Just a quick note: Loving my new keyboard

Regards,

Dan Stafford

Finally Feeling The Christmas Spirit...

 

St. Nick's Yule

Saint Nicholas was grateful,

For the stars circled Polaris at the top of the world,

The greatest clock show on Earth,

Where the spirits of all our ancestors lie in the lower world,

The spirits of everything on Earth live in the middle world,

And the spirit of Magic and Wonder guides the upper world.

A drum was his spirit reindeer,

He flew on the powerful beats of its taut hoof,

All over the spirits of this world,

On Solstice Night,

Yule,

The night of the year that the world is reborn,

When the clock-tick drumming leads to the love and peace of Spring,

And the Sun begins its slow treading back to the North.

Every year,

This is a gift,

Every moment precious.

Dance with Old Saint Nick,

Around the tree of the world,

Let your spirit be light,

Somewhere tucked in the soft boughs of the Great Tree.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

(C) 12-07-2025

The Lost Worlds Of The Elder Geek...

 

Elder Geek

How he longs for the soft internet of the nineties,

When ads were still around the borders of the page,

As un-moving as concrete in the Human jungle.

Wild and free was that West.

A search query brought up obscure pages from bloggers you never heard of,

Delights from the quiet corners of the Earth,

The hopes,

Dreams,

Poetry,

Wonders of the quiet night,

In it for the long read,

Un-disturbed,

Notification-free,

Just a mind and its screen,

A universe of innerspace,

Innocence lost.

The web has gone from sweet young chaos of discovery to bot-splatted distractory hell.

The worlds of wonder that we have lost,

One could weep for it,

If two ad videos and ten notifications didn't block their tear ducts with distractium.

AquarianM

By: Daniel  A. Stafford

(C) 12-06-2025

When It Comes To Climbing Mountains...

 I'm going to meet a new friend tomorrow for a spiritual journey. 

We're going hiking on a walking trail to a place where fresh sage grows. 

I'm taking my drum, and some gifts for Mother Earth.

Life is always about the journey, until it's about listening to the softer voices that whisper within.

There's no telling where the journey might lead, but we can always wish for something good and decent.

Thank you for reading.

Dan

Let The Turkeys Run Free...

 Let The Turkeys Run Free...

"Autumn Creek" created by Gemini 3.0 & Nano Banana from prompt by Daniel A. Stafford

I am thankful for... The sky over my head so I can breathe.

I am thankful for... The wife who I love, and who loves me back.

I am thankful for... The world below my feet, so that I have a place to stand, and that allows everything else I am thankful for to be.

I am thankful for... The farmers who grow the food so that I can eat.

I am thankful for... The family I come from so that I can be here at all.

I am thankful for... The blankets and pillows on my bed so I can sleep when I am tired.

I am thankful for... The home that keeps us housed, warm, or cool, depending on the season.

I am thankful for... The floor sweepers, the electricians, the plumbers, the carpenters, the IT technicians, the concrete pourers, the landscape workers, the clerks, the servers, the ship builders, the warehouse workers, the auto mechanics, the diesel mechanics, the cashiers, the hosts and hostesses, the cleaning crew at hotels, the ditch diggers, the doctors, the dentists, the dental hygienists, the nurses, the optometrists, the architects, the museum docents, the park rangers, the snow plow and truck drivers, and every other person who makes everything around me function. If you go to work every day, I respect you and am grateful for you.

I am thankful for... The people who give to charities when times are tough.

I am thankful for... The people who have lived on this land for millennia, and try to teach us ways to help life on it survive, whenever we are wise enough to listen.

I am thankful for... The people of all colors and cultures who bring us wonderful new things to make our community and society stronger, richer, and full of wonderful things.

I am thankful for... Books, so that I can learn and read stories.

I am thankful for... Freedom of speech, so that I know who is good and kind, and who is not.

I am thankful for... You.

Happy Thanksgiving, with love.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

(C) 11-27-2025

Image prompt: "Please create an image of at least 20 wild turkeys walking through a valley where the hills on either side are covered in Autumn leaves, a babbling creek runs along the bottom with shiny river rocks and rainbow trout swimming in an eddy pool near the point of view, and there are vattails growing and tufting at the near edge, and milkweed with burstin pods near the creek, a couple of pheasants on one side of the creek, and a red fox on the other. Have a few wild gourds growing near the creek as well. Make the sky a soft charcoal grey overcast with a slight fog rising from the creek. Use watercolor as the media."

When Poets Became Master Magicians...

When Poets Became Master Magicians... 

I wrinkled my nose @ scents of a technological onion in #2025,
& being the #MWGIC,
I wrote of the time that #poetry became wild & dangerous,
4suddenly #poets were the geniuses of tech,
And where there is #blackpoetry there must be #whitepoetry, & maybe gray, like #magic

https://futurism.com/artificial-intelligence/universal-jailbreak-ai-poems

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 11-23-2025

Article linked above by Futurism

Tikinauts Episode 1, Chapter 3: Inside The Mothership

The Tikis came here in the Moon thousands of years ago. 

When they found the Earth already inhabited by a sentient species, they thought they would resupply the Moon and continue searching for a water world to replace their destroyed home world. 

Unfortunately, their hyperdrive failed when they couldn't find helium 6 to refuel it. Apparently our solar system is utterly devoid of this particular helium isotope.

Without helium 6, their star drive is just collecting dust.

In the years since, the Tikis have been living in the Moon, making occasional trips to Earth for necessary supplies, and working on finding a solution for their star drive issues...and partying, of course.

Tikinauts Episode 1 Chapter 3: The Mothership

There are legends of a time before Earth had a Moon. 

Of course there are! The Moon is the Tikis' Mothership! The only reason it is covered in rocks and dust is because it's been sailing through the ocean of space for millions of years. It's picked up all that debris by flying through clouds of it while travelling across the galaxy.

Did you think the Moon was some kind of natural object, or something?

Tikinauts Episode 1 Chapter 2: Party Gods

Did I mention that the Tikis love to party? After millions of years traveling through space, what other entertainment was there?

Another star floating by in the galaxy was old, old news for them.

The Tikis are basically immortal unles some outside force kills one of them. They don't age like you and I.

You'd think that gods wearing spacesuits of basically wood flying in a wooden spaceship would be afraid of open flames, but ironized bamboo doesn't burn so easily.

The Tikis fell in love with fire after watching humans playing with it in their scanners. Fire was rarer than Earth unicorns on their water-planet home world. They've adopted tiki torches match, stick, and brazier.

Tikinauts Episode 1... The Arrival

They came from a water world being boiled by its sun thousands of years ago. 

They used ironified wood to survive the rigors of open space, and hydrogen for fusion.

They used bamboo to build a life raft to cross the infinite ocean of stars.

Somehow they dropped a bunch of seeds over China, probably because they were bored shitless and partying after the discovery of a habitable planet with large oceans.

Of course, the pilot got blasted, and they managed to crash on Rapanui. They erected monuments for those who didn't survive, of course. Then they embedded the dead in their own monuments, as was their custom. All it would take is a quick X-ray of a few Moai to verify my tale, but who has an X-ray machine that big?

My First Virtual Tournament...

Saturday I attended my first virtual tournament at Oom Yung Doe.

Tournaments in Oom Yung Doe are conducted in the manner of traditional martial arts tournaments prior to Westernization.

These tournaments are not sparring competitions. They are a series of demonstrations of various martial arts forms taught by the school.

Participants are judged on how well they have improved in their technique and form.

Everyone is cheering on the other participants. Good will is in the air, and the energy is very positive.

The demonstrations are amazing to watch. Participants are of all ages, races, and gender, and respect is not even a question. I am in my early 60's, and have watched demonstrations by students easily ten years senior to me and that left me envious of their ability to move in ways that I can't yet.

I know everyone there has worked diligently to achive these forms, and I feel privileged to be in their company.

The atmosphere is a microcosm of what I would wish and hope for greater society to become.

I demonstrated a short form of Tai Chi called Tai Gup Chung. (I'm not sure of the spelling)

We should get our results and access to videos of the demonstrations around November 22nd. I'm looking forward to it.

With respect,

Dan Stafford,

Bamboo Grasshopper.

The Dragon Lounge Dojo...

The Dragon Lounge Dojo...

Space is all what you make of it,

Dusty wasteland,

Or useful living.

In this space something living is being created,

Learning,

Spiritual,

A suitable form,

A desired outcome,

Small treasures added each day.

The Dragon Lounge is being born,

A place to dance with Chi,

Find the center of my time and space,

Moving in meditation,

Soft as mist,

Hard as jade,

Hoping to fly.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 11/08/2025

The Tired Horse...

The Tired Horse... 

Always working,

Always learning something new,

How can a thing grow old,

When it lives in a space of endless nuance? 

Tonight we started learning the barest inches of dagger form,

Tweaked our Tai Chi Chung,

Then practiced horse position,

As low as you can,

Halfway up,

Repeat until theee reps past burning quads.

Flex it out,

No,

Snap it out,

Front snap kicks.

Repeat,

Tired horse.

After meditation,

I practiced the rubber legs form,

But I don't think I will ever let myself,

I can't imagine,

Plopping down on a seat,

Not ever again.

My horse has earned a rest.

The Sun will rise again tomorrow,

But for now,

The stars can twinkle.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 11/04/2025

Bamboo Grasshopper Blues...

 

The Blues Of Feeling Better

The Bamboo Grasshopper...

An endless journey,

Moves that are crystalline fluid,

The Master will always tweak,

A voice that never leaves your head,

Gathering chi with every breath,

Hoping for a graceful flow,

So you can feather-dance on rice paper,

For the rest of your life,

The moves will haunt you,

Like the ghosts of old friends,

A spirit life that you strive to fold into,

Always reaching for that latest move,

Always better,

Always getting better,

A never-ending reason to move.

Keep moving.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

(C) 11/02/2025

Bamboo Grasshopper

Poets' Trance...

Poets' Trance...

Writing this way,

The mind slides underneath,

Lays down and rests,

Sunlimates to the verbiage,

Subconscious connections,

Endless probabilities spin,

A quantum word bin whirls,

A tornado of spirit winds,

The vortex at the center of everything,

Words fall out,

Land in flutters and thumps,

All about you,

And ideas grow like leaves and branches,

Tying back to the trunk of reality.

A poet lies under the tree on an Autumn afternoon,

Absorbed in the fall and turn and flutters and landings,

But the good ones,

They see the possibility of pretty leaf piles,

Arrange the fallen words just so,

And stories or new realities guard the seeds of new branches awaiting the future.

AquarianM

By Daniel A. Stafford

© 10/26/2025

Regards,

Dan Stafford

F the algorithms, power to the blogging people!

F the algorithms, power to the blogging people!

I want to make a search engine that only searches Wikipedia and blogs with no more than static banner ads.

I want the honesty of writing from the heart,

The focus and concentration of pages where nothing winks,

Nothing blinks,

Nary a letter tries to disco-ball your mind.

I want the ad section at the back of my favorite science magazines,

With every oddity and gadget under the Sun,

Where I can pick or peek at my own discretion,

And nothing effing talks or moves.

I also want conversations,

With the author and other readers,

Not just posts,

And your eyes don't need to know Jiu Jitsu to follow a simple sentence.

Algorithms and AI are dark arts,

They belong in shopping carts,

Not in truly intellectual property.

The bits,

You see,

We don't see eye to eye.

If I want arcana,

Let me freaking read!

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

(C) 10-26-2025

Empty Hands, Force, And Energy...

Empty Hands, Force, And Energy...

Fascinated by the symbol,

Decades in a Yin and Yang balancing act.

It was by the river when I was nineteen,

Of all places in my Southern Wisconsin hometown,

Silver-nested black and white circle,

Swirling in my subconscious,

Perched on a pinky.

In high school I dreamed of being Iron Fist,

Don't most of us?

That dragon's breath in a mountain cave,

Mad skills in the village,

The mystical glow of chi.

Now,

I dream of moving well when I'm eighty,

Maybe beyond,

So I dance in a strip-mall mountain village,

There's even a hill below it,

And it's nested away in the unwilds of California,

Some mystery dimension between vineyards and desert.

Power games are old news,

Worthless,

But will and skill,

Knowing the difference between energy and force,

I'm learning to dance the spirit winds,

A dimension of union for body and mind,

Where every breath is a silent spell,

And existence is a love letter to the Multiverse.

I am a lowly grasshopper,

Praying to fly.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

(C) 10-26-2025

Pine Trails Inn Sunday Bloody Mary Special

 So as it turns out, in the summer of 1988, I went to bartend at the Pine Trails Inn in Hazlehurst, Wisconsin.

This little bar was owned by a friend of my mom's, and the previous bartender had been stealing out of the till. 

Pine Trails Inn had a weekly Sunday bloody mary special. People used to come from miles around for the bloody Marys. 

I used to make the drinks for them, so I know the secret recipe that made them come from miles around. 

Since the bar closed in the fall of 1988 I'm pretty sure I'm safe to release the secret recipe. 

It calls for stock bloody Mary mix, probably the Cuttars, and a shot or two of vodka, and then a quarter teaspoon of creamy horseradish sauce, and a dash of Worcestershire sauce in a Tumblr. Salt or season the rim, add a stick of celery, add some olives on a stick. 

And there you have it the secret of the Pine Trails Inn Sunday bloody mary special.

This also might have something to do with my son being born, since I met his mother there. That, however, is an entirely different story.

Regards,

Dan Stafford

 

The Mystery Painter Of My Autumn Youth

 

I bought this painting at Granny's Attic antique mall here in Temecula, California.

It's signed "E. Marshall," but I can find nothing in search (On multiple search engines) that matches the style and signature.

This painting really reminds me of Autumn days in Southern Wisconsin when I was growing up, and I absolutely love it.

I would love to learn more about the artist, but even barring that, the painting is beautiful and joyful, with a mystical presence like a misty Autumn day.

If you know anything about the artist, drop me a note.

Dan

Dulcet Caramel Butter of the Heart...

Dulcet Caramel Butter of the Heart...

I listen to the sounds of yesteryear,

Wrapped in sweet guitar and soft drumbeats,

Folk,

Rock,

Country,

Romantic,

Sultry,

A dash of eternal,

Her voice washes over my ears,

Everlasting tones of dulcet caramel butter of the heart,

A magic place and time that was,

As I watch the video that is an echo,

An almost,

That could never match the richness,

Of actually being there,

Softness and yearning,

Every swaying phrase.

Her name is Linda,

And it's my joy to be haunted,

A memory that can never be again.

Sing,

Songbird,

Sing,

I wish you could sing again.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 08/27/2025

Author's Note: Ode to Linda Ronstadt