Supernumerary Whitespace Test

I once knew a man from nantucket
who told me that HTML elides supernumerary whitespace.
Meaning that the extra blanks would disappear without a trace
So I decided to go with one space and said "fuck it"

This is only a test of blogger's capabilities with respect to supernumerary whitespace.  I now return you to your sporadically scheduled entertainment.

Poetry to live by

I haven't been moved by a poem in a long time, but this one touched a nerve in me. Give it a read, then I will give you my thoughts.

Manifesto:
The Mad Farmer Liberation Front

by Wendell Berry

Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.
So, friends, every day do something
that won't compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.
Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millenium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.
Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.
Listen to carrion - put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?
Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn't go. Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.

retrieved online from http://www.context.org/ICLIB/IC30/Berry.htm

Me again. We in the corporate world tell ourselves, early and often, that our work is good, our results are good, that it pays the mortgage, that it supports our families. And none of these things are wrong. But still--"Your mind will be punched in a card/and shut away in a little drawer"--have we convinced ourselves, for love of money, for love of laziness, that the greased chute of cookie-cutter corporate life is not only the best way to serve these purposes, but the only way? For me, this poem felt like a strong summer wind blowing into a dusty hall, the debris of seven years in the law being shifted and moved by the cloying scent of flowers and baking lawns. 

I don't yet know how to explain what this means to me, and maybe it won't come to anything in the end. But maybe I will be spending some time, sooner rather than later, practicing resurrection. 

Now Reading: The Wise Man's Fear by Patrick Rothfuss

I've been waiting and waiting for this sequel to The Name of the Wind for ages, and so far, it does not disappoint.

To wit:

"We love what we love. Reason does not enter into it. In many ways, unwise love is the truest love. Anyone can love a thing because. That's as easy as putting a penny in your pocket. But to love something despite. To know the flaws and love them too. That is rare and pure and perfect."

Concisely handled, and delicately too. Just one more sentence and it might have gone too far into the sappy. The main character is talking about his lute here, not a person, which makes the handling even more delicate. I can't [believe it's not butter] wait to read more so I'll leave you with this thought for now.