<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<rss version="2.0">
  <channel>
    <title>Michael Boros / Blue Baxter</title>
    <link>http://virb.com/michaelboros</link>
    <description><![CDATA[
]]></description>
    <generator>Virb 2.0 (@michaelboros)</generator>
    <language>en</language>
    <item>
      <title>141.  An Irish Lullaby (Unmixed, Unmastered)</title>
      <link>http://virb.com/michaelboros/audio/386551</link>
      <description><![CDATA[]]></description>
      <pubDate>Fri, 09 Jan 2009 13:31:12 -0800</pubDate>
      <guid>http://virb.com/michaelboros/audio/386551</guid>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>135.  The Road (Not Mixed or Mastered)</title>
      <link>http://virb.com/michaelboros/audio/385880</link>
      <description><![CDATA[]]></description>
      <pubDate>Wed, 07 Jan 2009 22:28:32 -0800</pubDate>
      <guid>http://virb.com/michaelboros/audio/385880</guid>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>146.  Lay Down Lady</title>
      <link>http://virb.com/michaelboros/audio/383157</link>
      <description><![CDATA[]]></description>
      <pubDate>Tue, 30 Dec 2008 21:31:14 -0800</pubDate>
      <guid>http://virb.com/michaelboros/audio/383157</guid>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>145.  Tornado</title>
      <link>http://virb.com/michaelboros/audio/382912</link>
      <description><![CDATA[]]></description>
      <pubDate>Mon, 29 Dec 2008 22:14:47 -0800</pubDate>
      <guid>http://virb.com/michaelboros/audio/382912</guid>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>150.  Heaven</title>
      <link>http://virb.com/michaelboros/audio/382909</link>
      <description><![CDATA[]]></description>
      <pubDate>Mon, 29 Dec 2008 22:00:44 -0800</pubDate>
      <guid>http://virb.com/michaelboros/audio/382909</guid>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>114. Sea Side Sailing</title>
      <link>http://virb.com/michaelboros/audio/352627</link>
      <description><![CDATA[]]></description>
      <pubDate>Wed, 08 Oct 2008 03:33:39 -0700</pubDate>
      <guid>http://virb.com/michaelboros/audio/352627</guid>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>088. Chess Games</title>
      <link>http://virb.com/michaelboros/audio/352616</link>
      <description><![CDATA[]]></description>
      <pubDate>Wed, 08 Oct 2008 02:58:23 -0700</pubDate>
      <guid>http://virb.com/michaelboros/audio/352616</guid>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>079. Teacher To Student</title>
      <link>http://virb.com/michaelboros/audio/352614</link>
      <description><![CDATA[]]></description>
      <pubDate>Wed, 08 Oct 2008 02:53:09 -0700</pubDate>
      <guid>http://virb.com/michaelboros/audio/352614</guid>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>090. This Dog Ain't Dead Yet</title>
      <link>http://virb.com/michaelboros/audio/352612</link>
      <description><![CDATA[]]></description>
      <pubDate>Wed, 08 Oct 2008 02:40:21 -0700</pubDate>
      <guid>http://virb.com/michaelboros/audio/352612</guid>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>032. Stiff Arm Revolution</title>
      <link>http://virb.com/michaelboros/audio/352611</link>
      <description><![CDATA[]]></description>
      <pubDate>Wed, 08 Oct 2008 02:36:31 -0700</pubDate>
      <guid>http://virb.com/michaelboros/audio/352611</guid>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>095. Spirit</title>
      <link>http://virb.com/michaelboros/audio/352466</link>
      <description><![CDATA[]]></description>
      <pubDate>Tue, 07 Oct 2008 20:05:25 -0700</pubDate>
      <guid>http://virb.com/michaelboros/audio/352466</guid>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>070. Here's to the Morning</title>
      <link>http://virb.com/michaelboros/audio/352465</link>
      <description><![CDATA[]]></description>
      <pubDate>Tue, 07 Oct 2008 20:02:25 -0700</pubDate>
      <guid>http://virb.com/michaelboros/audio/352465</guid>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title></title>
      <link>http://virb.com/michaelboros/photos/1677717</link>
      <description><![CDATA[<a href="http://virb.com/michaelboros/photos/1677717"><img src="http://g.virbcdn.com/i/resize_575x575/Image-249982-1408189-Pic.jpg" /></a>]]></description>
      <pubDate>Wed, 01 Oct 2008 22:53:03 -0700</pubDate>
      <guid>http://virb.com/michaelboros/photos/1677717</guid>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>The End</title>
      <link>http://virb.com/michaelboros/posts/text/872634</link>
      <description><![CDATA[And so, 


As with all things - they funnel in and out.

And now, were left, with a blank, in the slot

The words, are of orders, the times, forgot

Theres nothing else to say here, the theory, debunked.

And the end of the blog- what does it signify.  It signifies, for some, a certain freedom, that is, a liberation from the past - for we are all prisoners of the past, are we not?  Or at least, the present prisons of the past.  And to the future, how then does one dispose of the past?  Through the present of course, the succession of the present, cessation of words.

Theyre small, theyre harmelss, these entires on the web.  yet to drink all through the afternoon, will land you in a bed.  And to climb a rope ladder, through the levels, or instead, realize how one moves, and how one moves not again.

The End.]]></description>
      <pubDate>Tue, 14 Oct 2008 20:19:05 -0700</pubDate>
      <guid>http://virb.com/michaelboros/posts/text/872634</guid>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>The Theory of The Blog</title>
      <link>http://virb.com/michaelboros/posts/text/853653</link>
      <description><![CDATA[The theory of the blog pertains to the moment - now, time being a succession of nows, many nows, or just one now.  The hope for most when reading is to gain some inspiration, either in how the story is told, or the overall progressions of the stories.  In short, for change - ideas bouncing off the sound board, the reader watching himself, noticing odd reflections, etc.  A stimulus- entertainment at its base is a stimulus, so is learning, so is action.  

So as far as the blog, theres a now there that is no longer now, though they have the same title.  Are they then one work?  One song, one post, one book, etc., endlessly looping, editing, swelling.

For one, there are things outside the reader's scope, that is, the arrangement, the typing or creating, the stimulus of the action of message -ing.   The reader, attuned to the blog, wants to know whatsupNOW.  The stimulus of the problem being, its all ready not now, not the time it will be posted as being written, the clock recording the time of the stimulus of the writing - the only now left to observe is your now, reader, your now.  Read about that, really, an everything in it.

Theres all different kinds of writing, like the kind where the author assumes no barrier, writes as if talking, like you just got this message - though a clever eye would see that this message has been sittin here for the difference between right now and right now.  See, its tricky, language.  You cana twist it, top it, chop it... Jump around, you know.

So heres something else I wrote right now - but be careful now, or dont.



So, I've shared various nows, and keep on 








Here we are says the morning, here we are, and how have we come?  Ah, so many roads of the Atlas, like an anti-paradox, and how the Atlas held them all, the known and unknown %u2013 it doesn%u2019t matter if you havnt read the pages, they still weigh just as much as those that have been seen.  And how many roads in a single book, how many paths there are, and how many places that become a different page with a different set of eyes.  If youre an eagle, its just a spec on the ground, and if youre a magnifying glass, how many nooks are there?, but its always a book, is it not?  That seems evident.



So much given away so freely, so many of the smallest places it would take forever to find if you were looking, the kind of place you can barely stumble upon, and someone behind the counter says something like %u2013 %u201CAint seen you before%u201D, and you say, %u201Cyes, I was just on my way%u201D.  But theres a moment, a glance, a space, in a time, in a perspective, and the contradiction %u2013 is it not the scraping sound of those contradictions that It pulses to?  Or from the pulsations come the contradiction.  Those things are colliding, the louder, the harder the scramble, and the highest population of chickens since whenever the first egg hatched and somethin started squawkin, but there are many eggs with so many chickens, lots of scrambled eggs.

And you, reader, listener, ask what the point is.  Why am I reading this.  Or maybe, youre not asking that at all, or maybe youre just skimming the page trying to find something that clicks, that fits, that Is.  

 
A man struggling to obtain enlightenment asks his master to expel the doubt from his chest, like a lump that sat within, and the master stands, and strikes him there, causing the student to fall onto his back, and in his moment of enlightenment, he says, %u201CI perceived for the first time that the sun was circular%u201D

 
What is self %u2013evidence?  Or another set of assumptions to a particular perspective?  Self evident %u2013 something boiled down to something, eh?  Ah, but if youre not asking why you should read this, have you learned so far?  To walk in a pack?  Theres no one here, friend, there is no one here but you.

 
There Is many forms of pain, but pain is only one thing, with many variations, and how vast the sky is.  

 
Morning comes, friend, morning comes, as it has always been coming, and always is there, right in its place, right in its cycle, but do not be hasty, for the road doesn%u2019t end, and in the end, as in the beginning, youre walking it alone.  Sure, there are other travelers along the way, but they seem to thin, the longer you walk, less and less, dots on hill sides, youll never walk. Perhaps it is for them that stationary bird sings, perhaps the bird knows more than the travelers she watches pass, and perhaps it is in her song that legend exists, the key, the missing part in the corner of the atlas pages, where theres just a hole for now, and a picture that doesn%u2019t mean anything above it, for, what good are words if theyre not doing anything?  What good is a map that does not lead?

 
Do away with those faulty things, my traveling friend, for we are all journeying, and the road is long indeed, so pack light.
 

Ah yes, pack light, and perhaps it is for those empty houses where the tenants have left to go stand on the front porch that songs are sung at all, for what is the journey without them?  Ah, as empty as yourself, as full as the desert, it is the moon, the emptiness of the moon.  Shall we to the other side?

 

To the other side, indeed., after all, just words, and theyre only in your head
]]></description>
      <pubDate>Sun, 05 Oct 2008 13:14:20 -0700</pubDate>
      <guid>http://virb.com/michaelboros/posts/text/853653</guid>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>The Golden Rule of the Road</title>
      <link>http://virb.com/michaelboros/posts/text/853149</link>
      <description><![CDATA[



                                                                                   Never over estimate karma


                                                                                               ever

                                                                                but dont underestimate it either






                         The first time i learned to sit alone was working at a gas station.  it was always winter of it was always 
                    summer, the floor was cracked, beetles in the back, oil stains on the ceiling.  smoke smoke - stock up for the 
                            week, stock up for the friends too.  I smoked unfilters like a madman , a pack an a half a day.





I met a big ol' Indian
Out on the reservation
And I said very blindly
Friend, what was it like before

Before the settlers and their cannons
Only open space and canyons
Before horses and the white man
Before Columbus and Rome

His eyes got very thin
And he showed me left hand
Transparent ancient winds a shootin
Out from all his ears

He said, go and find the nations
Tell them bout the situation
Tell them, stop blowing up heaven
Till there aint no heaven no more]]></description>
      <pubDate>Wed, 01 Oct 2008 16:32:17 -0700</pubDate>
      <guid>http://virb.com/michaelboros/posts/text/853149</guid>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>Temporary, Like Achilles</title>
      <link>http://virb.com/michaelboros/posts/text/853142</link>
      <description><![CDATA[     The entire premise of this argument starts at Zeno's proposition that two objects in motion, the lead moving at a slower pace than the other, will never intersect, or, crash, so to speak.  Philosophically, the argument is sound, stating that in order for the former to catch the lead, he would first have to accomplish the distance halfway, the half that, etc. condemning him to an endless succession of halfways, coming infinitely close, but impossible to catch, even if the lead weren't moving at all.

     Aristotle's spin: suggesting that if Achilles and the hare were in a race, neither would ever finish, suggesting again that eternal halfways are graphically represented through exponential growth and decay.

     A further claim - because the race never ends, perhaps its because it never started.  The theory of movement derived, exponential decay, because in order to move to any spot, half the distance must be covered first, but half of that distance before arriving at the first point, before the second, etc.  Again, logically sound, however contrary to common experience, if such exists.

Carrol simply took the arguments, combined them in a literary context, applied a satirist touch, and constructed the events.

     The question, as stated, seems to be between a pessimist and a idealist.  One believes that if enough rules are applied, the idea can be captured between a wall of words and crossed off loop holes, and that the system will inevitably perfect itself, having assumed that there is not a philosophical, exponential curve of problems that need dealt with in succession.

     The entire sequence paints a scene of Grecian culture not dissimilar to modern America.  Endless debates, seemingly wrapped up in paradoxes.  The comedies show a character exponentially growing, seemingly, until the writer cut a hole in the system using the powers of wit and sharpness of mind while the tragedies show one with his legs cut out from under him to a bottomless pit of ironic disaster.

I suppose the problems are encompassed within a paradox of freewill.  Does one choose which route to take, is it prescribed, or can one choose to accept neither?  If there are definite points concerning growth and decay, would there not be an absolute center as well?  A quarter or a third? Would the two roads shown in the famous rhetoric then become simple boundaries, or end points, of the decisions that could be made; boundaries for one is infinity and one is negative infinity?  

However, how could there be boundaries of free will?  Rather, can free will be dominated by a context?  Can one choose to not participate in the argument at all, negating its existence while using the power of freewill to negate itself?  Another paradox: can the constructs of a system be overridden by the same things that give it shape?  A constant free flow of movement, changing a system while at the same time immediately re-constructing it?  Or, is there no such thing as immediacy, that the seconds between a minute be broken down and broken down again until there is no time -  for the clock hand cannot go halfway between the next tick for the distance is infinitely short and long.  One thinks, therefore, one am, but what does am entail?

The satire, the irony of this essay is wrung throughout -  that man is condemned, in a sense, to eternally quest, and at the same time, has the freedom to.  To choose to abstain is as fruitless as to fight, as to choose to quit is as meaningful as endlessly losing, as accepting the worst, is as abstract as expecting perfection.

Cannnnn you see the relation?

The relation between things depends on a context, and within that context, the logic of that context.  For example, Aristotles proposition works so it operates within a specific timeline, however, when the timeline is stretched, the argument is completely invalid, leaving it an intellectual exercise, ultimately useless except for what it prods to.....  The future itself to become a similar exercise - and so the cyclic story goes.

As far as Zeno and Carrol, which is to say, as for myself, or for you:  Sometimes, one trips into a place where every moment holds every meaning, and every excerpt of that moment, of the next moment, hold the same story, in a different context, making the story different and the point the same  -  and it is that point that we rush towards - it is the order of peace we seek - it is the ironies and paradoxes that propel to others - the dog chasing its tail, on the trail, to wherevers next.
]]></description>
      <pubDate>Wed, 01 Oct 2008 16:20:41 -0700</pubDate>
      <guid>http://virb.com/michaelboros/posts/text/853142</guid>
    </item>
    <item>
      <title>Primera...</title>
      <link>http://virb.com/michaelboros/posts/text/776191</link>
      <description><![CDATA[Life's Uncertain Beauty Revisited


Once upon a time
Beauty came full circle
Matthews said the space between
What Is
And what we want to be

Insurmountable
And Dylan said
There is no sense in trying.
_______


Silly turtledoves still in love
'Neath the bleeding post-rain rainbow
Having honeymoon caricatures drawn
In the pending rain

McCartney chastised all those
Who hope for tomorrow
Yesterday, when todays problems were so far away
Is when we could all live and smile

Try as you might to catch the things you missed
Cullum said, you're only chasing tales

__________

The friend I know 
Who finished last
Was a week late
And a buck and a dime short
Asked the fool up on the hill
How is it that he stands so still and tall,
in spite of time an' all

He responds like a ballad in plain d
Answering most mysteriously
In the words of Cohn's ghost train
Some trains leave on time

Others, leave folks behind

______
Dylan said in an interview with MTV
It's the space between a sound 
Where feelings roam freely
Looking for a heart or mind
To strike
And its that spot in the song
Where you guess whats comin'
And you guess all wrong

Its just more real that way

Not choreographed or set up
And its there you find
Insanity, and peace of mind

__________

Van Gogh and McLean's 
Starry, Starry night
Its hard to say
Which one captured the night right

Maybe the point is that no one really knows
If McLean had him tagged
Or if Van Gogh
Really was too beautiful
For life's signature titles
If that's the case, 
McLean was wrong
Shot himself in the foot
While analyzing the bomb

_____

Weathered faces
All line and lined up in pain
Crucify their troubles
With a silver thorn
On the virgin snow

The beauty of the scenery
Juxtaposed with the horror
Of the lot of life's uncertainty

Weathered velvet hands
Paint the seas of grey and blue
McLean out in the middle
Wondering (wandering) what to do
And he does what he can
That is, all he knows how
Writes down his thoughts
Into a bottle
Cast out to sea
Hoping its found

Not much unlike Van Gogh
Whose dream was found later
But he died
Without anybody drinking the bottle

____________
 
Beauty stuffed in a bottle
For no one else to see at sea
Cast out of the craft
Far, fast, and bitterly

Hoping for Pope's vestals 
To come along
Renounce their ways
And cast aside
The World Forgotten
by The World Forgot


]]></description>
      <pubDate>Sun, 17 Aug 2008 15:50:09 -0700</pubDate>
      <guid>http://virb.com/michaelboros/posts/text/776191</guid>
    </item>
  </channel>
</rss>
