i just got some of my major projects to a stopping point, so today has just meant chilling and surfing. cruising the links in my favorites, mostly. so here's some stuff i'd like to share from my foray. because noone really reads this, I can just put what I want. hooray!
my first comment is: o, phooey.
Clamor Magazine (last issue's cover pictured) is going under. this is a loss which can be filled in by other sources, but Clamor was shiny, well put together, drew from a diverse range of interesting and inspirational topics. it takes a super, eclectic researcher to find it all by themself, i never managed. RIP
feeling helpless/useless is a very bad mental state, 'specially if you're an idealist. I really dug the angle that Transition culture took on it: "Is Peak Oil Pessimism a Generation of Men Coming to Realise How Useless They Are?" (of course)
Starhawk now has a collumn or something with Newsweek, related to Interreligious Dialogue.
i'm reading a long ballad about someone named Suibhne (pronounced Sweeney) Geilt. he was a Celtic pagan king who got pissed at a Christian Bishop building a church in his territory. According to the story, first he threw the guys hand written, caligraphic psalter (good of prayers or something) into a lake. then he killed one of the Bishop's sons by impaling him with a spear, and then he through a spear at the guy. it richocheted off a religious bell that was hanging off the Bishop, who finally said "GOD, PISS ON THIS TURD". And according to the story, god did just that; the curse was that he'd be as flighty as a bird- he could fly, and he'd get so perturbed by loud human noises that he'd just fucking bolt and fly, talking in rhyme the whole time, to some other tree. i'm just past the part where he comes to a gathering place for "madmen" (shamans) after freaking out when some of his former subjects came to try and coax him down out of a tree:
17 Now when Suibhne heard the shout of the multitude and the tumult of the great army, he ascended from the tree towards the rain-clouds of the firmament, over the summits of every place and over the ridge-pole of every land. For a long time thereafter he was (faring) throughout Ireland, visiting and searching in hard, rocky clefts and in bushy J branches of tall ivy-trees, in narrow cavities of stones, from estuary to estuary, from peak to peak, and from glen to glen, till he reached ever-delightful Glen Bolcain. It is there the madmen of Ireland used to go when their year in madness was complete, that glen being ever a place of great delight for madmen. For it is thus Glen Bolcain is: it has four gaps to the wind, likewise a wood very beautiful, very pleasant, and clean-banked wells and cool springs, and sandy, clear-water streams, and green-topped watercress and brooklime bent and long on their surface. Many likewise are its sorrels, its wood-sorrels, its lus-bian and its biorragan, its berries, and its wild garlic, its melle, and its miodhbhun its black sloes and its brown acorns. The madmen moreover used to smite each other for the pick of watercress of that glen and for the choice of its couches. -http://www.ucc.ie/celt/published/T302018/index.html
what else? there's some new/old paganism making a comeback among the Ossetians: http://www.kuwaittimes.net/Navariednews.asp?dismode=article&artid=363476762
i also found the Sauna Club, a major accomplisment: http://saunaclub.blogspot.com/