Henry's Confession

Walking with dogs

some words

I, in an encounter
spoke wildly.
all those footprints
and what for;
bad habits
and romantic re-tellings.
I, without history or spite
only had ever, wonder.
You, understand that the trees are naked and in poor company.

wild haiku

“Wild geese,
Don’t cry;
Life is the same wherever you may go” (p54).

 from Issa-Haiku: A Collection of 17-syllable Poem with Cutout-picture (Fujin-sha, 1996), with depicted haiku of Kobayashi Issa, as translated by Takahiko Sakai.

Wilderness gets us into trouble only if we imagine that this experience of wonder and otherness is limited to the remote corners of the planet, or that it somehow depends on pristine landscapes we ourselves do not inhabit. Nothing could be more misleading. The tree in the garden is in reality no less other, no less worthy of our wonder and respect, than the tree in an ancient forest that has never known an ax or a saw—even though the tree in the forest reflects a more intricate web of ecological relationships. The tree in the garden could easily have sprung from the same seed as the tree in the forest, and we can claim only its location and perhaps its form as our own. Both trees stand apart from us; both share our common world. The special power of the tree in the wilderness is to remind us of this fact. It can teach us to recognize the wildness we did not see in the tree we planted in our own backyard. By seeing the otherness in that which is most unfamiliar, we can learn to see it too in that which at first seemed merely ordinary. If wilderness can do this—if it can help us perceive and respect a nature we had forgotten to recognize as natural—then it will become part of the solution to our environmental dilemmas rather than part of the problem.

William Cronon | The Trouble With Wilderness; or, Getting Back to the Wrong Nature

This will only happen, however, if we abandon the dualism that sees the tree in the garden as artificial—completely fallen and unnatural—and the tree in the wilderness as natural—completely pristine and wild. Both trees in some ultimate sense are wild; both in a practical sense now depend on our management and care. We are responsible for both, even though we can claim credit for neither. Our challenge is to stop thinking of such things according to set of bipolar moral scales in which the human and the nonhuman, the unnatural and the natural, the fallen and the unfallen, serve as our conceptual map for understanding and valuing the world. Instead, we need to embrace the full continuum of a natural landscape that is also cultural, in which the city, the suburb, the pastoral, and the wild each has its proper place, which we permit ourselves to celebrate without needlessly denigrating the others. We need to honor the Other within and the Other next door as much as we do the exotic Other that lives far away—a lesson that applies as much to people as it does to (other) natural things. 

 

(via lovealltrees)

fuckyeahbrutalism:


Southeast Massachusetts Technical Institute, North Dartmouth, Massachusetts, 1963-72
(Paul Rudolph)

fuckyeahbrutalism:

Southeast Massachusetts Technical Institute, North Dartmouth, Massachusetts, 1963-72

(Paul Rudolph)

The ‘urbanisation’, which has replaced the city of old, is where most people live, and its contours shape their minds. Patterns of urban life are constantly shifting, and constitute a script that we all have to perform. We’re allowed a certain freedom to improvise, but our roles are written by the city…

I’ve never read his really difficult, spiky stuff, like The Atrocity Exhibition. I can respect a book with a chapter entitled “Why I Want to Fuck Ronald Reagan” without necessarily wanting to actually open it.


 J.G. Ballard ‘Miracles of Life’ | TIME.com