More Edges: The Daily Post Photo Challenge

Give me a wide-open landscape, and I feel unmoored (and my iPhone camera, inadequate). Throw in some demarcating line between me and what I see, and things start to fall into place.

— Ben Huberman, The Daily Post

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Front Courtyard, de Young Museum, Golden Gate Park, San Francisco

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Returning to Bacolod on the Ferry From Iloilo, in the central Philippines

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Night descends on a Philippine Sea.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.

from Dutch Warlord: Hunger Games/Battlestar Galactica Mash-Up

Six months after the destruction of the Twelve Districts, Viper pilot Peeta Mellark is training several rookies when they are ambushed by an enemy fighter patrol. Ordering the recruits to retreat, he engages the enemy patrol alone and destroys most of them but not before suffering critical damage to his own fighter and being dragged into a nearby moon’s gravity well.

DUN DUN DUN!

Stay tuned.

Steve Jobs Photograph

The greatest photographs of Steve Jobs self has ever seen are here, at the Douglas Menuez Photography Archive in Stanford.

When she visited Bletchley Park in June, the tour guide said the first computer was invented at Bletchley Park, by Alan Turing. She saw this thingamajig (really, there is no other word to describe what she saw. Unless it’s the word contraption) that looked like the inside of someone’s cabinet, only with — gear wheels? And wires? It was a codebreaking machine.

That’s funny, self thought. All along, she thought the computer was invented in Silicon Valley. By IBM.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.

Poetry Sunday: Diane Kirsten Martin

The following appeared in Crab Orchard Review’s The West Coast & Beyond issue, Summer/Fall 2014:

Contiguous

— by Diane Kirsten Martin

Don’t you wonder about the panhandler
On Fremont and Market, sharing his day’s
proceeds with his pink-nosed pit? Or

Frank Chu, with his sign of 12 Galaxies?
What about the World-Famous Bushman,
hiding behind the branch he shakes

at passers-by, or the matching — from pumps
to pillbox hats — Marian and Vivian Brown.
Who are they and who are you, starting out

from the glass eyes of your apartment?
Do you wake in a sweat on an October
night with stars, the moon a fat orange

and the temperature pushing 90
and remember a silver filigree ring buried
under the azalea, the mute orphan who lived

with his uncle, your father who gave you
the back of his hand? Do you, like Frank,
dream of aliens? I’ll bet the man on Fremont

dreams about Thunderbird and wakes up
as if he drank a whole bottle of fortified wine.
Nights like this, with windows wide, you can

hear the rush of the freeway, like the sound
of whitewater Ronald Reagan had piped
into his bedroom for insomnia. Nights like this

we lie naked, contiguous in this warm
ocean that flows around our back and breasts
our arms our throats our lips, necks, thighs.

  • Diane Kirsten Martin won the Erskine J. Poetry Prize from Smartish Pace and was included in Best New Poets 205.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.

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