zoo.
The bird was part of a study by state biologist Rick Sinnott into the habits of Anchorage's ravens. It was tagged so it could be identified from a distance and had been seen 10 times over the past nine years all over town.
As many as 1,000 ravens converge on Anchorage each winter, probably more than any other U.S. city. They're smart birds, capable of using complex calls to direct each other to tasty eats. They often mate for life. The cleverest, most aggressive ravens are called "dominant" and can be identified because hormonal changes turn the lining in their mouths black. The younger and subordinate birds -- the timid bachelors -- hang in larger mobs and back each other up.
Sinnott's study showed, among other things, that Anchorage ravens feast by day in the city's commercial strips and shopping lots ---- trash-bin paradises of chicken bones and french fries.
As the sun sets, most birds scatter to prime roosting areas in the forests and mountains. When light comes, they reverse their commute, arriving back in town to feed about the same time most people start work.
Raven No. 73 was first caught by Sinnott only a few hundred yards from where it was found dying. Over the years, it had spent lots of time checking out garbage bins and tidbits in 76th Avenue neighborhoods. But it also roamed the city.
In 1999, it was seen begging food from captive animals at the Alaska Zoo on the Anchorage Hillside and bird rehabilitation pens at Camp Carroll on Fort Richardson. Other sightings placed it at Cheney Lake and Baxter Bog. A hiker once spied the bird in the Chugach Mountains above the North Fork of Campbell Creek, far from any trash.
The last sighting came in March, when the raven was seen snatching bread from ducks at a pond near College Gate Elementary school in East Anchorage.
Though he never found No. 73's nest, Sinnott speculated that the bird spent its nights in the mountains, traveling back and forth to feeding turf in South Anchorage, visiting East Anchorage on the trip.
"He got around," Sinnott said.
Why would someone shoot No. 73 -- a bird revered by Native culture, protected by federal and state law, and wearing a prominent yellow tag on its right wing?
Laura Kelly, manager of Pet Emergency and a raven lover, wants answers. She's offering a $100 of her own money for the shooter's capture.
"Because the person is probably shooting more than ravens, more than that one raven," she said. "I would certainly spend $100 of my money to straighten a little kid out, or even an adult."
Pizza driver Erik Odegaard was on a run in a neighborhood off West Dimond Street and Arctic Boulevard about 11:30 p.m. on Friday the 11th when he saw the bird.
"He was hopping along, you know how birds hop, but his right wing was kind of hanging out," Odegaard said. "I figured if I don't get this stray bird, a stray dog or something else was going to get him."
The Anchorage father of two likes birds. "I figure if I come back, it'll be as a fish or a bird," he said.
After he delivered the pie, Odegaard parked, donned gloves and cornered the raven by a fence next to some condos. He thought the big yellow tag clipped to No. 73's wing had caused the injury.
"It seemed too big to be a Fish and Game tag," he said. "I thought the bird had caught on it."
Shooting a raven violates the federal Migratory Bird Treaty Act as well as state law, said Steve Oberholtzer, assistant special-agent-in-charge for the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service in Alaska. Someone found guilty could face a $10,000 fine and jail time.
But there are no clues. Sinnott picked up No. 73's frozen carcass Thursday from Pet Emergency. Once it thaws, he plans to cut the bird open, pull out the pellets and see if he can learn anything about the weapon used. He figures a kid might have shot the bird or maybe someone who saw it tearing open garbage bags.
"As powerful as the spirit of the raven is, it seems like the guy who shot him was taking a powerful chance," Sinnott said. "Who knows what kind of luck he's going to have."

You will be missed, #73.

A whole lotta space-

t.s.eliot

April is the cruelest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixingMemory and desire, stirringDull roots with spring rain.Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feedingA little life with dried tubers.Summer surprised us, coming over the StarnbergerseeWith a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch. And when we were children, staying at the arch-duke's,My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,And I was frightened. He said, Marie,Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.In the mountains, there you feel free.I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter. What are the roots that clutch, what branches growOut of this stony rubbish?Son of man, You cannot say, or guess, for you know onlyA heap of broken images, where the sun beats,And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water. OnlyThere is shadow under this red rock,(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),And I will show you something different from eitherYour shadow at morning striding behind youOr your shadow at evening rising to meet you;I will show you fear in a handful of dust. Frisch weht der Wind Der Heimat zu Mein Irisch Kind Wo weilest du?'You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;'They called me the hyacinth girl.'-Yet when we came back, late, from the hyacinth garden,Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could notSpeak, and my eyes failed, I was neitherLiving nor dead, and I knew nothing,Looking into the heart of light, the silence.Oed' und leer das Meer. Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,Had a bad cold, neverthelessIs known to be the wisest woman in Europe,With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she, Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)Here is Belladonna, The Lady of the Rocks, The lady of situations.Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,Which I am forbidden to see. I do not findThe Hanged Man. Fear death by water. I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:One must be so careful these days. Unreal City, Under the brown fog of a winter dawn, A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,I had not thought death had undone so many. Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled, And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hoursWith a dead sound on the final stroke of nine. There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying: 'Stetson! 'You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!'That corpse you planted last year in your garden,'Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?'Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?'O keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men, Or with his nails he'll dig it up again!'You! Hypocrite lecteur! - mon semblable, - mon frère!'

II. A Game of Chess
The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne, Glowed on the marble, where the glass Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines From which a golden Cupidon peeped out(Another hid his eyes behind his wing)Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra Reflecting light upon the table asThe glitter of her jewels rose to meet it, From satin cases poured in rich profusion.In vials of ivory and coloured glass Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes, Unguent, powdered, or liquid - troubled, confused And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air That freshened from the window, these ascended In fattening the prolonged candle-flames, Flung their smoke into the laquearia, Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling. Huge sea-wood fed with copper Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone,In which sad light a carvèd dolphin swam. Above the antique mantel was displayed As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale Filled all the desert with inviolable voice And still she cried, and still the world pursues,'Jug Jug' to dirty ears. And other withered stumps of time Were told upon the walls; staring forms Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed. Footsteps shuffled on the stair. Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair Spread out in fiery points Glowed into words, then would be savagely still. 'My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me. 'Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak. 'What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?'I never know what you are thinking. Think.' I think we are in rats' alley Where the dead men lost their bones. 'What it that noise?' The wind under the door. 'What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?' Nothing again nothing. 'Do'You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember'Nothing?' I remember Those are pearls that were his eyes.'Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?' ButO O O O that Shakespeherian Rag - It's so elegant So intelligent 'What shall I do now? What shall I do?''I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street' With my hair down, so. What shall we do tomorrow? 'What shall we ever do?' The hot water at ten. And if it rains, a closed car at four. And we shall play a game of chess, Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door. When Lil's husband got demobbed, I said -I didn't mince my words, I said to her myself,HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME Now Albert's coming back, make yourself a bit smart. He'll want to know what you done with that money he gave you To get herself some teeth. He did, I was there. You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set, He said, I swear, I can't bear to look at you. And no more can't I, I said, and think of poor Albert, He's been in the army for four years, he wants a good time, And if you don't give it him, there's others will, I said. Oh is there, she said. Something o' that, I said. Then I'll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look. HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME If you don't like it you can get on with it, I said. Others can pick and choose if you can't. But if Albert makes off, it won't be for a lack of telling.You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique. (And her only thirty-one.) I can't help it, she said, pulling a long face, It's them pills I took, to bring it off, she said. (She's had five already, and nearly died of young George.) The chemist said it would be all right, but I've never been the same. You are a proper fool, I said. Well, if Albert won't leave you alone, there it is, I said, What you get married for if you don't want children? HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon, And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot -HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight.Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.

III. The Fire Sermon
The river's tent is broken; the last fingers of leaf Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed. Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers, Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed.And their friends, the loitering heirs of City directors; Departed, have left no addresses. By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept ...Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song, Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long. But at my back in a cold blast I hear The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear. A rat crept softly through the vegetation Dragging its slimy belly on the bank While I was fishing in the dull canal On a winter evening round behind the gashouse Musing upon the king my brother's wreck And on the king my father's death before him. White bodies naked on the low damp ground And bones cast in a little low dry garret, Rattled by the rat's foot only, year to year. But at my back from time to time I hear The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring.
O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter And on her daughter They wash their feet in soda water Et O ces voix d'enfants, chantant dans la coupole! Twit twit twit Jug jug jug jug jug jug
So rudely forc'd. Tereu Unreal City Under the brown fog of a winter noon Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants C.i.f. London: documents at sight, Asked me in demotic French To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel Followed by a weekend at the Metropole. At the violet hour, when the eyes and back Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits Like a taxi throbbing waiting, I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives, Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea, The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights Her stove, and lays out food in tins. Out of the window perilously spread Her drying combinations touched by the sun's last rays, On the divan are piled (at night her bed) Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays. I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest -I too awaited the expected guest. He, the young man carbuncular, arrives, A small house agent's clerk, with one bold stare, One of the low on whom assurance sits As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire. The time is now propitious, as he guesses,The meal is ended, she is bored and tired, Endeavours to engage her in caresses Which are still unreproved, if undesired. Flushed and decided, he assaults at once; Exploring hands encounter no defence; His vanity requires no response, And makes a welcome of indifference.(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all Enacted on this same divan or bed; I who have sat by Thebes below the wall And walked among the lowest of the dead.) Bestows one final patronising kiss, And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit... She turns and looks a moment in the glass, Hardly aware of her departed lover;Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:' Well now that's done: and I'm glad it's over. 'When lovely woman stoops to folly and Paces about her room again, alone, She smoothes her hair with automatic hand, And puts a record on the gramophone. 'This music crept by me upon the waters' And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street. O City city, I can sometimes hear Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street, The pleasant whining of a mandoline And a clatter and a chatter from within Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls Of Magnus Martyr hold Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold. The river sweats Oil and tar The barges drift With the turning tide Red sails Wide To leeward, swing on the heavy spar. The barges wash Drifting logs Down Greenwich reach Past the Isle of Dogs. Weialala leia Wallala leialala Elizabeth and Leicester Beating oars The stern was formed A gilded shell Red and gold The brisk swell Rippled both shores Southwest wind Carried down stream The peal of bells White towers Weialala leia Wallala leialala 'Trams and dusty trees. Highbury bore me. Richmond and Kew Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe.' 'My feet are at Moorgate and my heart Under my feet. After the event He wept. He promised "a new start." I made no comment. What should I resent?' 'On Margate Sands. I can connect Nothing with nothing. The broken fingernails of dirty hands. My people humble people who expect Nothing.' la la To Carthage then I came Burning burning burning burning O Lord Thou pluckest me out O Lord Thou pluckest burning

IV. Death by Water
Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead, Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell And the profit and loss. A current under sea Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell He passes the stages of his age and youth Entering the whirlpool. Gentile or Jew O you who turn the wheel and look windward,Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.

V. What the Thunder Said
After the torchlight red on sweaty faces After the frosty silence in the gardens After the agony in stony places The shouting and the crying Prison and palace and reverberation Of thunder of spring over distant mountains He who was living is now dead We who were living are now dying With a little patience Here is no water but only rock Rock and no water and the sandy road The road winding above among the mountains Which are mountains of rock without water If there were water we should stop and drink Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand If there were only water amongst the rock Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit Here one can neither stand not lie nor sit There is not even silence in the mountains But dry sterile thunder without rain There is not even solitude in the mountains But red sullen faces sneer and snarl From doors of mudcracked houses If there were water And no rock If there were rock And also water And water A spring A pool among the rock If there were the sound of water only Not the cicada And dry grass singing But sound of water over a rock Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop But there is no water Who is the third who walks always beside you? When I count, there are only you and I together But when I look ahead up the white road There is always another one walking beside you Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded I do not know whether a man or a woman - But who is that on the other side of you? What is that sound high in the air Murmur of maternal lamentation Who are those hooded hordes swarming Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth Ringed by the flat horizon only What is the city over the mountains Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air Falling towers Jerusalem Athens Alexandria Vienna London Unreal A woman drew her long black hair out tight And fiddled whisper music on those strings And bats with baby faces in the violet light Whistled, and beat their wings And crawled head downward down a blackened wall And upside down in air were towers Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells. In this decayed hole among the mountains In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel There is the empty chapel, only the wind's home. It has no windows, and the door swings, Dry bones can harm no one. Only a cock stood on the rooftree Co co rico co co rico In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust Bringing rain Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves Waited for rain, while the black clouds Gathered far distant, over Himavant.The jungle crouched, humped in silence.Then spoke the thunder Datta: what have we given? My friend, blood shaking my heart The awful daring of a moment's surrender Which an age of prudence can never retract By this, and this only, we have existed Which is not to be found in our obituaries Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor In our empty rooms Dayadhvam: I have heard the key Turn in the door once and turn once only We think of the key, each in his prison thinking of the key, each confirms a prison Only at nightfall, aethereal rumours Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus Damyata: The boat responded Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar The sea was calm, your heart would have responded Gaily, when invited, beating obedient To controlling hands I sat upon the shore Fishing, with the arid plain behind me Shall I at least set my lands in order?
London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down
Poi s'ascose nel foco che gli affina Quando fiam uti chelidon
- O swallow swallow
Le Prince d'Aquitaine à la tour abolie
These fragments I have shored against my ruins
Why then Ile fit you.
Hieronymo's mad againe.
Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
Shantih shantih shantih

-here in the arctic wasteland.

The null point for face recognition...

...occurred today.
At Chicago's O'hare.
The world's busiest airport.

Either we are all:

1. the original face, or

2. we are null pointed to interface with the continuum.

best day worst day

1. leave katz -abuse @ oh-dark thirty.
2. laaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhrry is on the same plane.
3. get into town and met wif ma peeps, sherry.
4. new date can't come to lunch.
5. sherry and i go out to lunch.
6. out of 5 zillion restaurants we go to, we walk right into the one where
the ex and his latest bimbo are sitting. he exuberantly waves hello, i walk out.
7. better restaurant, manrique's for sherry and me.
8. LOTSA retail therapy at Nordy's.
9. Lot$a retail therapy at nordy'$
10. great makeover
11. mortgage the house for the makeup products, and then i gotta learn how to use em
12. Time for a haircut
13 OMIGOD! what WAS the stylist thinking?
14. Ciggies are 27 bux a carton tax here. Good not to smoke.
15. Off to meeting. Kim and Peggy chair
16. Called on, but pissing people off . sherry says bimbo is there. dont know her.
17. New guy left message, call him back.
We meet at TGIF, sher and hubby and new friend.
18. WOW he looks great. Has not changed a bit!
19. Dinner is fun
20. Ride to the airport
21. Fabulous kiss
22. Miss the fucking check- in time
23. Bypass the wicked witch of Ak Air
24. Make a mad dash for the plane,no checked bags , all my luggage in tow
25. Chatting with the fabulous ksser the whole time, who ws ready to come pick my ass back up!
26 TSA has found my flamethrower! ok, nail scissors
27. Some pimple faced TSA geek' s pawing thru my undies , cuz I can't pull the nail scissors out myself. Cant touch that! Find em, rescan the bag ( Still talking to FK=fab kisser)
28. Run to the gate, last one on, sign off to FK in the jetway.
29. Boarding next to me in line is the Colonel/doctor
30. Sit next to a WI girl and her daughter...spend the rest of the flight thinking about FK Man!

And there you have it.