"There's a grim, rarely talked-about twist to all that medical know-how doctors learn to save lives: It makes them especially good at ending their own. An estimated 300 to 400 U.S. doctors kill themselves each year — a suicide rate thought to be higher than in the general population, although exact figures are hard to come by.
Some doctors believe the stigma of mental illness is magnified in a profession that prides itself on stoicism and bravado. Many fear admitting psychiatric problems could be fatal to their careers, so they suffer in silence." (Time)
"The shades of the past become more vivid than anything turned up by the present. The spirit of the times is itself spectral. Faced with the apparent triumph of global Capital and the collapse of cultural innovation, artists and critics impatient with postmodern culture’s ‘nostalgia mode’ are forced back to a time before the End of History. They engage in mourning and melancholia for what has disappeared and what never came to be. Everyday life becomes ghostly… a saturated culture is unable to forget that things were not always like this." (Strange Attractor)
I dance on all the mountains On five mountains, I have a dancing place When they shoot at me I run To my five mountains"
Missed a last shot At the Buck, in twilight So we came back sliding On dry needles through cold pines. Scared out a cottontail Whipped up the winchester Shot off its head. The white body rolls and twitches In the dark ravine As we run down the hill to the car.
deer foot down scree Picasso's fawn, Issa's fawn, Deer on the autumn mountain Howling like a wise man Stiff springy jumps down the snowfields Head held back, forefeet out, Balls tight in a tough hair sack Keeping the human soul from care on the autumn mountain Standing in late sun, ear-flick Tail-flick, gold mist of flies Whirling from nostril to eyes.
Home by night drunken eye Still picks out Taurus Low, and growing high: four-point buck Dancing in the headlights on the lonely road A mile past the mill-pond, With the car stopped, shot That wild silly blinded creature down.
Pull out the hot guts with hard bare hands While night-frost chills the tongue and eye The cold horn-bones. The hunter's belt just below the sky Warm blood in the car trunk. Deer-smell, the limp tongue.
Deer don't want to die for me. I'll drink sea-water Sleep on beach pebbles in the rain Until the deer come down to die in pity for my pain.
Gary Snyder
this poem is for bear
"As for me I am a child of the god of the mountains."
A bear down under the cliff. She is eating huckleberries. They are ripe now Soon it will snow, and she Or maybe he, will crawl into a hole And sleep. You can see Huckleberries in bearshit if you Look, this time of year If I sneak up on the bear It will grunt and run The others had all gone down From the blackberry brambles, but one girl Spilled her basket, and was picking up her Berries in the dark. A tall man stood in the shadow, took her arm, Led her to his home. He was a bear. In a house under the mountain She gave birth to slick dark children With sharp teeth, and lived in the hollow Mountain many years.
snare a bear: call him out: honey-eater forest apple light-foot Old man in the fur coat, Bear! come out! Die of your own choice! Grandfather black-food! this girl married a bear Who rules in the mountains, Bear!
you have eaten many berries you have caught many fish you have frightened many people
Twelve species north of Mexico Sucking their paws in the long winter Tearing the high-strung caches down Whining, crying, jacking off (Odysseus was a bear)
Bear-cubs gnawing the soft tits Teeth gritted, eyes screwed tight but she let them.
Til her brothers found the place Chased her husband up the gorge Cornered him in the rocks. Song of the snared bear: "Give me my belt. "I am near death. "I came from the mountain caves "At the headwaters, "The small streams there "Are all dried up.
-- I think I'll go hunt bears. "hunt bears? Why shit Snyder. You couldn't hit a bear in the ass with a handful of rice!"
"More often than not, trolling websites that end with “.gov” is about as much fun as renewing your driver's license. But if you check out the U.S. Census Bureau’s website, you can fully access a truly awesome book: the Census Atlas of the United States.
True to the federal government’s prominent place on the trailing edge of information technology, the 302-page report, containing 800 maps populated by data compiled through 2000, is available in 18 PDF files (very Web 1.0). Sure, it’s a bit of a slog — the largest PDF weighs in at 21 MB — but it’s fun to wander such diverse sections as college dormitory population, prevalent language spoken at home, and percentage of commuters who carpool." (Very Short List)
"Little Bit, a young Eastern Box Turtle was hit by a car in September of 2000. Her shell was crushed and she was left partially paralyzed... After some weeks Little Bit seemed to have made a full recovery except for the use of her hind legs. So some wheels seemed to be the way to go. Some lightweight model airplane wheels on a wire frame did the trick... She was eating, drinking, and exploring all the rooms of my house. Eventually she was able to move around outside as well." (via kottke)
"It’s interesting that having your own domain and Web site once set you apart from the crowd because it meant you were an early adopter, perhaps soon it will mark you as unusually old fashioned." — Rafe Coburn (rc3)
"spiked and Wellcome Collection have launched a website to debate and discuss the top-dog medical breakthroughs that transformed humanity’s fortunes, and the worst-ever harebrained medical schemes that should be stuffed in the sin bin of history." (sp!ked)
"The condition of alienation, of being asleep, of being unconscious, of being out of one's mind, is the condition of the normal man. Society highly values its normal man. It educates children to lose themselves and to become absurd, and thus to be normal. Normal men have killed perhaps 100,000,000 of their fellow normal men in the last fifty years."
— R.D. Laing
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