Courtesy Of Little Poet: BETSY'S Fruit Bread Recipe

BETSY'S Fruit Bread Recipe Without Nuts
3 ½ cups all-purpose flour
2 cups packed dark brown sugar
2 cups pumpkin purée
2 tablespoons lemon juice
1 cup vegetable oil
1 cup white sugar
2 teaspoons baking soda
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
2 teaspoons ground nutmeg
⅔ cup flaked coconut sprinkled on top or powdered sugar
Mix all in a large bowl - 2 loaf pans
350 degrees for about 1 hour & 10 minutes
( you can add 1 cup of chopped nuts if you and your family can tolerate them)

Little Poet episode link:

https://youtu.be/RdMTImxEejk?si=_2x-jfN5xdnTKrpu

Regards,

Dan Stafford

Softness Of The Late Night Mind...

Softness Of The Late Night Mind... 

I've tried thousands of words to capture what this is.

Still these gentle fuzzy hours float like soap bubbles in a fading-to-indigo twilight sky,

Hiding behind stars and planets.

I wonder if the family Muse has dinner with my ghosts, laughing at my feeble attempts to understand emotional physics.

Is there an infinity of universes contained in a drying teardrop?

Are all the nebulae in the visible universe merely the echoes of exploded ancient dreams? What glorious ghosts they are!

If I should dream of flying through the end of everything, I want to see it all.

Softness and the blessed stillness of critical focus are gifts, the ones Prometheus was really paying for.

Paint the night with ideas; brush it softly with poetry, for the night is quiet and soft, rampant with hope and dreams. 

Sleep is a starship, deep in the indigo sky.

AquarianM

By:  Daniel A. Stafford

© 02/27/2026

Softness of the Late-Night Mind

Softer Sounds...

Softer Sounds...

Softer Sounds

I'm listening,

With softer ears,

The sounds of my youth,

So much about love,

About heartache,

About the joy in one another,

Romance,

Gossip,

Dance.

The humanity,

The hearts,

The exuberance.

I wonder if it's what's inside me,

Or what's inside the music,

Or some rainbow-sherbert-meets-vanilla-strawberry-swirl concoction,

Or just a softer,

More feeling time.

Some days,

I would love to step into the past for a week,

Just to sing "hello, old friend,"

Despite the woo-woo- googly side-eyes I would get.

And turn on the blessed radio...

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

(C) 02-20-2026

--

Compassion is the greatest sign of Humanity.

In The Abode Of An Elder Geek...

 In The Abode Of An Elder Geek...

Deep Thoughts In The Den

What is it about the quiet late hours that make the mind travel through existential space? Somehow, I find that words fall out of the word tornado at the center of my inner world in an order all their own in these "wee hours."

Maybe it's because the world seems smaller when you can see and hear less of it. Maybe it's the quantum entanglement of a collective subconscious quieting the world with a traveling wave of sleep that rhythmically sweeps the globe, a ripple through an ocean of billions of minds. Maybe we're just one of the dreams in that liminal space before we fall under the wave ourselves. The last leaf on the ground under the tree of this corner of humanity before the wind carries us away.

Maybe being a dream is why poetry comes to me, or artistic inspiration to draw, just as others are inspired to sculpt air into beautiful sounds that dance in our ears, or sometimes in our bones.

Still, like any question, it boils down through a thick onion of layers of "why." Why do we exist at all? Are we random chance? Intelligent design? Some alien-tweaked conglomeration of both, as twisted a plot as any writer could hope for? If the World (I prefer universe, but this is our corner of it, I suppose) is a stage, who then is the audience? What is the play about? Who wrote it, or was it the gas-lit dreams of a hundred cosmic monkeys that finally wrote Shakespeare, and didn't know enough to stop in the end?

Then the final "why" drops, and falls into the black hole at the bottom; "How do we matter?"

The Piscean dreams of the Piscean age shove this question aside by throwing it upon the shoulders of a god or gods who are an endless array of surrogate parents. I don't think that humanity can believe that it needs to answer to itself. If we're the children of God(s), it implies that we must someday grow up.

Philosophers have argued this argument, debated this debate, and thrown up their hands for unsated curiosity since as long as humanity has had any collective memory of any kind. That last question can never be settled for the collective whole of living humanity.

Astrology seeks to know as much as it can of the onion through reading the shape of its many layers, and so does Tarot. These are wonderful pursuits, for they occupy our minds in the vacuum of a non-present answer. They help to out-loud the relentless ticking of the wheels and gears of our perception of linear and finite time.

So does watching TV, learning a language or musical instrument, working, or any other possible human endeavor. They're wonderful distractions to amuse us while we wait for the vaudevillian "curtain fall."

Does it matter if we love, and whether that love is requited, consummated, lasting, or short? Does it matter if we become parents, or grandparents? Does beauty matter? Finesse? Anything?

This is where adulting gets hard. Remember that "children of god(s)" thing? We have to grow the eff up and answer the damn question for ourselves, before the end of our own little stage play. Neither cosmic "dad" nor "mom" are going to come down from on high handing out cotton candy answers.

We have to, each and every one of us, answer the damn question for ourselves. We each have to *choose* whether we or anything else matter. At least if we're going to have our own answer. The only other option is to let go of the question. It's like letting go of the rope holding us from falling through the event horizon of oblivion, isn't it?

No ancient book, no dead philosopher, nor any living philosopher, can give us "the" answer to whether we matter or not. They can only give us the answer that they chose. 

So I'm going to choose, for me, myself, and I. I have nothing else, and I don't feel like letting go of any rope right now. 

I choose love and beauty, because they matter to me, and they'll do my part of making the world hopefully a little nicer for those around me while I'm here, and for however long they might remember me after the wind has swept the branches and the ground at the end of Autumn.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

(C) 02-15-2026 (Written 100% by human hands, AI-Free)

Starve The Dark, And Reach For The Stars...

Space Hotel

It seems like movies have been apocalyptic forever…but they haven’t.

Somewhere in the late 1990’s or early 2000’s, television and movies went to the dark side. Almost all future visions in TV and cinema became dark, jaded, faded, or dying. 

It’s like the entirety of entertainment production dived into a psychological black hole of doom and gloom.

Prior to that we had a few here and there, but most future visions were a dance of slow improvements to galactic expansion.

It almost seems like some controlling force has colluded with screen feeds to spit out violent trauma feeds unto infinity.

We need to stop swallowing the negativity, turn away from the apocalypse in the box office, come together, and reach for the stars and for life.

As a global culture, we are starved for a positive vision, as things sit now.

It is time for us to start laying seeds. To go from the sleepwalking dead to the intrepid explorers of the living universe.

It’s time to tear down the Epsteinian pizza parlor of horrors, and start building space hotels and colonies, and throw the past into Pele’s bosom.

Vote with your wallets, and if that seems to leave life in reruns, be a writer or storyteller with tales of wonder and big accomplishments.

Starve the dark, and reach for the stars.

Dan A. Stafford 02-14-2026

 

Social Circles...

Social Circles...

So many hearts, 

So many small quiet conversations,

A few degrees of separation,

Droplets in a vast ocean.

No one can swim all the waters of all the seas,

Dancing with sharks.

But all these thousands of lakes and ponds,

Maybe it's the dawn of a new Summer.

Too big is too much,

Yet at the edges we all touch,

A heartbeat beyond treading water.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

© 02/01/2026

Salvage Operation...

Salvage Operation...

The spin was large it created gravity,

A vortex of soulless mean,

Frozen in the bloody dirt,

Splashing pavement and doors.

Yet no spin is equal to a black hole,

They've fallen in,

Though the event horizon's time distortion...

...feels like forever for them to fall,

Inevitably,

Inexorably,

No escape.

After the Spring and Summer,

We must pull our ragged souls out of the closets,

Dust them and wash them with love,

Begin the salvage operation,

Build a time to warm the heart again.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

(C) 01-31-2026

Under The Boot...

Under The Boot...

In the cold death of Winter they came, 

Owners they said,

For safety's sake.

Cities sweating below zero,

The arbiters of choke,

Freedom is only for their kind,

So they say.

The time will come,

Because frozen is slippery,

Like a loaded boomerang of karma,

And a nation of laws is all about karma.

It's been said for thousands of years,

About what you live by.

I wouldn't want your karma for all the rubles in crypto,

So feed your pride while you can,

Because when the snow melts,

Living rooms will overflow with popcorn,

As the circus reaches its natural conclusion.

All we need to do is lift voices,

Our fingers can rest easy out of circulation,

And of biblical proportions,

Juries will rapture their asses,

Out of reach of pardons,

And tailors will gleefully sew gitmo suits.

Pour some butter on that after it pops,

The big tent is getting ready for a grand finale. 

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

©


01-25-2026

Cold...

 

 

It was all over the news today, oh boy. 

In these times of frozen hearts,

The well of sorrow is deep, 

And children find it hard to sleep. 

What once was seems to be sleeping, 

Lost In a strange world of dreams, 

Even nightmares. 

The snow flies, 

The ice creeps, 

Stealing away breath. 

Songs and words are lost, 

And the children find it hard to sleep. 

When the world is painted Orange, 

Somehow it will be blue. 

Let the Angels fly to heaven, 

Carrying songs and poems for all the children, 

For those with soft hearts, 

Kind minds, 

And some shred of decency left upon the cold hard ground. 

Words, words, words.. 

I still wonder what they are worth. 

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford 

© 01/09/2026

Regards,

Dan Stafford

Sardines And More...

I have discovered that I really like sardines, especially this particular flavor. At  first I was worried about the bones. I tried skinless boneless sardines in EVOO first, and those were good with a few drops of Cholula. 

Then I searched online about people eating sardines with bones in them, and apparently the canning process for tinned sardines is hot enough to really soften the bones, and they are a great source of calcium and trace minerals.

I tried a tin of these this morning, and I couldn't even tell there were bones in them. Very good, and excellent source of omega 3's and minerals, selenium, and more. Going to alternate these with skipjack tuna.

Regards,

Dan Stafford

Happy New Year 2026!

2026 AI New Year Ball Drop/Fireworks - (Dan Stafford & Gemini 3)

I have an odd feeling that 2026 might just be a turning point towards a more positive future. I don't know why, but my core is feeling lighter than it has for the past several years, like a weight is lifting.

I don't usually predict much, but I think AI is going to be a big player in many ways. I also have a suspicion that, for those who use it with jurisprudence, integrity, compassion, hope, and inspiration, it may just become a very useful tool and possibly companion.

I think AI will be as much a reflection of those using it as it is anything else.

My wish is for a peaceful, productive, healthy, diverse, and compassionate world. It also needs a healthy dose of pragmatism. Most of all, we need a strong dose of a positive vision for the future instead of all the negative and apocalyptic feed coming from current entertainment sources.

We also need a lot more one-to-one or small group conversations that are verbal instead of textual.

Maybe we can't have a totally different world just because it's January first. However, we can change our attitudes, thought patterns, behavior, and focus almost overnight on an individual level. That's always a reason for hope, because a lot of us changing those things in bright and positive ways would be a powerful thing.

Sending love, light, and hope to all our world.

For Auld Lang Syne, my friends, and for a joyous future.

Blessings,

Dan Stafford

 

Words Of Choice...

The magic of an old-school blog.

It seems to me that "social" media has become anti-social media in many cases.

Algorithms came first, All the better to feed the corporate wolves dressing like sheep. Then came the invading hordes of Zombots, robotic catfish trying to make us all chase our tail. Now it's AI, be it AI bots, AI algorithms, or just AI throwing videos like Godzilla in a pillow fight with a feather cannon.

It's gotten to be ridiculous.

I miss the days of blogs written by humans, subscribed to by choice, and simple static banner ads I could actually read through.

Those things still exist, but they're hard to find unless you discover a means of punching through the AI results firewall of the geomind's zeitgeist.

It was a debacle when Google killed Feedburner in July of 2022.

However, I've discovered a replacement that lets me cultivate a channel that I control for incoming information: https://follow.it/ 

This is letting me build my own list of blog feeds. 

Not that the AI stuff isn't interesting, but I need to read humans too. Actual written-by humans for humans old-school blogs about people's passions and their lives.

Maybe families could create blog circles and share their links to replace what Farcebook used to be. It would be better than what we get now, especially with just a daily "newspaper" email.

This might just be an idea.

Thank you for reading.

Dan

--

Compassion is the greatest sign of Humanity.

The Thing About Dragons...

The Thing About Dragons...

 

The Thing About Dragons

Reading the old romances,

We see through ancient eyes,

We lack the same filters Celtic mystics lacked,

We see like medieval knights,

Kings,

Bards and wizards.

But in a modern world where Erich Von Däniken is alive,

Filled with the mystery of Ancient Aliens,

My hair would stand on end too,

If I were so sloth as to not practice mental gymnastics.

Perhaps it's the steam of an early morning shower,

Like the isolation of a hidden mountain geothermal spring,

Tucked in a cave full of intellectual gold,

But I saw the Saurids come flying down at Beltane,

Only to face ignorant shields and swords,

For the maidens weren't sacrificed for dinner.

It was for DNA,

Baby.

Or babies.

You see,

That's the thing about Dragons,

Was it the tail of a rocket burning them into the sky,

Or Old Elvish magic,

Something elemental?

Was a hoard of gold fuel,

Or just pretty?

Any technology sufficiently advanced,

Or magic.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

(C) 12-26-2025

A Silver And Gold Yule...

A Silver And Gold Yule...

I see lights, I see solstice.

I see the red and green,

It's raining good luck and money on us,

Sweet spirit,

Cheer and soft old music,

Fortunes turn to freedom,

The fires of Yule burn bright,

Blazing sweetly,

A remembrance of what can be now is,

Underneath the snow and evergreens,

And we dance Winter dances,

We dance with angels and spirits,

For we are both safe and free,

Happy Yule,

Ancient Yule,

Jack Frost painting,

We are drumming a spirit-walking beat,

The winds and trees are Odin's bones and breath,

The aurorae a dance of Thor crafting with hammer and lightning,

The better to see the Norn sisters weaving.

AquarianM

(C) 12-14-2025

By: Daniel A. Stafford

Captain Yule's Yuletide Chronicles...

 Captain Yule's Yuletide Chronicles...

Captain Yule

A seeker of stories,

A journalist of the contemporary Yuletide,

The magic can be green, white, red, or blue,

But it is memories that need to be shared,

The decorations,

The food,

The food fights,

The romance,

The breakups,

The makeups,

The bicycles and trees,

The socks and the ties,

The pies of pumpkin or pecan,

Whatever it is that you carry along.

Have a Cool Yule! (And share it.)

Captain Yule.

(C) 12-12-2025 by: Daniel A. Stafford

Captain Yule's Cool Yuletide Chronicles - Channel Intro:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=maZZoGQlGyo

We Passed Second Section On Monday.

Three of us passed our second section test on Monday evening.

We were tested on a couple of our stances, and how long we could hold those.

We were tested on four different forms as well, and also four different kicks, and punch combinations as well as chung combinations.

It's also very cool that we are all three of similar ages, early 50's to early 60's.

Upon passing second section in this art, we receive our first gi, but not the belt. Apparently that comes later.

It was a bit like Oom Yung Doe Christmas. A happy occasion.

I congratulate my classmates!

Thank you for reading.

I bow to my instructors.

I bow to the flags of our nation and art.

I bow to the masters, students, and martial arts practitioners who have passed this art down to us through the millennia.

Thank you All.

Regards,

Dan Stafford

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