For those of you who might be interested, I've slapped together a little command-line area code lookup tool. It's a really simple couple of scripts using grep to locate what you're searching for. It works on Unix-like systems with bash installed (Linux, OS X, etc).
You can download it here. Follow the enclosed instructions to install and use it.
We punish ourselves and others so often for daydreaming. Get your head out of the clouds, Mom says. Be practical, Dad says. Daydreaming is antithetical to industry, production, waking life in the western world.
I suspect there are many kinds of animals that daydream, but there are only two I'm certain of: humans and cats. I've known many crazy cats, but the worst of them have always been the ones who have truly lost their minds - they cry all the time, need lots of attention, are afraid of everything or angry at everything. The surest way to make a cat this way is to lock it in a room with no view. Cats need a view of the outside world - they need to see birds, squirrels, people passing, clouds drifting by. Later, when they go after that piece of string, they can play at the notion that this string is actually that bird, or that squirrel. To the cat without a view, a string is just a string.
Every string contains a bird, every mind contains a daydream, every person contains a multitude. They are facts as certain and constant as gravity. You may have gotten your head out of the clouds, but look: the clouds are still there. Imagination, like faith, is never lost - but with hard work, it can be abandoned.
AD HOC: Anonymous, Distributed Herd Of Cats
Example: Anonymous.
The poem is the poem is not the poem today.
Laudator temporis acti, past and present converge on this hazy winter morning, this sole unremarkable hour, strange attractor saturated with coffee, news and all the little artifacts that mark this hour, this year, this place as identical to and different from any other. Laudator, mark the secular libations, the magic of electrons, waves without ether, revelation without prophets. This is the post-diluvian world, and it is full of the wonderful and terrible.
Let's eat. Let's have a coffee. Let's sit here together, you forgetting the past, I ignoring my poem - and together, we can dread the future. Look out, pauvre rameur, troubled twin, and see what's there. The end of the past, the end of libations, the end of all poems, waves and radiation, small dust.
In last night's dream, a woman said to me, "Dogs are always blameless."
I flutter between worlds like a sail with torn tabling. In and out, the dreaming, the sun, gravity and history, big gordian cesspools of blah blah blah.
In short: some days I am unbearably heavy, and some I am unbearably light.
