My sister was born here
yet I know she does not recall the:
streets and sidewalks.
vagrants and beggars
full of history
full of bohemian young people
looking  for stylish bars.
Plenty of music
  and art galleries.
African music and South American shops.
expensive boutiques with impossible prices
Alternatively, you can take the pink,
Tropical garden with a pond full of small turtles
A memorial to the victims  
The roads within are difficult to navigate
junctions underground provide relief from the sun on hot days.
night owls cover the city
a green libre sign in the windshield
far too many cars and not enough space
narrow streets in the old town,
  is the heart of the city
The clock tower marks the Twelve Grapes  
a bear climbing a tree,
ornate iron posts.
the vacant Palace
lavishly decorated
Baroque-style gardens surround a large monument
Dozens of statues
a sculpture of Don Quixote
A massive roundabout
a chariot pulled by two lions.
A tall obelisk sits in the center
a pedestrian walkway full of fountains and trees
The vertical garden can be seen from the street outside,
features fine furniture and porcelain
impressive art collections with paintings, sculptures, and prints.
young hippies play bongos and dance.  
And I have never been there

The price of life is death.
The price of death is life.

By: Nabs

I was planning to sleep till the end of the world
Ignoring it, even when it crashes and burn
To be engulfed by dream as the world bleeds and scream them self hoarse
'Let them scar, let them die', the void rasp to me as I close my eyes

You woke me up

The coronation day was the day that the flowers woke up and the eggs shells shatters, transforming into delicate winged cicadas
You were draped with cascade of waterfall, wreathed with gold russet leaf, and painted with the black of solemnity
You had this serene look on your face, you look fit to be a king

I almost regretted embedding the knife into the center of your webs

You clip my wings and burned them
You scattered the ashes on the river of life as you rub circles on my wrist
In that moment, the thumping of our hearts were synchronized in the dance of waltz

It felt exhilarating

I could not stop you as you kissed the tears that was rolling down from my cheek
'There dear, now were even', you whispered softly in my ear, as you stroked my cheeks
I looked at the tattered red webs that is pooling in the floor
You smelled like ozone singed by lightning and the sweet smell of too ripe apples

I never meant for it to hurt, so I bite my lips until it bleeds

The first time we met was the time when you were as young as morning dew and I was merely a bud
We were going on our separate ways with us as a marionette not of our own design
You were heading to the depth of Lady Gaia, and the embraces of the river Styx
I was running to the ruins of the old earth king, and to ascend to the sky

We traded our ways and our honesty that day

I made bruises bloom all over you, beautifully marring your tanned skin
Your lips would be swollen and ******, from the rendezvous of my lips and fist
Yet you would tangle your hands in my hair to yank it back
Exposing the column of my throat, where you would bite the junctures, snarling,"Mine"

The pressure of the blade felt like home

Why do we always try to bleed each other out?
When we know that destroying one another will result in ending the other one
Sometimes you would hold me so tenderly that I feel like coming apart at the seams
But the day and the night are never meant to stay together for a long time

Dusk and dawn always feel too fast

So we traded fist and wounds like affection
Trying to poison, and sunk our claws down at each other backs
Wandering how would it feels like to succumb to the abyss together
The laughter of the void echoes around us, calling us to come home

It sounded like the day you slit my wrist

You were born to be a sacrifice
I was born to be a priest
But the way the balance of the world would tip with a flutter of a butterfly wing
Shattering the notion that what we have is more than the delicate china we shattered the fifth time we fight

My blood still smears on the inside of your wrist
Your poison still trickling down my throat
It taste coppery and sweet, like the taste of freedom after years of being tied to strings
You would try to yank the poison out of my hand, but I would just break your fingers one by one

Remember that one night, where I asked you if it's possible for us to be, with out the itch to see one life flares to an end
"There will be a heavy price", you said in a voice that sounds like the rustling of leaves
" I will pay it", I replied with the conviction of someone whose heart was of the verge of shattering
" You paid enough"

We were never meant to cross each other paths.

A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.
And the camels galled, sorefooted, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
and running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages ***** and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.

Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins.
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arriving at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you might say) satisfactory.

All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.

On the first day of Christmas
Old Rupert gave to me
Papers full of right wing *******
On the second day of Christmas old Rupert gave to me no more free to air Simpsons and papers full of right wing *******
On the third day of Christmas old Rupert gave to me ****** tabloid journalism, no more free to air Simpsons and papers full of right wing *******
On the fourth day of Christmas old Rupert gave to me high price for comedy channels, ****** tabloid journalism, no more free to air Simpsons and papers full of right wing *******
On the fifth day of Christmas old Rupert gave to me pay rises for Wall Street, high price for comedy channels, ****** tabloid journalism, no more free to air Simpsons and papers full of right wing *******
On the sixth day of Christmas old Rupert gave to me copyright enfringements, pay rises for Wall Street, high price for comedy channels , ****** tabloid journalism, no more free to air Simpsons and papers full of right wing *******
On the seventh day of Christmas old Rupert gave to me FOX FOX FOX, copy right enfringements, pay rises for Wall Street, high price for comedy channels, ****** tabloid journalism, no more free to air Simpsons and papers full of right wing *******
On the eighth day of Christmas
Old Rupert gave to me world news in the eyes of the rich, FOX FOX FOX, copyright enfringements, pay rises for Wall Street, high price for comedy channels, ****** tabloid journalism, no more free to air Simpsons and papers full of right wing *******
On the ninth day of Christmas old Rupert gave to me expensive live sports events, world news in the eyes of the rich, FOX FOX FOX, copyright enfringements, pay rises for Wall Street, high price for comedy channels, ****** tabloid journalism, no more free to air Simpsons and papers full of right wing *******
On the tenth day of Christmas old Rupert gave to me problems with channel 10, expensive live sports events, world news in the eyes of the rich, FOX FOX FOX,copyright enfringements, pay rises for Wall Street, high price for comedy channels, ****** tabloid journalism, no more free to air Simpsons and papers full of right wing *******
On the eleventh day of Christmas old Rupert gave to me lots of canned laughter, problems with channel 10, expensive live sports events, world news in the eyes of the rich, FOX FOX FOX, copyright enfringements, pay rises for Wall Street, high prices for comedy channels,****** tabloid journalism, no more free to air systems and papers full of right wing *******
On the twelfth day of Christmas
Old Rupert gave to me trying to put a cost on YouTube, lots of canned laughter, problems with channel 10, expensive live sports events, world news in the eyes of the rich, FOX FOX FOX, copyright enfringements, pay rises for Wall Street, high prices for comedy channels, ****** tabloid journalism, no more free to air Simpsons and papers full of right wing *******
And that is the pain we suffer under Rupert

Please explain inflation
Why do prices rise
For when I go out shopping
They change before my eyes
I just don't seem to get it
why some go up and down
Why a red car's more expensive
Than a new car that is brown
I tried to do some simple math
I went back to the books
Now I think that all economists
Are just white collar crooks
Follow me on this one, now..
A buck in 1970 is now worth near five fifty
I don't know how they did it
But I think it's kind of shifty
A funeral costs much more today
But this one is a pickle
For in western movies I have seen
My life's worth a plugged nickel
That hasn't changed in many years
So, I made a decision
It has to do with the new math
And that ****** new long division
Wheat is up, and so is beer
And theres one that I resent
To put my worth in when it's asked
It's still just two **** cents
A house...well, that's a nightmare
Some cost more than you will earn
You'll be owing for a lifetime
Your mortgage you won't burn
Water, there's another thing
It's now worth more than gas
But now, our nice tap water
It's quality won't pass
Six cents would get you postage
To send a letter, that's not bad
Today..it's almost ten times that
And that is really sad
But here's one that's confusing
Of all the things you've bought
This one's never varied
It's still a penny for your thoughts
two bits could get a haircut
And it would also get a shave
But now to get this combo
It takes two weeks to save
Hockey cards they cost a dime
And baseball cards did too
But, now they're an investment
And a dime won't buy you two.
Please think on this real hard now
It's a tale that's really old
Let's find how Rumplestiltskin
Could spin straw into gold
Inflation is a ******
It's all over the earth
I say smile, and then bend over
And that's my two cents worth!

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At Bookshop Santa Cruz
I look at a book about the East Bay then and now
One picture strikes me: 1969 Sproul Plaza
Govener Ronald Reagan has the National Guard spray
tear gas on protesters on the steps of this Berkeley Administration Building
People run in black and white
they look like my parents
The helicopter is so close to the ground, like the Vietnam War

I was three
In the backseat of our VW Bug
My mother was driving me to Strawberry Canyon
for a swim
Then she got scared--something on the radio
We turned around
I didn't understand
She had to protect us from tear gas
We lived in a war zone
Everyone was very upset
We were attacked by our own government
Even children were fair game

An innocent frog is placed in water
If the water temperature is raised gradually
the frog will sit there until it dies

In 1980 Ronald Reagan became our President
Much to our dismay
"70% of pollution comes from trees" he had announced
as Governer, he was obviously a man of science

The vice grip clenched, the water temperature raised
as we felt around us the world becoming more
difficult as a middle class
we were supposed to wait for crumbs to fall
from the table of the rich folks
fighting over the bits like starving animals

Budgets were cut
Prices rose, wages fell or disappeared completely
We were at war

1985: I took a class in Economics in college, a UC
I learned that Supply Side Economics was
a silly idea written on a napkin at a fancy restaurant
where the fat ones eat
and the crumbs are thrown away

It was all a sham
An excuse
The vice grip tightened, the world became
more difficult
not the American Dream my parents grew up in
To be middle class was to struggle and struggle and still
not have anything

The frog began to die
Somehow we saw that
Reagan drifted away, but his ghost
remained, a respite in the 90's

Then we were at war again
Not just tear gas, but carpet bombing
Guerilla warfare in the streets of a hot arid country
Oil companies, already saturating our ground and our air with their products
Cashed in

The frog is near death
We struggle, and nothing gets better
Only a respite

At a fancy restaurant
on a napkin someone wrote
a new theory of Economics
that became like Scientology
Outgrew it's ridiculous inception
And became real

Ronald Reagan dropped tear gas
from helicopters on Sproul Plaza
and it drifted to Strawberry Canyon
where children learned to swim

But that is child's play now
the frog is about to die
I want to pull it out.

none of you understand what i’m saying is i’m not like any of you never married never parented children never owned real estate don’t believe in government the law hate rich people not afraid to lose everything risk life for the chance at a better life yes i graduated from Philadelphia dental school practiced medicine several years dashing handsome cordial Georgia physician yet knowing i was dying then of tuberculosis i wanted to feel alive know danger taste possibilities ******* greedy ranch and railroad barons all you cotton gin grist mill moguls loud mouthed Yankee carpetbaggers bounty hunters self-righteous snake oil preachers with your fearful farmstead flocks what the hell do you think Big Nose Kate and me were doing in Tucson why i risked my life at Tombstone’s OK Corral i’ll tell you why because we were desperate beyond your comprehension long-drawn-out careworn hours twisted in desperation insufferably plodding nights so desperate Kate relieved me daily yet in back of each our minds we understood we were both slaves to ancient unfair corrupt economic system that provided enough whiskey to cope desperate for money allegiance shelter frantic enough to face loaded guns aimed firing at me it was hell on earth glaring sun beating down desert dust blowing burning eyes bullets cutting everywhere 1880’s revolvers lacking accuracy even with expert gunsmith modifications young men riddled with bleeding gunshot wounds in 6 years i was dead age 36 hey Kate was no cakewalk she was a ***** who knew how to play me flirting charming admiring exaggerating her strange Hungarian lust encouraging provoking prostituting on her knees back tummy fingers mouth managing somehow to become acquainted with Arizona Governor George Hunt then surviving to age 90 you modern day sleepers who read this rambling cower at airport security passively submit to insidious militarizing culture invasively inspecting camera scanning for cuticle scissors nail file weapons all ludicrous absurdist theatre while real bad guys can easily tape 3 McDonald’s plastic knives together or ball point pen pierce pilots passengers throat arteries skyjack planes hijack bus trains you are no safer than you ever were before Homeland Security Czars foreign wars where we don’t belong riding has grown so weary courage ruthless longing vexing generating entire industry of airport security corporate mall tariff duty free shops inflated restaurant menu prices liter bottle of water $4.99 welcome to America **** me now or **** me later who cares what i look like what i wear if i’m dry shaven smell like goat if i cough up chunks of lung spit tuberculosis germs on polished floors just so long as i pay the toll fee and don’t go shooting off my mouth

As Valentine Day is upon us now
Sending a message to our loves
Like chocolate and flowers
With pictures of white doves

Think back to 1929
And of The North Side Gang...men who
Got a different type of message
And it wasn't I Love You

It was on the North Side
Al Capone's gang took down nine
They massacred these gangsters
They crossed the prohibition line

Five years before they also
Killed the gangs leader in his shop
His front was selling flowers
Hey, it's Chicago....where's a cop?

Now eighty five years later
The gangsters aren't as bold
But, on Valentines they're still there
Running Chicago in the cold

With prices for fresh roses
Through the roof....you know the powers
Are run like gangsters years before
By the people selling FLOWERS.

‘This is a pleasure. A composer in our midst, and you’re seeing Plas Brondanw at its June best.’ Amabel strides across the lawn from house to the table Sally has laid for tea. Tea for three in the almost shade of the vast plain tree, and nearly the height of the house. Look up into its branches. It is convalescing after major surgery, ropes and bindings still in place.
 
Yes, I am certainly seeing this Welsh manor house, the home of the William-Ellis family for four hundred years, on a day of days. The mountains that ring this estate seem to take the sky blue into themselves. They look almost fragile in the heat.
 
‘Nigel, you’re here?’ Clough appears next. He sounds surprised, as though the journey across Snowdonia was trepidatious adventure. ‘Of course you are, and on this glorious day. Glorious, glorious. You’ve walked up from below perhaps? Of course, of course. Did you detour to the ruin? You must. We’ll walk down after tea.’
 
And he flicks the tails of his russet brown frock coat behind him and sits on the marble bench beside Amabel. She is a little frail at 85, but the twinkling eyes hardly leave my face. Clough is checking the garden for birds. A yellowhammer swoops up from the lower garden and is gone. He gestures as though miming its flight. There are curious bird-like calls from the house. Amabel turns house-ward.
 
‘Our parrots,’ she says with a girlish smile.
 
‘Your letter was so sweet you know.’ She continues. ‘Fancy composing a piece about our village. We’ve had a film, that TV series, so many books, and now music. So exciting. And when do we hear this?’
 
I explain that the BBC will be filming and recording next month, but tomorrow David will appear with his double bass, a cameraman and a sound recordist to ‘do’ the cadenzas in some of the more intriguing locations. And he will come here to see how it sounds in the ‘vale’.
 
‘Are we doing luncheon for the BBC men? They are all men I suppose? When we were on Gardeners’ World it was all gals with clipboards and dark glasses, and it was raining for heaven’s sake. They had no idea about the right shoes, except that Alys person who interviewed me and was so lovely about the topiary and the fireman’s room. Now she wore a sensible skirt and the kind of sandals I wear in the garden. Of course we had to go to Mary’s house to see the thing as you know Clough won’t have a television in the house.’
 
‘I loath the sound of it from a distance. There’s nothing worse that hearing disembodied voices and music. Why do they have to put music with everything? I won’t go near a shop if there’s that canned music about.’
 
‘But surely it was TV’s The Prisoner that put the place on the map,’ I venture to suggest.
 
‘Oh yes, yes, but the mess, and all those Japanese descending on us with questions we simply couldn’t answer. I have to this day no i------de-------a-------‘, he stretches this word like a piece of elastic as far as it might go before breaking in two, ‘ simply no I------de------a------ what the whole thing was about.’ He pauses to take a tea cup freshly poured by Amabel. ‘Patrick was a dear though, and stayed with us of course. He loved the light of the place and would get up before dawn to watch the sun rise over the mountains at the back of us.’
 
‘But I digress. Music, music, yes music . . . ‘ Amabel takes his lead
 
‘We’ve had concerts before at P. outside in the formal gardens by AJ’s studio.’ She has placed her hands on her green velvet skirt and leans forward purposefully. ‘He had musicians about all the time and used to play the piano himself vigorously in the early hours of the morning. Showing off to those models that used to appear. I remember walking past his studio early one morning and there he was asleep on the floor with two of them . . .’
 
Clough smiles and laughs, laughs and smiles at a memory from the late 1920s.
 
‘Everyone thought we were completely mad to do the village.’ He leans back against the gentle curve of the balustrade, and closes his eyes for a moment. ‘Completely mad.’
 
It’s cool under the tree, but where the sunlight strays through my hand seems to gather freckles by the minute. I am enjoying the second slice of Mary’s Bara Brith. ‘It’s the marmalade,’ says Amabel, realising my delight in the texture and taste, ‘Clough brought the recipe back from Ceylon and I’ve taught all my cooks to make it. Of course, Mary isn’t a cook, she’s everything. A wonder, but you’ll discover this later at dinner. You are staying? And you’re going to play too?’
 
I’m certainly going to play in the drawing room studio on the third floor. It’s distractingly full of paintings by ‘friends’ – Duncan Grant, Mondrian, Augustus John, Patrick Heron, Winifred Nicholson (she so loved the garden but would bring that awful Raine woman with her). There’s  Clough’s architectural watercolours (now collectors want these things I used to wiz off for clients – stupid prices – just wish I’d kept more behind before giving them to the AA – (The Architectural Association ed.) And so many books, first editions everywhere. Photographs of Amabel’s flying saucer investigations occupy a shelf along with her many books on fairy tales and four novels, a batch of biographies and pictures of the two girls Susan and Charlotte as teenagers. Susan’s pottery features prominently. There’s a Panda skin from Luchan under the piano.
 
These two eighty somethings have been working since 8.0am. ‘We don’t bother with lunch.’ Amabel is reviewing the latest Ursula le Guin. ‘I stayed with her in Oregon last May. A lovely little house by the sea. Such a darling, and what a gardener! She creates all the ideas for her books in her garden. I so wish I could, but there’s just too much to distract me. Gardening is a serious business because although Jane comes over from Corrieg and says no to this and no to that and I have to stand my corner,  I have to concentrate and go to my books. Did you know the RHS voted this one of the ten most significant gardens in the UK? But look, there’s no one here today except you!’
 
No one but me. And tea is over. ‘A little rest before your endeavours perhaps,’ says Clough, probably anxious to get back to letter to Kenzo Piano.
 
‘Now let’s go and say hello to the fireman,’ says Amabel who takes my arm. And so we walk through the topiary to her favourite ‘room’,  a water feature with the fireman on his column (mid pond). ‘In memory of the great fire, ‘ she says. ‘He keeps a keen eye on the building now.’ He is a two-foot cherub with a hose and wearing a fireman’s helmet.
 
The pond reflects the column and the fireman looks down on us as we gaze into the pool. ‘Health, ‘ she says, ‘We keep a keen eye on it.’
 
The parrots are singing wildly. I didn’t realise they sang. I thought they squawked.
 
‘Will they sing when I play?’ I ask.
 
‘Undoubtedly,’ Amabel says with her girlish smile and squeezes my arm.

to oppress
means to abuse;
the oppressed
are the people
you have abused
with words
to degrade them,
and actions
to end their lives
every day it seems
they pay prices
for sins they can't remember
and the people
who receive their money
are the people
they work for.

if it doesn't make sense,
make a change.

Boy, you've got to pay, real big,
prices,
Especially when going through
crises!!

This is love. And do there are some who spend their whole lives seeking. Sometimes giving, sometimes taking. Sometimes chasing. But often, just waiting. They believe that love is a place that you get to: a destination at the end of a long road. And they can't wait for that road to end at their destination. They are those hats moved by the movement of hearts. Those girls romantics, the sucker for a love story, or any sincere expression of true devotion. For them, the search is almost a lifelong obsession of sorts. But, this tragic quest can have its costs and its gifts.
The path of expectations and the falling in love with love is a painful one, but it can bring its own lessons. Lessons about the nature of live, this world people and one's own heart can pave this often painful path. Most of all, this path can bring its own lessons about the Creator of love. Those who take this route well often reach the knowledge that the human live they seek was not the destination. Some form of that human love, can be a gift. It can be a means. But the moment you make it the end, you will fall. And you will live your whole life with the wrong focus. You will become willing to sacrifice the goal for the sake of the means. You will give your life to reaching a destination of weirdly perfection that fits not exist.
And the one who runs after a mirage, never gets there, but it  keeps running. And so to will you keep running, and be willing to lose sleep, cry, bleed and sacrifice previous posts of yourself at times, even your own dignity. But you'll never reach what you're liking for in this life, because what you seek isn't a worldly destination. The type of perfection you seek cannot be found in the material world. It can only be found in Allah.
That image of human love that you seek is an illusion in the desert of life. So if that is what you seek, keep chasing. But no matter how close you get to a mirage, you never touch it. You don't item an image. You can't hold a creation of your own mind.
Yet you will give your whole life still to reach this place. You do this because in the fairy tale, that's where the story ends. It ends at the finding, the joining, the wedding. It is found at the oneness of two souls. And everyone around you will make you think that your path ends there, at the place where you meet your soul mate, your other half at a point in the path where you get married. Then and only then, they tell you, will you ever finally be complete. This, off course is a lie because completion cannot be found in anything other than Allah.
But the lesson you've been tight stint the time you were little, from every story, every movie, every ad, every well meaning auntie, is that you aren't complete otherwise. And if Allah forbid you are one of the outcast who haven't gotten matured, or have been divorced, you are considered deficient or incomplete in some way.
The lesson you're taught us that the story ends at the wedding, and then that's when paradise begins. That's when you'll be saved and completed and everything that was once broken well be fixed. The only problem is, that's not where the story ends. That's where it begins. That's where the building starts: the building of a life, the building of your characters, the building is sabar, patience, perseverance, and sacrifice. The building of selflessness. The building of love.
And your building of your path back to Him.
But if the person you marry become the ultimate focus in life, your struggle has just begun. Now your spouse Will become your greatest test. Until you remove that person from the place in your heart that only Allah should be, it will hero hurting. Ironically, your spouse Will become the tool for this painful extraction prices, until you learn that there are places in the human heart made only by and for Allah.
Among the other lessons you may learn along this path after a long road of loss, gain, failure, success and so many mistakes. There are two types of love. There will be some people you love because of what you get from then. What they give you, the way they make you feel. This is perhaps the majority of live which is also what makes much of love so unstable. A person capacity to give is inconstant and changing. Your response to what you are given to what you are given its also inconstant and changing. So if if your chasing a feeling, you'll always be chasing. And just like everything in this world the more yo chat the more it will run away from you.
But once in awhile, people enter your life that you love, but for what they find you but for what they are. The beauty you see in them is a reflection of the Creator, so you love them. Now surly it isn't about what you're getting, but rather what you give. This is unselfish love. This second kind of love is most rare. And if it if based in, and not competing with, the love of Allah, it will also bring about the most joy. To live in any other way I'd to need, to be dependent, to have expectations all the ingredients for misery and disappointment.
So for all those, who have spent their life seeking know that purity ash anything I'd found at the Source. If it is love that you seek, seek it through Allah first. Every other stream, not based in His love, poisons the one who drinks from it. And the summer week continue to drink, until the poison all but kills him. He will continue to die more and more inside, until he stood and finds the pure Source of water.
One you begin to Sr evening beautiful as only a reflection of Allah's beauty, you will learn to live in the right way, fit his sake. Everything and everyone you love will be for, through and because of him. The foundation of such love is Allah. So what you hold onto will no longer be just an unstable feeling, a fleeting emotion. And what you chase well no longer be just a temporary high. What you hold, what you chase, what you love, will be Allah, the only thing stable and constant. Thereafter everything else will be through him. Everything you give or take or love our don't love will be by Him. Not by you. It will be for Him. Not for you.
This means you will love what he lives and not love what He does not love. And when you do love, you will give the crayon not for what you can get in return from them. You will live and you will give, but you will be sufficed from Him. And the one who is sufficed by Allah is the richest and generous of all lovers. Your love will be by Him, for Him, and because of Him. That is the liberation of the self from servitude to any created thing. And that is freedom. That is happiness. That is building together. That is indeed love.

While Walmart and Best Buy attract Black Friday shoppers nationwide, Fayetteville’s local businesses offer unique deals throughout the week on boutique clothing, gift-worthy items, outdoor accessories and Razorback apparel.

Southern Trend

Sale rack prices will range $5-15, and customers whose total reaches $50 or more will receive a free tote bag. Southern Trend clothing company offers Razorback apparel for men and women and other casual clothing that depicts Southern living. Their headquarters and closest retail location is at 614 W. Sycamore St.

The Mustache Goods & Wears

Saturday following Thanksgiving, The Mustache Goods & Wears will participate in Small Business Day with special deals throughout the store. The Mustache sells gift and novelty items and clothing, striving “to carry products you don’t normally find in Northwest Arkansas,” according to their website. The store is located on the Downtown Square at 15 S. Block Ave.

Lauren James

All regularly-priced items will be 25 percent off, and planners will be given to customers with a purchase of $65 or more. The Lauren James brand includes fashionable dresses, a line of women’s collegiate clothing, and other clothing and accessories with a Southern flare. One of three corporate locations in the country, the Fayetteville Lauren James shop is located just off campus at 623 W. Dickson St.

Houndstooth Clothing Company

Now until Thanksgiving day, all long sleeve and short sleeve tops are buy two, get one free with Black Friday deals to follow. The brand includes Razorback apparel and other casual clothing with outdoorsy designs. Houndstooth Clothing Company began in Fayetteville and now sells merchandise online and in stores across the state. The closest location to campus is just off the Downtown Square at 29 N. Block Ave.

Pack Rat Outdoor Center

Pack Rat Outdoor Center will sell featured Black Friday merchandise from The North Face brand. Saturday, Nov. 26, shoppers may enjoy food and drink at Customer Appreciation Day. Pack Rat sells clothing and accessories fit for an active and outdoor lifestyle, with products such as hammocks and hiking boots sold at their 209 West Sunbridge store.

Riffraff

All merchandise, except nine specially marked-down items, will be priced 30 percent off the original price tag during Black Friday, 8 a.m. until 1 p.m. Just off the Downtown Square at 19 S. Block Ave., Riffraff boutique sells women’s clothes fit for everyday life to holiday parties, as well as gift and novelty items.

Campus Bookstore

The Campus Bookstore sells new and used textbooks, school supplies, Razorback gear and clothing. The store is located just outside of campus at 624 W. Dickson St.

Alumni Hall

Alumni Hall, located at 3417 N. College Ave., sells various brands of Razorback apparel as well as Razorback accessories and gifts.

Maude

Established in 2007 in Fayetteville, the racks of Maude boutique feature women’s clothing from sweaters to skirts with shoes and accessories also for sale. Maude in Fayetteville is located at 706 N. College Ave.

Savoir-Faire

A boutique local to Fayetteville at 1 E. Center St., Savoir-Faire offers casual and dressy clothing and accessories, including holiday fashions sold online and in-store.

Gatsby’s Boutique

Boasting a ‘20s fashion influence, Gatsby’s Boutique sells clothes and accessories at their shop located at 609 W. Dickson St.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-sydney | www.marieaustralia.com/one-shoulder-formal-dresses

[ode to my vehicle]*

always mindful
  
not to love things or stuff


living so that it 
  
could all burn

and it would be nothing
  
but an inconvenience

always mindful
   to love the people
because for these
there are no replacements



three objects 
  
have escaped my plan

maneuvered 
  
through my designs
and i fell in love with 3 things:



1. *old white macbook
*  
my beautiful
      
smart
        
well-designed
  
whirring piece of brilliant technology

you are already gone.



2. *wedding rings
  (irrelevant)

 i used to believe the
   joke of the symbolism
i fell prey to the beauty of
    well designed twisted metal
and stone.
no more.



3. asian machine love
*
    (a.k.a. mitsubishi outlander sport)  

i am having a hard time

having to let you go
  
my beautiful, black mitsubishi.



i chose you.


i researched for weeks
  
analyzing data

comparing machines
  
prices

trying to be reasonable


and out of all the machines,

i. chose. you.



you are the perfect shape
  
of all vehicle shapes, mitsubishi

you fulfill my obsession with
  
design

     lines
  
c o l o r 
      
efficiency

speed

    and b  o  o  m  i  n  g SOUND



you are the perfect balance of safety
  
including 4WD

and fuel efficiency

your headlights are so bright
  
and your high beams

so magnificent
  it's almost embarrassing


mitsubishi, you little snake...
  you have a manual mode

so i can choose to be a race car driver
  whenever i want


mitsubishi outlander sport, i love you so

*

let's talk about your face
  
(you have a pig-face like me
)
your nose is abrupt
  
it's blunt and it's different

and i love it


you know i hate the cold and the snow
   so you heat my seats
you warn me about ice
  you wipe away the rain

  without me having to ask

you cast light into the dark

  all on your own

gps

  usb

subwoofer

  rockford fosgate

bluetooth


mitsubishi,
you shake the earth

 blasting music 
through my dna

  so that i am made
of vibrations
and air

  invisible to the naked eye

or playing my science fiction audiobooks

  at a reasonable

and responsible volume



mitsubishi, 
you respond to me
with such grace

showing me impossibilities

with a rearview camera

saying, "hello!" in the morning

and, "see ya!" when i leave

(and i believe you mean it)



the deer was not your fault.

or mine, or the deer's.
  
we were all doing what we do,

and to be quite honest,

  the deer got the **** end of the stick, mitsubishi.

the kids like
  to go in
"mandy's car"
    they like to
look through the moonroof
  and i know they are safe
 .  
you are my one machine love
  
with power

combustion
  
     and pistons

you are electric
  
  intelligent

and you boom
 
  sleek

comfortable
  
          well designed



i don't want to see you burn.

it would be more than an inconvenience.
but you will burn. he will burn you.
it won't be me, mitsubishi.

he will take you.
he will smile when he takes you.
he likes to take what i love.
he likes to hurt people
who have never hurt him -
not once in their lives.

he is coming for you,
and i will never forgive him.

1612

The Auctioneer of Parting
His “Going, going, gone”
Shouts even from the Crucifix,
And brings his Hammer down—
He only sells the Wilderness,
The prices of Despair
Range from a single human Heart
To Two—not any more—

Ebola is real. Ebola is real.
Smack the world as you would slam an oyster.
Find the prize—your ontological argument
Gas prices are down.
          Gas prices are down.
Wash the pearl as you would wipe a newborn.
Marvel at life—and its derivative meaning
Ebola is real.
Gas prices are down.
People are dying and we are smiling.

It’s the tail end of fashion week in Paris, the busiest week of the year for fashion buyers.

When I meet Clodagh Shorten, owner of Samui, the game-changing boutique that put Cork on the fashion map, she’s already been here four days and is on her tenth buying appointment — there’ll be at least another five before she leaves in a couple of days time.

These appointments, private bookings with designers, allow her to get up close and personal with the clothes that have just been showcased on catwalks.

She’s deciding which pieces will best suit her customers.

Today, we meet at Schumacher, the stunning German label known for its easy chic look.

A beautiful white space, with lush cream velvet sofas, bare walls and white rails (nothing here to distract from the main event — the clothes), this room, prime space in Paris, is rented by the designer year-round just so they have the right venue to sell at Fashion Week.

It gives some indication of the power Fashion Week wields.

Clodagh is here with her right-hand woman, Samui manager Mary-Claire O’Sullivan.

There are two rails — the keepers and the ‘ones that got away’.

They’ve already seen this collection in London.

Today they are here to fine-tune.

This is unusual, Mary-Claire explains — at most appointments, they are seeing the clothes for the very first time.

“This is a big spend,” they tell me, and they’ll stay as long as they need “to get it right”.

Piecing together a collection is something akin to a jigsaw puzzle.

All the items are photographed — later they will be analysed back in the apartment they rent during Fashion Week.

The mix has to be right.

So the coats, a sleeveless waistcoat, are moved to the rail on the right.

They won’t make it to Cork.

Coats were already picked up this morning at another appointment.

Like I said, a jigsaw puzzle.

Two models are on hand to try on clothes when requested — I hear ‘can I just see this on one more time’ a lot.

There’s no haggling over prices in these sales negotiations — it’s all too civilised.

The price is set, as is the instore mark-up. These lauded designs must cost the same the world over.

Clodagh and Mary-Claire share a language and a wavelength. They can finish each other’s sentences and, while I don’t so much as sniff a hint of tension, they tell me they can disagree on buys.

“Clodagh doesn’t want a yes woman,” Mary-Claire says simply.

From Schumacher, Clodagh leads the way through the Parisian cobbled streets, phone held aloft, Google Maps to direct her.

Her wheelie bag is constantly behind her — inside there’s the laptop for orders and a camera for instant access to photographs of collections.

Her calculator is another permanent fixture in the showroom.

Today, Clodagh is dressed in an Australian label coming soon to Samui, Ellery. The lush black fabric sways and moves with her body; an outfit like that makes you really appreciate her eye for fashion. It’s sensational.

For this 5.30pm appointment we are heading to see another new label for Samui — Paskal (Clodagh will wear a piece from this line tomorrow).

The Ukrainian designer is looked after by an agency so in this showroom there are pieces by a handful of brands.

Again, the setup is the same — private appointments, models on hand.

Clodagh and Mary-Claire have to be more careful here — this is a new label and it’s more fashion forward so black is prioritised.

Not every client at Samui will wear this line. Every purchase, I realise, is a gamble.

“We’ve made mistakes, of course we have,” says Mary-Claire though you get the feeling that could be a rare event.

Pieces bought by these two women rarely end up in Samui’s sales rack.

They know their customer, plain and simple.

There is so much trust there, some clients are simply sent collections each season, allowing Clodagh to make the call for them.

So much of their day is spent discussing various clients (never by name in my presence) — what they might like, the best size.

It is effectively the ultimate personal shopping experience.

The number of items and sizes are limited, so customers know they are truly getting one-off pieces.

As we leave, kisses over, the agency head tells them, “you’re our favourites” and you just know it’s not empty fashion talk.

People genuinely love Clodagh and Mary-Claire. And they respect what they do.

Samui is open 16 years now. Clodagh mastered her trade at Monica John before stepping out on her own. Mary-Claire joined her eight years ago.

It has been one of the few boutiques in Cork to not just survive the downturn but to positively thrive.

As the economy spluttered around her, Clodagh very masterfully decided to go high end.

First came Moncler — the top people here had to come and view Samui to see if it was the right match for their esteemed label.

It was — and, increasingly, doors began to open.

Carven, Marni, Rick Owens — people really began to sit up and take notice of Samui.

Now labels are often vying for space on the shop floor. Still though, it takes work to secure the big new names.

Clodagh spends a lot of time on planes, networking, meeting the key players. And it’s not as simple as a visit to Fashion Week twice a year either.

These days pre-collections are key too: these pieces will be on the shop floor for longer.

So Clodagh and Mary-Claire travel in January to Paris for pre- collections, Milan in February for Moncler, Paris in March. The same cycle begins again in June for A/W pre-collections, with S/S Fashion Week in September.

Clodagh is always pushing, always striving for new.

She was devastated to say farewell to Transit, the brand with her from the very beginning. It was simply time for a change she tells me.

They love seeking out new labels, nurturing them, sharing them with their customers.

The next morning we meet at 9am for Dries van Noten.

Clodagh stocks around 50 different labels, most exclusive to Cork. This Belgian designer is one of them.

Here again is a very fashion forward line.

There’s a minimum €20,000 spend here, and that’s the amount Clodagh and Mary-Claire can play with.

This is a much busier showroom, a slick operation. Buyers are everywhere, the models weaving between them.

They are assigned a seller and a table, laptop at the ready to secure the sale.

Sophie, today’s seller, walks them through the long rails and talks to them about the collection, the fabrics, the colour, the catwalk, the vision.

Clodagh and Mary-Claire repeat the process a second time alone, a third time again with Sophie.

There are little standing breaks for coffee — refreshments and lunch are provided by the designer.

Clodagh and Mary-Claire know to carry snacks everywhere. The buying process can be a long one; Dries could be an all-day event.

The price point is much higher here so, again, each piece has to be carefully thought out. Checked and checked again.

These A/W deliveries will land in store in July.

Watching them make their Samui edit on that March morning, I just know the Dries selection will be a show-stopper this Autumn.

I leave them to sign on the dotted line, wishing them success for the rest of their gruelling schedule as I head for Charles de Gaulle.

“People don’t realise what goes into this,” says Clodagh. And she’s right.

None of us can possibly grasp what it must have taken for one woman to put Cork on the fashion radar.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses

Wine cellars, under a blanket reading the best sellers.
A room big enough for you and your wealth.
A car as expensive as a house.
Classy lifestyle, expensive taste.
Her breath mints, taste like money.
Rich girl.
Million dollar smile with one more million every year.
I mean, Rich Girl, smile and show me your million dollar smile.

Average kid, chasing a dream.
Never known money, so he chases it blindly.
A heart full of dreams, a mind full "get rich" schemes.
Average kid, don't know wealth so he... He looks up to the wealthy hoping he'll get the chance to have a million dollar smile, with a background of only a dollar.
Average kid, born into a struggle.
Passed down from parents to heirs, every meal a blessing as the rich girl throws a stare at her salad.
Rich girl meals are fancy foods, with fancy prices.
Average kid who checks the prices for the next slice of bread.
Average kid ain't known nothing but the struggle.
Relying on the grind with a million dollar work ethic, and a $10 minimum wage.
Reached the age of independence, scraping the bottom of the barrel, for a few extra cents.
Average kid asks the rich girl for a dollar, and she say she don't have.
Meanwhile, she doesn't know what it means, not to have a dollar.

Playing pretend *******
is
perfectly peachy-keen.

Don't be mean
and play em'
faster than a round of
pictionary.

Don't act cheap
and put out
at the lowest prices.

You're worth more money than that.
You can't rush magic,
but if you wanna set yourself
up in a
trap.

You can always
go
hook up with.

The
Strangers Of Today.

But you might end up
in bed with
the biggest mistake
of your life.

A Parody

Brigitte my love
Our Country suffers of many debts
The people are restless
Whatever shall we do love?

Ah Macron, we must think past the cookies
The solutions are complex, answers evasive
Let me speak with Marie Antoinette, she shall know!
Queen of Navarre, By god we shall be saved!

Marie, Marie Antoinette our people are restless
Our republic is in debt. these are crazy times!
Whatever shall we do?
I am fed up, allons-y

Ah fear not, if they have not bread!
Let them eat Nutella!
Lower the prices
Nutella for the masses!!!

Marie, are you sure? very very sure of such things?
Oui oui, on with it, my father was emperor of Rome
Nutella will calm the masses
Come here Nemo. taste, see even Nemo is tres happy now!

And so France lowered the prices of Nutella
Thus began the nouveau French Revolution
Riots in the streets, brawling in the magasins
The uprising has began, we want our Nutella for free

The masses rose
Nutella for all, Nutella for sans prix
We are all somewhat fou for Nutella you see!
And so the masses fought each other for Nutella's liberty

Nutella one and Nut Ella all!
I swear to your Brigette
We should have given them Macarons!!!
People remain civilized with cafe and cookies! n'est pas?

Emmanuel my love, fret not
The revolution shall be quelled
Qh I have the perfect person for this
He shall restore order to our dear republic

Prey tell Brigette? Who could do such a thing now
Riots everywhere, the masses fight each other daily?
The streets are not safe
There is a shortages of Nutella now, we are doomed cheri

Non non mon amour, I shall call Alizee
She shall sing us out of the terrible mess
She is the mistress of Doug McMillion
This man can save us all!!

Brigitte, who is this man you call Doug?
Why Emmanuel he is the president of Walmart
He has squashed many Black Fridays rebellions
He shall save us all!!!!!!

From these unruly unsavory Nutella shoppers!!!!!



Vive la France!
Vive Alizee
Mange ton macaroon mon cheri
C'est ton droit et ta liberté

Bills bills and more bills!!! Can I escape this liquidic abyss riddled with electrical flows that strangled my woes?

Californicating in high gas prices and rent that drives me deeper into saving my soul rather than my account...

These prices strike louder and brighter than Zeus' thunderbolt, like Greek gods can only be summoned at the shear sight of monetary value, leaving an impression greater than Mother Goose...

Sell my assets or sell my soul..? I struggle to comprehend what will consume the consumer only to pretend...

Tesla couldn't fight the good fight Edison tried to contend...

Yet I remain firm, like the Rock of Jabralter I stand proud between two islands...of insanity and genius, yet the two intertwine so elequently...

Am I oblivious to pretentiousness...? Or caught in the net of Poisiden...helpless, flapping so daintily....

The world eyes are green, yet I see blue...
Filled with innocence and bliss so true...

Bartender, allow me to take a dive in your shots filled with sympathy and obliviously pain triangles can't slew...

On a parallel of happiness and plains of joy, certain dimension can't destroy...

I continue to swim in debt like Phelps, no coy.

Despite everything that's happened
Despite the mistreatment of our own
Despite the suppression & oppression
Despite the mambas in big numbers
Despite the silencing of the nation
Despite the heavy deployment on the streets
Despite the gas that our eyes mistreats
Despite the despair prevailing in the air
Despite the scare,the arrests that are unfair
Despite the government condemnation
of those battling our incarceration
Despite the fact that some are starving
because electronic mobile money transfer is off
Despite the looming loss and fraudulent tally
Despite the gloomy faces we all wear, the sully
Despite the rage burning through us for many a reason
The main one being the compromise of our peaceful
struggle out of the manacles of this corrupt regime
despite many being voiceless in prison
Despite the treacherous Telecom companies
assisting the tyrant keep us on our bruised knees
Despite the malnourished kids along the streets
despite the expectant mothers fearing for their life
because the best Hospital in the country has no doctors
& the disgruntled interns trying to help and teachers
despite the lives lost in the election scuffle fueled by police
despite the opposition constant arrest and release
the rise in the prices of everything but value of nothing
despite the arrogance of those profiting from the tyranny
despite the dishing out of cash to bribe voters
& the lining up of cattle to have more votes than voters
Despite the furthering hope for eminent change
despite the lead of the incumbent by a ridiculous range
I still love my country and I still believe change will come
even if the despot rules for a thousand a term
I still believe a day is coming when we shall say
"At last, the man is history,this country is now for the people"
I dream of that day, it should have been yesterday
But despite the fact that any dictatorship
tends to want power for permanent keep
Someday from the fountains of change we shall sip
I still believe,albeit such freedom isn't a one day trip
On behalf of all who turned up to cast their votes
thank you for not just talking but also walking
thank you for the courtesy you're giving to the next generation
at least we know we shall have answers in clear narration
to our children and their children, each and every question
Don't give up...to me the fight is just started
And still, even a president has got but one neck
Change is guillotine, someday it catches up
Don't give up for you have come so far and see so much
If you were about to surrender, I hope this your heart can touch
Despite all the challenges our struggle is facing
Let's stay focus toward justice and fairness chasing
Yes, we have fallen more than we deserve
it may feel but someday someone will appreciate your love
One Uganda, one people... in change we believe
For God and my country, I love Uganda
I love you all...Don't give up

I passed by ---but I saw you. I stopped and looked back
  ---right then and there, I knew you are special.
  You came to me and asked for my name.
I was coy, I was shy..I am fascinated by you.
Your green eyes is telling me of your stories.
Such gentleness, such calm, and chivalriouness,
I defenitely learned the very meaning of "Swept off my feet".

I can invent a thousand songs and ways to tell our story---believe me I can..
Stories of how we were good _TOGETHER.

I will sing of the flickering Shabbath light in the midst of melee and chaos..
of sea of endless discussions of some complicated logics
and jest with your friends
all the while chasing for my hand, held it a little while
and crochet you fingers to mine.
I then would tenderly gaze upon you while listening to the clatter and clang
of silverwares and silent stares.
  I will then transport us to my days, where all is sweet and innocent..
of another epoch of where the Mothers I held dear, and sisters, and no-blood brothers
would sing the same exact hymn,, held the same flame
of timeless prayers of Shema Israel,
  Yeshoua, and Avenou Shabbat Shamaim,..

Of how Friday nights would pass by the door
And eavesdrop while we can laugh about The Dictator,
goose-pricked by Pia Jesu, or ransacked your refrigirator.
  Or sit by the talking box and be glued to it's endless chatter about
pots, frying pans, Birjaya University, or Emanuelle Stroobant.

I can paint our Saturday mornings with lazy hues and anchorings
thanks to Bernard Lewis, stumble upon,
our dears Kindle 4th and Kindle touch
with Jon Snow and Daenerys of houseTargaryen.

Zara will then invite us to her house of fashion
and oh! how I hate the prices and prefer to accompany you in
dockers or gaps and spencers. Same thing my love,
I have not coveted you for this, not at all.
I always, always love the sound of your voice
while you were explaining about the craftmanship and quality of tis and artistry in tat.

I will remind you,,.. of how we or rather ‘I’ banged the tables of Le Chateu?
and forks and knives flying to and pro?
  All because we agree and disagree about liberalism, Islam,
Catholic bishops, Religious Tolerance, and dogmas of Christendom.

Put on the cherry of the week in my O's ice cream.. SUNDAY.

We would stir and wake to the gentle nudging of the sunlight...
of mornings full of laughter and wonderful thoughts and prayers.
You would often ask me, why do I dance..
dance like a child or a crazy woman if you may..
In the middle of the streets as we thread the route to the Sunday market.
I dance because I am happy..because I don't care ,
Because I love to sway my hand and jump on my feet and hung at your neck..
and kiss you and tell you how even after eating to the nth time that same
Morrocan chicken stuff, I still love the taste of it. It's our SUNDAY RITUAL my darling!

QUE SERA SERA... you said…
We as opposed to time, is like a ticking bomb..                        
Reality is our friend, he would remind us by his tic, by his tac…tic..tac..tic..tac.
He would sing no matter how good we are together… Que sera sera..whatever will be, will be...
Oh how I hate the very sound of it…
I will fight it, claw at it, beg…admonish..placate..and scream!
I lived and breath by the PRESENT.
I wish you would stay.., I wish you would like me enough to love me forever.

I want to give everything without reservation, as love
Love is what I have, I am , and will be…
To offer and spread it upon your feet…
Behind my heart is a  prophecy..
We will build our long line of family dynasty.
Family that is gravitated towards God,
and molded into mine heart and your being.
A family where laughter is the main hearth of inspiration,
idealism, and warming love.
I want you to teach our kids to be good men and women,
I'm sure they would, as you are a good man.
So compact and resilient and gentle in nature...

You my darling is the person that I would love to get to grow old with...
The very person I have fallen inlove with and will always love.

YOU asked me to be BRAVE...
I said I am... as Always.

You fly...

I talked to the silver moon beyond the dark sky.
pour out my heart, wretched and wanting to die.

I roam the streets of where we've been ...
Drank a cup or two at Tea leaf and Coffee Bean.
I could not forget you and what could have been.
Sitting in that same chairs of what has been,
Mirage across my desert of sorrow would appear as if I am insane.
Somewhere across the Universe...of thousand stars and leagues.

QUO VADIS?
There my Lord... him at the end of the road.
A smiling and familiar face of a man.

My heart started to pound with every heart beat.
The steps I take are but a sing-song in my feet.
I will to run towards you,  but you do not believe it.
I am floating with each stride, an exhilarating excitement
towards whose smile I so love.

HEARTS on FIRE!
It is wonderful a feeling to be enveloped in your kisses
and be overwhelmed by your gaze – AGAIN.

In my Times column Thursday, I reviewed a new generation of LED light bulbs. They last 25 times as long as regular bulbs, use maybe one-eighth the electricity, work with dimmers, turn on instantly to full brightness and remain cool to the touch. A big drawback has always been cost, but now, I noted, the prices have fallen.

This column generated a lot of reader e-mail, probably because LED represents change. And change is always scary. Here are some excerpts, with my responses.
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* For LED bulbs, the biggest issue that most consumers will notice is the color. You correctly point out that you can get different colors, and also different shades of white, from warm white, to cool white, to daylight. However, not all white is the same. Two bulbs, both of which measure 2700K (warm white) color may create a completely different impression in the room.

The difference is C.R.I. (Color Rendering Index). Incandescent bulbs have a C.R.I. of 100. Really bad LEDs have a C.R.I. of 50; average ones (most of them) have a C.R.I. of 80 to 85. The really good ones have C.R.I.’s above 90.

C.R.I. is a way of expressing how many colors in the rainbow are actually contained in the white light. Incandescent bulbs contain every color in the rainbow, all in equal measure.

With LED bulbs that have low C.R.I.’s, the color of objects looks wrong, and everything “feels” ghostly. It is not a subtle effect.

Wow. Well, I’d never heard of C.R.I., and it certainly isn’t listed on the package.

I can say only that I’m completely happy with the light color of the Cree bulbs. They look nothing like the weak, diluted light of the compact fluorescents they’re going to replace. I don’t perceive anything ghostly or wrong about them.

But if you’re worried about C.R.I, maybe try out one bulb at home before you replace the whole house’s bulbs.

* Why I don’t have LED bulbs: I have yet to see one that puts out close to the same lumens of an incandescent bulb rated at 75 or 100 watts offered for sale in my area.

Many of you made this point: that the 40- and 60-watt bulbs I reviewed are not bright enough for aging eyes, reading, detail work and so on.

That really is a good point. You can buy 75- and 100-watt-equivalent LED bulbs — online, they’re plentiful — but they’re still expensive ($30 to $45 each).

* At my home, CFLs don’t last half as long as stated on the box, and when CFL electronics flame out, they leave that nasty burnt electronics smell, strongly disliked by my wife. A few friends have reported CFL flame outs that have set things on fire.

Sorry to hear that! However, my column was about LED lights, not compact fluorescent light bulbs. Compact flourescents are basically curlicue tubes filled with gas that lights up. LED bulbs use tiny light-emitting diodes, of the type you have seen in some flashlights and the “flashes” of smartphones.

* Why didn’t you write up the LIFX bulbs on Kickstarter? Are you some kind of paid shill for the light-bulb industry?

Mainly, because I hadn’t heard about LIFX bulbs. Now I have!

Looks like it’s a lot like the Philips Hue kit I reviewed, in that these are LED bulbs you can control from a phone app: brightness, timing and color. The beauty of LIFX, though, is that there’s no router box required. The networking electronics are right in the bulb.

And the LIFX does more, too: changes color in time to the music, for example, or notifies you when you have new e-mail.

These bulbs did super-well on Kickstarter, so they’ve obviously captured the public’s imagination. I’m in touch with the creators, and they’ve promised to send me one to try out when it becomes available!

* You have done what many before have done: Praise LED light bulbs — without touching on the quality of light.

It doesn’t matter whether the light bulb is $200 or 50 cents. If the light is ugly, and it hurts your eyes to read, then why should I buy it?

Compact fluorescent lights have an austere blue tinge. Some give a “warmer” shade of yellow. But the quality of light they produce is atrocious.

I did, in fact, mention the quality of light; in my opinion, it’s wonderful. You can choose “daylight” (whiter) or “warmer” (yellower). With some, like the Philips, you can dial up any color you like: white with a touch of blue or yellow, say.

But I’m not sure why we keep talking about compact fluorescent lights. LED technology is completely different. There is zero relationship between a compact fluorescent light bulb’s light quality and LED’s light quality.

* You neglected an important point: because of heat issues, you’re not supposed to put LED bulbs into enclosed fixtures, like ceiling “cans.”

Actually, I asked Cree specifically about this. The representative says the bulbs are fine in ceiling cans. “The Cree LED bulb can be used in any application that would use an incandescent bulb. As long as there is an opportunity for air to circulate, the bulb is designed to work properly.”

I’m aware that not all bulbs meet this criterion; I’ve seen warnings on 3M and Philips bulbs, for example, not to use them in ceiling cans.

* Is there a potential issue with RF (radio frequency) interference from the circuitry? I know someone who put the LED bulbs in his garage door opener and then had trouble with the remote control.For more information, please visit cree led flashlight

The marketplace (the one I admire
from the opposite side of earth)
is adorned with
best prices,
city memorabilia,
and vendors willing
to drop their prices for
the Western Civilization.

This is the gaudy side of town.

But just on the other side
of the crowded booths
is a bay that opens
to the sea adorned with
sunny afternoons,
crashing waves,
and books in hand and toes in the sand.

Your peaceful solace outshines
my tranquil plains adorned with
fallen leaves,
barren trees,
and the whispers of poetry that
is in the wind and
in the blue and orange sunsets.

Yet we are in solace together.

"I'm taking care of myself, and I miss you too"

Today I saw a frog, dried up from the heat
close by I saw another, cracked upon the street
I counted thirty four in all, mummified and dry
Fifty feet from a dried out pond, I took some time to cry

The pond was once so vibrant, full of turtles and of frogs
But with the drought now here, you could count all of the logs
A stench so strong, it burned your eyes, if you chose to get near
Decomposing life, is all that's left, the pond is dead I fear

The pond, another victim of the crippling, hellish heat
Without the rain, it is just a monster we can't beat
The farmers put a spin on, give a positive sort of line
While they have to put their livestock down, their harvest die-ing on the vine

The fields are bare, the ground is dust, no life from it will come
You see the farmers trying everything, while we just stand there numb
Fans are running in the barns to keep the livestock cool
But the heat, it just gets stronger, you can't even use the pools

You could say they've dropped the middle man, as they grow dehydrated meals
The kiddie park and water park, have no water for their seals
You see the livestock out in the fields, looking for some grass to munch on
But, with the heat taking it all away, their field of grass has now gone

The cows, no longer vibrant, a leather coat on skin and bones
The farmers losing money, they're defaulting on their loans
The barnyards running empty, you can't even see a turkey
The cows themselves are so dried up, that the butcher calls them jerky

A break might come, the tv said, with a cold front moving through
But the grounds too hard to take the rain, what extra damage will it do?
The end result is prices will go up on all we eat
It's this ******* global warming, the creator of this heat

Look around at where you live, go and check your ponds and streams
Take note if they are die-ing, this is real, not in your dreams
Take action where it's needed, conserve water where you can
This is not a local problem, it affects the whole **** land

I saw a frog this morning...he was dead...it made me cry.......

Clothes of all kinds
on the sidewalks
sold for crazy cheap prices.

Kids and old people alike
scramble fast towards through mountains
of bargains, this once inaccessible
and highly prized scene of Fashion sense,
separating the haves and the have-nots.

I was born with skin color, names, and belongings
that no longer made sense when the time came
to decide and become.  I ran to meet a friend at a corner
a long time ago when the Ukay surplus clothing stores
were just starting out.

He carried a plastic of hiking boots
and a pair of stylish jeans. Laughing and smiling
at the exchanges. A pair of running shoes
and a jacket that was already too big for a woman.

ching, ching*
Two men walk into a local cafe.
A city boy, and a Townsman

The cityboy sports
Slicked up hair.
Blue button up shirt,
Grey slacks.
Dress shoes.

The townsman simpler.
Brown hair.
Orange T-shirt,
cargo pants.
Work boots.

"Hey there!" Says the city boy.
walking up to the counter.
"Do you ladies have different roasts of coffee?
Or do you have just one kind?"

The Register girl looks at him sideways.
"What are you talking about?"

"I want a black light roast if you have it. Also, two shots over ice."
He hands her his travel mug.
"What's this for?"
The girl fondles the travel mug.
"I'd like my coffee in that please."
The manager puts a hand to the girls shoulder.
"The house coffee is a light roast doll, give him that."

"Cream and sugar?" Asks the register girl.
"Oh god, please no." Laughs the city boy "Thank you."
Handing over a credit card.
The register girl does not understand
what is so funny about cream and sugar.
"Cash?" Says the manager.
"Is there an atm? I can only offer this, but I know how to change that if you point me in the right direction."
"No ATM. We just Offer a discount for cash, we'll take your card." Says the manager.
The city boy waits for his drinks.

The townsman, walks up and says
"Coffee, please"
The manager hands him a paper cup with coffee, cream, and sugar.
He pays them in cash.
smiles, nods. Says: "Thank you"
Then waits for the city boy.

"Here's your sippy cup."
Says the register girl.
Handing over his travel mug.
The city boy stands there waiting patiently.

"Are you waiting for something?"
"Yes. my two shots over ice?"

"Oh I put it in there."
"Could I have two shots over ice please? I'll pay for it again if you forgot."
"Oh we don't have an espresso machine.
Our shots are like a syrup."

"Oh... Is there syrup in here?
I just wanted two shots over ice."

"Well like... I mean our prices are so low anyway, it's no big deal, but we don't have an espresso machine so..."

"Sorry" says the manager.
"Thank you ladies." Says the townsman.

The cityboy grabs the townsmans hand.
They leave the Cafe.

The city boy sips his
Botched coffee.
"I've had good, bad, and know what I want.
I don't want to be seen as difficult because I'm educated."
He tolerates it.

The townsman sips his
Familiar Coffee.
"Sometimes ignorance is bliss."
He enjoys it.

Rain falls on the windscreen
in shades of grey brown and fogged-up blue,
car become boat in the rain-clogged road
floating away like in a Monet,
into the evening mess.

Frayed nerves, rules break, as dangers lurk.
The wiper slow tells its tale own.
Irrelevant discourse, irreverent songs,
the FM trend for DJ fame.

And we have two 'rivers' in our city,
swelling in refuse, bolstered by the rain;
And we have two beaches in our city,
soak in the surf, if you can ignore the rubble;
And we have many parks in our city
where litter garlands our heroes daily;

The last patch of green, cramped between
rising heights all around, accursed of
dump and construction junk,
steals a dying look at the moon late.

A walk in the woods, by the mist, by late evening.
A stroll, warm, through a field covered in snow.
Nice paintings on my concrete wall.

I'm told, the money plant is good for one's health.
Trees, a luxury for our wealth.

These are all good developments.
Hyper malls round the corner.
Home prices, soaring to Kepler.

Please pour in more investment into my country.
Guaranteed, riches grow in multiplication.
The markets are all about manipulation.