J Hill

A Complete Study on the Design And Construction of Culverts in America ~~~~~~~~~chapter four~~~~~~~~~~ ______EACH RAINDROP SEEKS A FLOOD______ My name is Doet and I live in the Village of Nuham. I make maps. Many sorts of maps containing the directions to many things. Even if it were not my avocation, I would still make maps. From my expensive apprenticeship learning the practical use of surveying tools, mapmaking was my trade. In many ways, my life itself seems a map to me. And I find myself sometimes seeing nearly all things in terms of a grid. Every moment, event and each thing distinct, but predictible to the next in it's slope and characteristics. The exact nature of which can not be drawn until it's own time of discovery. My favorties are hydrological maps of imaginary watersheds. From youngest memory, I have felt compelled to diagram and detail wonderfully complex, inter-connected, marvolously constructed, dykes and drains, ditchs and levees, impoundments and culvert systems. Both of the sort that actually exist in this world and the even grander designs of my fantacy. And the names I give them. The making, organization and review of these maps takes up most of my time and concentration. I gladdly pay that price because no one else can or will. I do it because to study and document the control of land and water through excavation and elevation, calms me. Their connections. Their cause and effects. Their predictable, random inter-dependance. All bring me solace when nothing, or no one else, can or will. I am now old, retired by physical incapacity, and teach, sometimes, Cartography at the University. My lifelong obsession and mastery of navigation, flow and distribution naturally tends to make some others in Nuham nervous. I think they wish they knew all the things that I know, that they can not know, and that leads them to fear me. But i don't play lies on little children, just because I can. Like they do. I don't pretend to feel things that I don't or be someone that I'm not, just to gain a small measure of trust. And then use that trust only to steal something small, just because I can. Like, while bitterly resenting the loss of their own childhood, they do. And I don't allow the monster of my tedious learning and aged foresight born of disapointment to become a vampire of their naive innocence. But they do. There are diversions everywhere. In some ways, there exist only diversions. Some as small as the trench left by a worm that has crawled through some mud. Others, shallow ditchs and canals directing tiny streams from an ocean of tide drawn by fingers on sandy beachs. The largest culverts are forged in oppressive foundrys from molten stone and transported long distances before being assembled into intricate arrangements capable of turning a flood into a deep and usefull pond. When people wonder why flood stops fail, they don't wait for answers. Because answers normally require a long and complex explanation. Instead they wildly speculate based on their un-admitted ignorance and almost always are wrong. And even when they are right, they don't know why they're right and so learn nothing. Too lazy and impatient to really study and understand the reasons but too foolishly pridefull to admit that they are. This bothers me. I could tell them. I know where the weak points are. I can see the breaks well before any rainy deluge. But they wouldn't understand. And, they would not admit that they did not. And that makes my voice grow sharp and cruel and then they think I am talking to them as one would to a two year old. And I feel as if I am. And that will make them shun me still more. So, I say nothing. And I let them make their mistakes. And they know that I know much more than they're even interested in knowing, and this just makes them scorn me more. Alone instead, I quietly make the maps that will someday say everything. And I keep my journals. And each is stored and sealed in film and kept in a place that should stay dry. So that even after the flood waters of time finally drown the air from this mortal life, they will be there waiting on the chance that a truly curious student might arrive someday to this village. tbc

~~~_________ TEN 2 GO :guitar:________ :happybanana: ~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1. More Than This - Roxy Music (1982) 2. Be My Lover - Alice Cooper (1971) 3. Walkin' After Midnight - Patsy Cline (1957) 4. Goldfinger - Shirley Bassey (1964) 5. Ants Marching - Dave Matthews Band (1994) 6. No Particular Place To Go - Chuck Berry (1964) 7. Immigration Man - Graham Nash/David Crosby (1972) 8. Pictures Of You - The Cure (1989) 9. Jingo - Santana (1969) 10. Day By Day - Godspell (the musical) (1972) '''''''''''''' '''''''''''''

I think this is one of the funniest songs ever! (and the vid cracks me up too) It's Hard To Kiss the Lips At Night That Chew Your Ass Out All Day Long - The Notorious Cherry Bombs

as for the 'true' comments, yes, I have to agree, and I don't even know you, but for BF it seemed a very identifiable set. But, then again, so have all the other personal TTs I've enjoyed here have seemed to their 'true' selfs from what little I know of them Except for those couple more melodic things that kind of snuck in there. Is that a softer side? Or were you just throwing meat to the masses? tip of the studded leather dog collar to you on that hard core stand (r whtevr te kiz r sain dees daz) ..... ...... ... just wondering though, if some of these are 'lightweight' IYO, why would you even nom tunes to yer list that you didn't really want on your TT then? -- ------ ------- -------- --------- ------ ------- maybe all music lasts longer than a lifestyle, or maybe that's just some.

fyc.... More Than This - Roxy Music Ants Marching - Dave Matthews Band (because | can't believe there's not a single DMB tune 2B found in the TTs)

Nov. 13, 2008 07:57 AM BANG Showbiz Madonna says rumored lover Alex Rodriguez "has the heart of a poet trapped inside an insanely gorgeous body." The 50-year-old singer - who was first romantically linked to the baseball player, nickname 'A-Rod', earlier this year before announcing her divorce from Guy Ritchie - has reportedly been gushing to close pals about the sportsman. A source said: "Madonna is smitten with Alex. She told a close friend that he has the heart of a poet trapped inside an insanely gorgeous body." It has also been claimed Alex has regularly been sending the mother-of-three "love notes". The source added to the New York Post newspaper: "Alex has been writing Madonna these sweet, personal and rambling expressions of his feelings - sort of like old-fashioned love notes." It was recently claimed Alex is so keen to make his relationship with Madonna work that he is moving in a bid to be closer to the singer. A source close to the sportsman said: "A-Rod was living in an apartment on Columbus Circle, five blocks from Madonna's New York base in Central Park West. But now he wants to move three blocks north to 15 Central Park West - meaning he would only be two blocks away from Madonna." ^^^^^^^^^^^^^

1. Wondering Where the Lions Are - Bruce Cockburn (1979) 2. Groove Me - King Floyd (1970) 3. Scientist, The - Coldplay (2002) 4. Night They Drove Old Dixie Down, The - The Band (1969) 5. Moonlight Mile - The Rolling Stones (1971) 6. Shop Around - Smokey Robinson & The Miracles (1960) 7. I'm A Loser - The Beatles (1964) 8. Street Spirit (Fade Out) - Radiohead (1995) 9. Ampersand - Amanda Palmer (2008) 10. Wooly Bully - Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs (1965)

******sorry, just saw this news has already been posted. You have to get up pretty early around here! Mods feel free to remove, or move this post. Local Portland, OR television station KGW reports Jimi Hendrix Experience drummer Mitch Mitchell was found dead yesterday in his room in a downtown Portland hotel. The local Medical Examiner's office said Mitchell likely died of natural causes, though results of an autopsy scheduled yesterday will be made available soon. "We're all devastated to hear of Mitch's passing," said Experience Hendrix CEO Janie Hendrix. "He was a wonderful man, a brilliant musician and a true friend." Mitchell had been playing as part of the traveling Experience Hendrix tour, which ended last Friday in Portland. In 1993, he was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Mitch Mitchell was 62. Archive and recent photos of Mitchell as well as archived footage is available at this location.

This one was some work.. (pretty sure, not just for me:)Tough list, but thanx fore makin' me listen **sure, it hurt a bit at times but I think I discovered a thing or two, too 1. "The Back Of Love" - Echo And The Bunnymen 2. "Making Plans For Nigel" - XTC 3. "Delilah" - The Dresden Dolls 4. "Police And Thieves" - Junior Murvin 5. "Manchasm" - Future Of The Left 6. "Last Night In Soho" - Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick And Titch 7. "Ghost Town" - The Specials 8. "Ahead" - Wire 9. "My Girl" - Madness 10. "Teenage Riot" - Sonic Youth

/\agreed, it is kind of " " ...but then again, you never know.....

Blind Melon has canned replacement singer Travis Warren, and have announced a search for a new singer through a post on the band's MySpace blog. "So we're going to try to press forward immediately, and we want to find a singer to go with us." Read the rest of the post here ................... :guitar:...............

kinda thought both of these might be someone's pre-noms! But both deserving a re-listen They still sound very fresh today btw... the version of 'Groove Me' on the "Swingers" soundtrack, is best, imho

FYC: Wondering Where the Lions Are - Bruce Cockburn Groove Me - King Floyd ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

being careful, because this type of discussion can be tricky. I have to say, maybe it's wrong, but I kind of agree a bit with BA. Only, I'm not nearly as strident about it. I also agree with this too,(xcept maybe the 1st couple lines }/\ I'm pretty much a live & let live sort of guy. And I don't think the whole "Gay Marriage" issue really impacts me as directly as many of the other great troubles of our time do. But I'm aware this is an issue very personal to many. When you think about it, gays and straights are actually pretty much the same in every way, except that one thing. Sigmund was right, it's the minor differences.

Hiya! That could be interesting and probably a good show, but it still wouldn't really be Led Zeppelin, would it? Led Heart, maybe? Plant just came off a long tour with Alison Krauss, they called it "Raising Sand" after their album I think, didn't sound much like Led Zepp at all, but was still pretty dam good.

you had me there almost right up until the inanimate objects Sheeesh! You have to draw the line somewhere. :beady:

_______________ __________________ But isn't Larry Craig kind of really only half-a-homosexual? A "Married" (as in between a man and a woman) man who, allegedly, still found time to solicit gay men for sex in public restrooms? What do you do in that case? Should a half-a-homosexual be able to be "married" to a man and a woman at the same time? I have no problems with "civil unions" but agree with the op, the term "Marriage" is, imho, already taken. As for the 1st Gay President, Miamisammy is probably right, 1861. Read up on the only president never to have been married. He was also the last U.S. President who would ever endorse slavery. He presided over huge deficit spending and conducted a ridiculous "war" upon those he labeled religious "extremists" in Utah, of all places. He is generally considered to have been one the country's all-time worst presidents and was followed by one of our best.

You are so right! Getting OT a bit here but, maybe that's because men can see women from the point of view of something different. So the weaknesses are all the more apparent. Conversely, women see men from a perspective we can't get to. And loathe the weakness underneath our loud assurances. And both do not understand, the cultural commands, should not always be met.

Yup! Because it's that "wind thing" that will getcha' everytime. She can't really need the money. So, if it's only for vanity, how long b-fore she insists on perfoming in a hermetically~sealed capsule?

Her eyes are saying "Look, if you dare. For I have eyes upon my brests!" and maybe we won't notice the beach ball around her waist. -------> <-------

WOOT!! 7. Blue Monday - New Order (1983) My 1st nom to hit a Top Ten! :guitar: ----< :happybanana: >----- ~~~~~~~~~~~"you're probably wondering why I'm here"~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank You! All your words and feed-back are very much appreciated. And I can relate to the time-squeeze factor. But that's a great thing about the web, super-quick, but often in no big hurry. Today's blog will still be around months from now. I know I have a problem with that whole it's whose>who's thing, I do that all the time and usually catch myself. I am glad to have you point it out. I probably make many more mistakes I'm not even aware of making and I'm trying to learn the difference. So, again, thanx!My grammer and structure, I admit, are needing lot's of work. And if it wasn't for spellcheck, OMG! The 'tbc' is for further chapters currently sketched for these subjects and a few other inhabitants of this common imaginary village and beyond. I am an amateur. I have no special education or training (HS grad) but I have always liked to write and have had the chance to do a little more of it lately. I love music too. Always wanted to play a musical instrument, but never really could (at least not well). Sometimes when I sit down and start to write, I get a feeling similar, I imagine, to what a musician must feel picking up an instrument and just working and riffing away at some melody in his head. I hear a line, and that leads me to another. I imagine a character and it brings me to picture a situation. I have an idea of an overiding theme, but not at all sure really where it's going or how it will connect just now. This must make for a frustrating reading experiance, I understand. But there is a continuation and connection through all of this, even if I can't quite articulate it. Yet.

Opps!!! Sorry, my bad! btw... Denis Leary is a live libertarian. But how about, Sandy Dennis?

Really?? Why? Because she doesn't fit the stereotype of a 'feminist'? Wasn't breaking stereotypes what it's supposed to be all about? Because, I think it would be great if women in general could be more free of the cultural baggage they're burdened with. Men (me) too! ''''''':beatnik:_____

...despite an obvious lack of any sort of demand, with gratiude in advance, I promise this will be my last topic started here with this subject, for now. Thanks forever for the indulgence. A Complete Study On the Design and Construction of Culverts in America chapter 3 .................STAYED.................... He stays behind. The river was rising. A flood was coming. Other's are leaving. The work had to be done. Hasty and incomplete, certainly, but plans had been made. Made, no less than, by those in Nuham who professed to know best, and were good at sending others to danger while safely out of harm's way. They called his name to take a shovel. Though he was known to shun and was shunned, desperate, an invitation had come now to join the team. The heroes from the rain and the mud and the dangerous cold on the breaking levy, suddenly came longing for his company. And with false graciousness, he invited the deputies to the kitchen where he offered half-old coffee and salted crackers. Carefully speaking no words but nodding and sounding the only thing he could think of to safely say, "Hmmmm..." Soon, and as all along he had hoped, they grew impatient and threatened to leave. The one named Brad angrily saying "Come now, or be swept away!" and to the three others that had trampled in, splotching his worn floor with their mud and fouling the air with their stench and cigarettes, "Hurry! Take food and whatever cloth you can find. Hurry!" and then Brad's eyes glared back into his own, "When you change your mind, the Second Northern Dyke, that's where we'll be. You'll be lucky to make it half-way there. I'll give you one more chance, come with us now." The sound of distant alarm bells and whistles blew in on the hissing and howling windy rain through the front door left wide open. "Hmmmm.." is all he said and nodded more slowly this time. They left the door open still upon departing just moments later. And he stayed behind. He couldn't possibly get ready in time. He didn't know what to bring. He didn't dare abandon his frail and demented responsibilties. He was afraid, and after all, he had always stayed before. Stayed through worse than this. Much worse. Through greater storms than this. Like the constant snows of winter, 'Seventy-Seven. Some that didn't completly melt until the end of the summer of '77 and a half. Through the Great First Month Ice Storm of 'Eighty-Eight. It's devastation still evident everywhere you looked in the wood and in the village these several years later. And, in spite of much bigger threats. Like the day he watched, incredulous at the age of eleven, as his mother, the one who's own young and un-predicted flood had revealed his life, and who's kindness could be matched only by her resent, walked out of this house and away from his life that day and for each of the nineteen-some-odd years worth of days since. In a moment so etched, it seemed as a wallpaper upon these confines. He stood there, right here, in this very room. Looking to his drunken, cursing and bloodied father, crumpled and broken upon that long discarded battered davenport, and he didn't know what to say. Couldn't decide the words to speak to get her to stay. He innerly begged and silently plead for his father to say something. Say he was sorry. Say he loved her. Beg her to stay. Say something. Anything. But his father was saying nothing of coherance. While he couldn't decide whether to speak or say nothing. And if he spoke what should he say? And what if he said the wrong thing... then, with a drastic barametric shift, chilly damp autumn air and several clumps of fallen leaves rushed through the threshold suddenly vacated by the old front door. She turned to him and said... "Coming?" In a panic, he couldn't at that moment remember where he had left his shoes. And he wasn't wearing a coat. And it was cold and wet outside. And he didn't want to leave his father. And he didn't want his mother to go. But he couldn't think of the right thing to say. And then, she said using that scornfull voice he feared so deeply, "Fine. Stay! Stay here then. Fine!" He thought she was about to change her mind. He thought she must see what he would be, without her. But there was no patience or offer extended for waiting, so, in stunned silence, he stayed behind. The hole in their wall, that portal to the wild, dark, dangerous, night, it's very pressure threatening with rumors of winter and other even colder things, the space was replaced violently by that door slamming it's barrior closed. In less than a moment, it seemed, a car's door, her car's door, opened and then banged shut loudly as it's motor obediently cranked to life. Stumbling to the window and watching in dis-belief, his tears rolling over the ridge of his cheekbones like the water from a broken dam, as those taillights blurred down the driveway and diminished in moments to pin pricks of moving light down the road upon the murky night before fading out of sight completely. She drove that car away. And his tears were like a massive river in the spring thaw following a long, long winter. Washing away any vestige from the fanciful diversions of his childhood. And from that moment through this very day, in waking and in dreams, he thinks often of exactly the right words to say. And exactly the kind of thing he could tell her, would tell her now, to make it better. To make her stay. And he dreams of what he will say when her car does come driving up this road again on some bright and sunny day, bringing her back. That same old dream was all he had of her now. So many long days, and even longer restless nights since, and now, with an un-relenting rain seeking every tiny crack in his weather beaten roof, again he stayed. tbc