a moon, worn as if it had been a shell

Paradise is hidden in each one of us, it is concealed within me too, right now, and if I wish, it will come for me in reality, tomorrow even, and for the rest of my life.

Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

I didn't have much to write today, and I had everything to write. The whole unbloggable stuff going down in my own life. The obliterating stuff going on in the world. My old job and my potential new job. Sophie hasn't had a seizure in a while. The death of the guy who started North Face, and then his life -- how he gave up the corporate thing when it disgusted him. Waking up to a kind email from the publisher of O'Shaughnessy who put one of my recent posts on his wonderful website. Siri is now teaching humans how to interact with the disabled (so weird that we live in this world where a computer-generated voice will probably be more effective in conveying something so intuitive and basic than the legion of humans that have been trying to do so for as long as humans have existed).

Anyhoo.

I told a friend today to go on a news diet. That means no listening to NPR or reading the news or if you're old school, watching the news. I myself am on a modified news diet. I read a few headlines and scroll through some news photography, but if I hear mention of The D, I put my fingers in my ears, scrunch my eyes closed and start singing Van Morrison lyrics. That means a whole lot of Van. Right now, I'm partial to And It Stoned Me: