Pinned toot

Perhaps I need to do another here, since it has been some time since I did it last. My regular forays here include composing , writing , sharing and other connected sharing threads. If you write there, I'll try to respond. I may even remix as a way to honor your writing. I try to keep my heart and mind open.

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The Map of Mathematics: Animation Shows How All the Different Fields in Math Fit Together

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You're sitting in class and there's chatter around you and you stare out the window and dream yourself away... that's what this song, "Window Seat" by @btcprox and @ky0ko , part of our third #MusicCollab album, sounds like to me. You can listen here:

#Music #MastoMusic

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An Ode to Mastodon

We respond.
We reciprocate.
We re-articulate.
But these are not diminishments,
not echoes,
not a photocopy of a photocopy. No.
They are amplifications
of the crest
of the heart's pumping wave,
in phase,
constructively interfering.

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Try writing a page or two of your thoughts down first thing in the morning.

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I love that all @bryanalexander's questions earlier brought me back here. Something always does.

I've been thinking about why I occasionally end up stuck with just Twitter. It's like the gum on your shoe from a hot pavement. There are days you can't not step in it.

But I come back here with such a sense of relief and gratitude.

I'm exploring a new used book store.
Near poetry, I overhear one young woman say to another: "I don't own any Mary Oliver. How sad is that? But I don't like her poetry. I just find her interesting."
<me, to myself: how can you not like her poetry?>
"It's the same with Virginia Woolf. I find her interesting but I don't like her writing. I started To the Lighthouse, and couldn't get into it."
<me: give it a few years and try again.>
I wander outside with her voice still in my head.

“A library is a good place to soften solitude; a place where you feel part of a conversation that has gone on for hundreds and hundreds of years even when you’re all alone. The library is a listening post.”

-- from The Library Book by Susan Orleans, page 309

Sometimes it gets lonely
living on the screen
It’s easy to fall apart
when no one hears you scream

I’m send out a lifeline
A song with just a voice
To let you know the world exists
and you have a choice

yesterday's lyrics as today's


Thanks to a capo move to the eighth fret on guitar as suggested by @reto (for something else entirely), I wrote this song this morning. Guitar has a mandolin tone. I was thinking of social media timelines (like here on Mastodon) and the people who flow by, some of whom need a friendly voice to keep the day going forward.

You Are Heard Out Here

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If I still had
my first pair
of beach shoes,
I know
I would find
I know it.

response to a poem @dogtrax wrote in response to something I wrote elsewhere. These are not dimishments, like a photocopy of a photocopy. No. They are amplifications of the top of a wave of heart, in phase, constructively interfering.

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@dogtrax A seed is a potent metaphor, isn't it.Teachers are drawn to them like bees to bee balm.Jesus' parable of the mustard seed sprouts in my memory.I have always felt that story was as subversive as the mustard plant it speaks of is invasive.We are scattering seed willynilly, most of it fails.Some of it sprouts and feeds the sheep.Some of it is noxious and it sprouts, too.Yeah, that is the part they don't tell you about in teacher school.Keep on.The sheep eat weeds, too.

“The difference was when I was alone, in my attic bedroom, sweating in the summer heat … daydreaming in the dark about what it would feel like to be Joe Strummer or D. Boon or Paul Westerberg, that’s where I discovered a secret self. A better self than the one I was stuck with.”

-- from Let’s Go (So We Can Get Back) by Jeff Tweedy, page 37

I this (messed up tag yesterday and inadvertently created some strange tag spawn that sits alone in corner of mastodon now)

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What Made Freddie Mercury the Greatest Vocalist in Rock History? The Secrets Revealed in a Short Video Essay

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and an unexceptional, introverted park ranger just looked down to see a trail of ants winding themselves into the words "Don't trust earthworms"... in the Twilight Zone.

I was on break from shoveling. We had not just snow, but sleet and freezing rain. A slushy lasagna. A shovel was the wrong tool for the job. I was catching my breath, when a maple leaf just sort of floated out of nowhere over my head. You know how leaves catch the wind and do that see-saw tumble in the air? It landed ever so gently on the snow, as light as can be, before another gust sent it soaring, up and then away. I stood there, watching the show I might have otherwise missed.

I am sand;
the small
grains of poems
pushed into
bins; places
forgotten until
some later date,
when friction
forms friendship

response to something @tellio wrote elsewhere for

“ … when it’s just the band in a room, with no audience besides the six of us, and we rediscover a song together, for no other reason than to see if we can do it, that’s when we’re the most grateful we get to do what we do. Those moments are pure reminders of what made us want to play music in the first place. Music is magic.”

-- from Let’s Go (So We Can Get Back) by Jeff Tweedy, page 9

I reading book by Wilco leader/songwriting/guitarist and enjoying it

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Permeable – Terry Elliott – Medium My entry for joining Poets Unlimited on Medium. Thanks @dogtrax for the heads up.

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