Local Politics/Synthetic Aperture Radar

As far as I can tell from my research concerning Duke Forest land under the control of NASA, asthma The Calibration of the Photographic Equipment of the NASA Hassablads and Linhoff cameras was apparently completed in 1993.

      It is interesting that the cameras are mentioned in the studies more often than the film.

      So far the photographs from the radar system that I got are not very helpful to me.

      I hope it was useful, but have some other ideas about what other experiments might produce some benefits in my current neighborhood.

      I really want NASALand on Eubanks Road, and the Orange County Landfill turned into a State of the Art Recycling and Community Airport and have no objection if NASA continues to take pictures of it with whatever cameras they prefer.

                                             Love- Russell

      

Original Lease Theory

The Utility of the Lease in International Relations as remembered.

     It is the Lease that offers resolution to the conflict between shared imperatives, and sovereignty.
     Imperatives of international cooperation over and over again runs up against nationalism and sovereignty, and stall.   A crisis follows.
      Failed and failing States or territories in conflict and dispute could be better helped through the mechanism of the Lease, than longterm drift towards the typical crisis that results in war on the weakened by both internal and external powers.
       I site the history of Hong Kong as evidence of the hope offered by an internationally accepted lease agreement between China and Great Britian as resolution of their conflict.
        Since my reading of Jared Diamonds’ books, Guns Germs & Steel, Collapse, and The Third Chimpanzee, I have been thinking about what might be done to resolve the problems of Haiti and determined that the United Nations ought to lease it through its offices either to itself, or to another nation for sensible purposes.
       Since Haiti is destroyed as a self sustaining habitat it may well be best that Nuclear Power Plants and all other possible power generating facilities be built there along with an advance port facility for all manner of craft from boat to airplane to spacecraft.
       If Haiti is already ruined to the degree that is generally acknowledged its practical uses and asset may be a ruin that practically makes its strength, that ruination!
       As a hazardous materials depot and site for an isolated Nuclear Power Generating Point an economy better than the one currently existing would be possible to create to the benefit of the people who live there as well as others in the world and region.
       If pressure on the Dominican Republic is not in some manner soon alleviated it can be expected that the entire island will drift towards a common crisis.
        Lease of Haiti by the United Nations, the EU, or another responsible party in recognition by both the inhabitants the successful outcome achieved by the precedent of Hong Kong would seem to me to be a practical way to move forward from where we are realistically and offer the international community the best hope of a win win resolution.
                                                                                                                    Love, Russell
 

rather be dead than mean all the time

 

 

 

 

 

I'D RATHER BE DEAD THAN ANGRY AND MEAN ALL THE TIME

You hear me and you can say

I want you to have some fond memories left after I die.

Being angry and mean everytime I try to make my vision come true

Ain't fair to you.

 

I'd rather be dead than angry and mean all the time.

It's coming from pain everytime there is rain, health

And I might just be a barometer, treatment ready to break.

Just glass and poison.

Sorry fate and destiny are two different things.

I didn't see this coming.

Still with the music right and loud,

I might be sweet again.

Best thing for a man to be.

Gentleman is what I want to be.

I'm so hurt and angry and mean I'm ready to try or die.

 

 

Cry For Me

Now I cry for me.

I'm not the man I used to be.

Frozen in my nighttime tracks.

I go ahead and cry for me.

I'm not the man I used to be.

It makes me feel better.

There's just not much more to do.

It's really got nothing to do with you.

You are just a witness.

Pushed now back to childhood wonder.

Hurts that aren't supposed to be.

What a shock it happened to me!

I didn't see this coming.

TV news is just patent medicine reality.

Now I cry for me.

I'm not the man I used to be.

Real Love

Sharing selfish passions, prostate

of spit and ashes.

Real love

Stakes a claim, sale

Knowing it's a dream.

All the pretty words that try to gloss it over,

Just get in the way, get someone crying

"You don't love me."

We will never do it perfect,

I'm no saintly Jesus,

Pretending ain't my thing.

05 as well face it, I'm keeping at my claim.

Course I really can't force you

You're still a moving target.

Yeah, I like to watch you dance.

I'm takin a chance.

I've had some dreams before.

Near filed 'em at some office,

But backed out the door.

Want to go all the way?

Do it our way?

Just roll with the truth,

Yah gottah stake a claim.

Know the passion burns to ashes consuming all illusions.

Sharing selfish passions with abandon,

Cause otherwise there's no thrill.

We can wait for later, when we're over the hill.

But I feel like dancin now.  That's enough talkin.

Let's just build a fire.  What more yah gottah really know right now.

Yeah I Hit Him

Oh yeah I hit him.

What'd yah expect me to do?

He had his arm around you.

He kept saying he was sorry.

He had something to be sorry for, medicine

So I hit him.

What'd you expect?

You're a little trouble maker you know.

You're a hot little flirt sometimes.

I mean sometimes I like it.

When it's coming my way.

I think I hurt my hand.

Come on kiss it and make it feel better.

I didn't kick him that hard.  He'll be all right.  What a night.

Think you can drive?

We gottah get out of here.

Somebody might have called the cops.

Yeah I hit him.

What'd yah expect!

He said he was sorry too much.

The Dawn Patrol

The Dawn Patrol

 

The dawn breaks.

Each man rolls in his bed, cough

in the arms of his woman.

Soon they will face in the skies.

They are the fighter pilots.

The German Ace, and the American Hero.

Each one, his thoughts the same,

From the first glance through the curtains,

What Clouds, What weather?

Will I live today?

And it is the same thoughts

In the heads of their mistresses.

 

Choice and Chance

have brought them to this day,

this place and time,

When they are both pilots.

They check] their guns.

The lineman pulls down sharply.

The engine coughs, and he is a waving blur.

On the rudder and they turn full power into the wind.

The tail bounces and lifts.

The whole plane leaps into the sky.

For one the Sun is on the left.

For the other, on the right.

They and their companions race to meet.

 

From half a mile up they look down.

What are those little men doing down there?

Of course it is the same thing,

Only below they creep and crawl.

Both pilots pity those below.

At least they have this view.

At least if they are to die,

They will not be just soldiers,

but pilots.

This was their whole hearted choice in the matter.

 

Then the moment for thoughts and remembrances is gone.

They are on each other.

Straight on they come for just a moment,

And then it is down and away for speed,

Up and after each other in turns.

And in turn after turn, and dive after dive,

For seconds they see their chances,

and fire.

 

From the corners of their eyes

they see trails of smoke.

Burning men with nowhere to go,

and no time.

Until it is only these two

Circling and skidding

and wishing the other would explode before them,

So they could just go home.

 

Then as the German Ace feels the American Hero

pulling tighter behind him

He dives, but not fast enough,

Not hard enough, and he turns.

What was he thinking?

It is too late.  The American Ace dives too;

And Fires.

The bullets smash into the cockpit

tearing through the Germans' body.

 

That night one boy from the farms of the Midwest

is dancing and holding her tight.

Across the fields, in a similar place,

One woman sits alone.

Before her is set a drink.

She is crying.

Another man in a uniform with little wings

and an Iron Cross,

Puts his arm around her,

As if to comfort her.

Need Some Glue

Think I need some glue.

I'm trying to stay together.

It's hard and I think I need some help.

When I was younger I cared so much about every little thing.

Now I don't care and miss it.

Miss caring.

Days go by and nothing happens.  I go nowhere.  Don't even turn on the stereo.

Days go by and I live in concrete.

I hardly move.

But I see the light!

Love that bitch!

Without your carpet she will no laugh and be the queen.

It's all ridiculous.  We 05 as well dance to songs without words, ailment and draw pictures of the insides of our brains.

Happy Days pal.

Erato Oversleeps Again

But these are not the words I had in mind. Those I’d imagined pulsed with subtle light; These fit like sculpted stone, apt of design, But grounded, not quite capable of flight.

Should I then wait her pleasure, she who stints, Content to learn a patience that I lack? Or shall I, like Deucalion gathering flints, Collect dead words and cast them to my back,

Hoping by sweat and dogged diligence To wrest from her the gift she will not give. Is it enough to strive for sound and sense, Trusting the words to rise at last, and live?

Coy, she flees whenever I pursue; I’ll turn my back – what else is there to do?

"Erato Oversleeps Again" refers to Deucalion, the Greek Noah, who after a universal flood was told to gather stones and throw them over his back. As they struck the earth they sprang to life as living men and women.

Beyond Seventy

The smallest things are where the menace lies: A clock's remorseless ticking, capsule measured, stark, Its second hand, scorning to compromise, Moving by millimeters toward the dark;

The devastation mirrors calmly show; The idle hours combing a lonely shore For memory's flotsam, wrack of long ago; The slow decay we struggle to ignore.

Such are the givens of our failing years. We can endure them since, in fact, we must. Our one true pain? Those who would share our tears Have one by one gone down to muffling dust.

Our solace? That the darkness which we dread Shall seem like light: it holds our sacred dead.