9.24.2026 – uneasy season

uneasy season
unconsciously retreat from
world got out of hand

In the essay, A Slight Sound at Evening by EB White as published in The Essays of E.B. White by E.B. White ( Harper Colophon Book: New York, 1979), commented on the 100th anniversary of the publication of Walden by Henry David Thoreau writing:

In our uneasy season, when all men unconsciously seek a retreat from a world that has got almost completely out of hand, his house in the Concord woods is a haven.

In our culture of gadgetry and the multiplicity of convenience,

his cry “Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity!” has the insistence of a fire alarm.

In the brooding atmosphere of war and the gathering radioactive storm, the innocence and serenity of his summer afternoons are enough to burst the remembering heart, and one gazes back upon that pleasing interlude

— its confidence, its purity, its deliberateness

— with awe and wonder, as one would look upon the face of a child asleep.

This essay was written in 1954.

72 years the onslaught of the culture of gadgetry and the multiplicity of convenience, could only be a nightmare when viewed from 1954 let alone 1854.

Yet in 185, Mr. Thoreau wrote in his book, “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.”

I am reminded of the short story, The Grizzly and the Gadgets by Mr. White’s office mate, James Thurber.

The Grizzly and the Gadgets

A grizzly bear who had been on a bender for several weeks following a Christmas party in his home at which his brother-in-law had set the Christmas tree on fire, his children had driven the family car through the front door and out the back, and all the attractive female bears had gone into hibernation before sunset returned home prepared to forgive, and live and let live. He found, to his mild annoyance, that the doorbell had been replaced by an ornamental knocker. When he lifted the knocker, he was startled to hear it play two bars of “Silent Night.”

When nobody answered his knock, he turned the doorknob, which said “Happy New Year” in a metallic voice, and a two-tone gong rang “Hello” somewhere deep within the house.

He called to his mate, who was always the first to lay the old aside, as well as the first by whom the new was tried, and got no answer. This was because the walls of his house had been soundproofed by a soundproofer who had soundproofed them so well nobody could hear anybody say anything six feet away. Inside the living room the grizzly bear turned on the light switch, and the lights went on all right, but the turning of the switch had also released an odor of pine cones, which this particular bear had always found offensive. The head of the house, now becoming almost as angry as he had been on Christmas Day, sank into an easy chair and began bouncing up and down and up and down, for it was a brand-new contraption called “Sitpretty” which made you bounce up and down and up and down when you sat on it. Now thoroughly exasperated, the bear jumped up from the chair and began searching for a cigarette. He found a cigarette box, a new-fangled cigarette box he had never seen before, which was made of metal and plastic in the shape of a castle, complete with portal and drawbridge and tower. The trouble was that the bear couldn’t get the thing open. Then he made out, in tiny raised letters on the portal, a legend in rhyme: “You can have a cigarette on me If you can find the castle key.” The bear could not find the castle[Pg 92] key, and he threw the trick cigarette box through a windowpane out into the front yard, letting in a blast of cold air, and he howled when it hit the back of his neck. He was a little mollified when he found that he had a cigar in his pocket, but no matches, and so he began looking around the living room for a matchbox. At last he saw one on a shelf. There were matches in it, all right, but no scratching surface on which to scratch them. On the bottom of the box, however, there was a neat legend explaining this lack. The message on the box read: “Safety safety matches are doubly safe because there is no dangerous dangerous sandpaper surface to scratch them on. Strike them on a windowpane or on the seat of your pants.”

Enraged, infuriated, beside himself, seeing red and thinking black, the grizzly bear began taking the living room apart. He pounded the matchbox into splinters, knocked over lamps, pulled pictures off the wall, threw rugs out of the broken window, swept vases and a clock off the mantelpiece, and overturned chairs and tables, growling and howling and roaring, shouting and bawling and cursing, until his wife was aroused from a deep dream of marrying a panda, neighbors appeared from blocks around, and the attractive female bears who had gone into hibernation began coming out of it to see what was going on.

The bear, deaf to the pleas of his mate, heedless of his neighbors’ advice, and unafraid of the police, kicked over whatever was still standing in the house, and went roaring away for good, taking the most attractive of the attractive female bears, one named Honey, with him.

MORAL: Nowadays most men lead lives of noisy desperation.

This culture of gadgetry and the multiplicity of convenience.

You bet, the mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.

Boy howdy but nowadays most men lead lives of noisy desperation.

9.11.2026 – so so many names

so so many names
there is barely room on the
walls of the heart

At the Commemorative Joint Meeting of the Congress of the United States, In Remembrance of the Victims and Heroes of September 11, 2001 at Federal Hall, New York, NY on Friday, September 6, 2002, Billy Collins, Poet Laureate of the United States of America read his poem, The Names, dedicated to the victims of September 11, and to their survivors.

The Names

Yesterday, I lay awake in the palm of the night.
A soft rain stole in, unhelped by any breeze,
And when I saw the silver glaze on the windows,
I started with A, with Ackerman, as it happened,
Then Baxter and Calabro,
Davis and Eberling, names falling into place
As droplets fell through the dark.

Names printed on the ceiling of the night.
Names slipping around a watery bend.
Twenty-six willows on the banks of a stream.
In the morning, I walked out barefoot
Among thousands of flowers
Heavy with dew like the eyes of tears,
And each had a name —
Fiori inscribed on a yellow petal
Then Gonzalez and Han, Ishikawa and Jenkins.

Names written in the air
And stitched into the cloth of the day.
A name under a photograph taped to a mailbox.
Monogram on a torn shirt,
I see you spelled out on storefront windows
And on the bright unfurled awnings of this city.
I say the syllables as I turn a corner —
Kelly and Lee,
Medina, Nardella, and O’Connor.

When I peer into the woods,
I see a thick tangle where letters are hidden
As in a puzzle concocted for children.
Parker and Quigley in the twigs of an ash,
Rizzo, Schubert, Torres, and Upton,
Secrets in the boughs of an ancient maple.

Names written in the pale sky.
Names rising in the updraft amid buildings.
Names silent in stone
Or cried out behind a door.
Names blown over the earth and out to sea.

In the evening — weakening light, the last swallows.
A boy on a lake lifts his oars.
A woman by a window puts a match to a candle,
And the names are outlined on the rose clouds —
Vanacore and Wallace,
(let X stand, if it can, for the ones unfound)
Then Young and Ziminsky, the final jolt of Z.

Names etched on the head of a pin.
One name spanning a bridge, another undergoing a tunnel.
A blue name needled into the skin.
Names of citizens, workers, mothers and fathers,
The bright-eyed daughter, the quick son.
Alphabet of names in a green field.
Names in the small tracks of birds.
Names lifted from a hat
Or balanced on the tip of the tongue.
Names wheeled into the dim warehouse of memory.
So many names, there is barely room on the walls of the heart.

According to Wikipedia, “As U.S. Poet Laureate, Collins read his poem The Names at a special joint session of the United States Congress on September 6, 2002, held to remember the victims of the 9/11 attacks.

Though, unlike their British counterparts, U.S. poets laureate are not asked or expected to write occasional poetry, Collins was asked by the Librarian of Congress to write a poem especially for that event.

Collins initially refused to read “The Names” in public, though he has read it two times in public since 2002.

He vowed not to include it in any of his books, refusing to capitalize on the 9/11 attacks.

However, “The Names” was included in The Poets Laureate Anthology put out by the Library of Congress, for which Collins wrote the foreword.

At the time the only book-published version of “The Names”, it contained a number of typographical errors.

The poem also appeared in the New York Times, September 6, 2002. Collins finally agreed to include “The Names” in his new and selected volume Aimless Love in 2013.”

I thought the image of the sunrise today was appropriate.

It came up, probably looking a lot like this on 9/11/2001.

But the time it set, the world had changed a lot.

In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye.

Names wheeled into the dim warehouse of memory.

So many names, there is barely room on the walls of the heart.

9.7.2026 – will continue to

will continue to
reflect profoundly stupid
and ugly present

Based on the article, Will hordes of influencers, weed smokers and mid-point talkers bring down the US Open? by Aaron Timms at Flushing Meadows (The Guardian, 9/7/2026), where Mr. Timms writes:

People have been complaining about the volume of the New York crowd for decades. But this year the noise at the US Open feels different. This year noise at the noisy slam has become A Problem.

How bad are things really, though? It’s true that the grounds at the US Open this year have felt at times oppressively crowded. But the shoving obliviousness of the fans – the constant staring at phones, the almost universal lack of spatial awareness, the inconsiderate jostling in the interminable lines for the courts and the drinks and the $38 French dip sandwiches and the tiny free canisters of Dove deodorant – reflects nothing more than the poisonous effect of tech and commerce on culture at large. The tournament is drenched in commercial influence: more than it is a series of tennis matches, the US Open is a showcase for brands shilling everything from yogurt to $100,000 cars.

Changing the crowds at the US Open would mean changing society – throwing away the phones and the chatbots and the Bluetooth microphones, rejecting the delusions of the attention economy, saying once and for all that no, in fact, you will not “get ready with me”. It would mean embracing a life of community and human contact and non-screen-mediated concern for each other. But until the distant day when that happens, we’re stuck, I fear, with more of the same – and the US Open will continue to reflect our profoundly stupid and ugly cultural present.

It would mean throwing away the phones and the chatbots and the Bluetooth microphones.

It would mean rejecting the delusions of the attention economy.

It would mean saying once and for all that no, in fact, you will not “get ready with me”.

It would mean embracing a life of community and human contact and non-screen-mediated concern for each other.

But until the distant day when that happens, we’re stuck, I fear, with more of the same.

It means US Open will continue to reflect our profoundly stupid and ugly cultural present.

In church yesterday, the sermon was about Jonah and God given second chances.

Jonah got a second chance and followed God’s commands to go to Nineveh.

Ninevah?

The Bible refers to it as a Great City.

A city great in wickedness.

A city, according to what God says as recorded in the Book of Jonah, where there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand people who cannot tell their right hand from their left.

Profoundly stupid.

People who cannot tell their right hand from their left.

Boy howdy!

Welcome to Nineveh!

7.29.2026 – clumsiness of world

clumsiness of world
behavior compared to
powers of planning

The New York Times article, In Ohio, Toxic Wastewater Is Bubbling Up Out of the Ground by Quinn Glabicki, climate reporter for The New York Times, is a good, if scary read.

Mr. Glabicki writes:

The fracking boom has transformed the United States into the world’s largest producer of natural gas. But fracking also produces huge volumes of salty wastewater laden with heavy metals, radioactive materials and cancer-causing benzene, as well as hazardous chemical additives from the fracking process.

Ohio became a destination for wastewater because decades ago, long before fracking, it received permission from the federal government to regulate its own injection wells, which were then just a small part of the oil and gas industry. As a result, today it’s easier to drill injection wells in Ohio than in states like Pennsylvania where there’s federal oversight.

The industry says injection wells are tightly regulated, and that thousands of feet of rock and shale safely contain the wastewater. Injection wells, “when properly sited, constructed, operated, and regulated, do not pose a significant threat to drinking water,” said Rob Brundrett, president of the Ohio Oil and Gas Association.

At a Republican Party executive meeting last August, Ohio State Senator Brian Chavez, who stepped down as DeepRock’s chief executive after taking elected office in 2023, downplayed the threat posed by injection wells, describing the brine as “ancient seawater,” according to an ethics complaint filed against him with the state’s legislative ethics committee. Mr. Chavez, who chairs the senate energy committee, also compared the radioactivity levels of the waste to that of a banana, according to the complaint, which was filed by residents of Washington County over his relationship with DeepRock.

A spokesman for Ohio Senate Republicans called the ethics complaint meritless.

In a statement, Laura Goins, an attorney for DeepRock, said, “We respect the concerns that have been raised by members of the community and believe those concerns deserve to be addressed through a science-based regulatory process.” She said “DeepRock remains committed to protecting public health, drinking water resources, and the environment.”

Got to love the language and words here.

… when properly sited, constructed, operated, and regulated, do not pose a significant threat to drinking water,

… remains committed to protecting public health, drinking water resources, and the environment.

Yeah ………… sure.

Remember any one of us who grew up in the United States between 1923 and 1975 will show the effects of leaded gas in our bones.

Centuries from now, if the world still exists, archeologists will be able to date skeletons by measuring the lead in our bones.

So all this Fracking that leads to large amounts of natural gas and some oil has an unseen price tag.

Who would have guessed that pumping wastewater from fracking underground could have unforeseen negative impace.

Of course had they been predicted, they would no longer have been unforeseen.

And isn’t the word, unforeseen, a great word?

According to the word history website, etymonline: “not foreknown,” late 14c., from un- (1) “not” + past participle of foresee. Similar formation in Middle Dutch onvoresien, Dutch onvoorzien, Middle High German unvorsen. A verb unforesee “fail to anticipate” is attested in 17c.“

I like that dutch version.

Onvoresien.

Fail to anticipate.

Unforeseen points to it wasn’t our fault, who knew?

While, Fail to anticipate …

Seems like someone should have known better.

I am reading the book Random Harvest by James Hilton (Boston: Little, Brown And Company, 1941).

Neither here nor there but if you are casting about for something to read this summer I recommend downloading the epub version from FadedPage (click here) for free.

Mr. Hilton also wrote Lost Horizons of Shangri-La fame and Good bye Mr. Chips.

Random Harvest starts with the epigram:

“According to a British Official Report, bombs fell at Random.” — GERMAN OFFICIAL REPORT

Anyway, reading along I came to this passage that is the source for today’s haiku.

Mr. Hilton writes about the hero of Random Harvest that:

He was increasingly interested in the background of knowledge and theory behind the lives of men, and the astounding clumsiness of world behavior compared with the powers of the planning mind. To use Werneth’s favorite word, he found the paradox teasing.

There is a lot packed into those two lines, especially:

the astounding clumsiness of world behavior compared with the powers of the planning mind.

To use Werneth’s favorite word, he found the paradox teasing.

That Mr. Clausewitz writes that no plan lasts 5 minutes after the battle starts.

Still, when you read about all the planing, meetings, proposals, public hearings and investigations when anything from a sidewalk crossing to a super highway to a bridge to some corporate marketing plan, the clumsiness of world behavior compared with the powers of the planning mind is truly astounding.

The paradox is assuredly teasing.

It seems even God himself looking down on the world today might murmur … something went wrong here.

7.2.2026 – decency standards

decency standards
mark the maturing progress
of society

In a 1958 Supreme Court case, Trop v. Dulles, the Court ruled that it was unconstitutional to revoke citizenship as a punishment for a crime. The ruling’s reference to “evolving standards of decency” is frequently cited in Eighth Amendment jurisprudence. This according to Wikipedia.

The Opinion of the Court was authored by Chief Justice Earl Warren, who discussed the Eighth Amendment of the U.S. Constitution which prohibits the federal government from imposing excessive bail, excessive fines, or cruel and unusual punishments. Ratified in 1791 as part of the Bill of Rights, these protections apply equally to state and local governments through the Fourteenth Amendment.

Chief Justice Warren commented on Capitol Punishment, writing:

Whatever the arguments may be against capital punishment, both on moral grounds and in terms of accomplishing the purposes of punishment — and they are forceful — the death penalty has been employed throughout our history, and, in a day when it is still widely accepted, it cannot be said to violate the constitutional concept of cruelty.

But it is equally plain that the existence of the death penalty is not a license to the Government to devise any punishment short of death within the limit of its imagination.

Then the Chief wrote this:

The Court recognized in that case that the words of the Amendment are not precise, and that their scope is not static.

The Amendment must draw its meaning from the evolving standards of decency that mark the progress of a maturing society.

Say that last little bit out loud, I dare you.

Evolving standards of decency mark the progress of a maturing society.

Evolving standards of decency?

Mark the progress of a maturing society?

What does that say of American Society today?

Declining standards of decency mark the regression from maturity for any society.

If this current administration has any standard its a standard of how low can you go.

Maturing?

Let see, we got ourselves a 4 year leading the nation who wonders out loud about awarding himself the Congressional Medal of Honor and a congress ready to authorize such an award.

Decency?

I don’t have the time of the stomach to list the decline in our society’s standards.

But that statement, Evolving standards of decency mark the progress of a maturing society sure hit close to home for the day in history that saw the Declaration of Independence voted on.

Print shows men gathered in the Assembly Room in the Pennsylvania State House (now called Independence Hall), Philadelphia. Completed figures include John Adams, Roger Sherman, James Wilson and Thomas Jefferson, handing a document to John Hancock, president of the Congress. Seated in the front from left to right are Samuel Adams, Robert Morris, Benjamin Franklin (in a Windsor chair), Charles Carroll and Stephen Hopkins (wearing a dark hat). (Source: American Antiquarian Society catalog, 2008)