“ Fixing the problem doesn’t mean voting out the feckless Democrats or the obstructionist Republicans. It doesn’t even mean voting out Senator Lieberman. As long as our legislative process is held in thrall to an economy of influence that nearly requires members to play nice with the special interests, the will of the people — on the left and on the right — will continue to be stymied on every issue, in every Congress, under every administration. ”
Lawrence Lessig (via squashed) (via ericmortensen) (via tanya77) (via kenyatta) (via clayrobeson)
![This is just too cool.
randomblink:
thedailywhat:
Travis Pitts: “we’ve got some work to do now”
There is nothing not completely boss about this drawing. (Bonus points for making nerdy Velma the lone human survivor.)
[more.via.]
I love this…](http://28.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_ks6de8RM5O1qzpwi0o1_400.jpg)
This is just too cool.
Travis Pitts: “we’ve got some work to do now”
There is nothing not completely boss about this drawing. (Bonus points for making nerdy Velma the lone human survivor.)
I love this…
What’s 350? It’s the number of parts per million of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere considered the upper safety limit for human life. Currently, we’re at 387. For more information, visit 350.org
“ We sail onboard space station “Alpha”
Orbiting high above Earth, still in night
Traveling our destined journey
beyond realm of sea voyage or flight
A first New Year is upon us
Eight strikes on the bell now as one
The globe spins below on its motion
Counting the last thousand years done.
15 midnights to this night in orbit
A clockwork not of earthly pace
Our day with different meaning now
In this, a new age and place
We move with a speed and time
Past that which human hands can tell
Computers programmed-like boxes
Where only thoughts’ shadows dwell ”
~ William Shepherd, from the log of the ISS Alpha 1, January 1, 2001.
Shark week begins tonight on the Discovery Channel. What have you done to help the environment lately?
“
When I was four, a sound slipped into my bedroom and woke me up. It was a persistent sound of scratching on my window screen. It was an awful sound, really. Loud and grating, and given the darkness and shadowy images moving across the curtains, I suppose I could have become afraid. But I wasn’t. I was struck only with curiosity, with a kind of wonder about this noise in the darkness. I remember lying in bed imagining increasingly magical explanations for it, unaware that I was about to engage a mystery that would in some way linger with me the rest of my life.
Armed with an array of vivid possibilities, I crept out of bed and made my way through the house to my parents bed. I shook my mother’s shoulder. “Mama, there is an angel scratching against my window.”
I waited to hear what she would say.
My mother did not say “Don’t be silly, that violates the rational abstraction of the traditional worldview!” She did not say “The scratching on your window is only the wind dragging an old branch across the screen. Its nothing. Go back to bed.”
Instead, even groggy with sleep, she knew that the ability to let go and listen creatively to the world as a mythic and sacred place, that the power to listen to the humdrum and the familiar and hear the sacred possibility of music inside it is a tender, fragile thing, easily lost. So rather than douse my first foray into holy imaginings, she put her blessing on it.
She said “An Angel? Wonderful. Say Hello for me.”
”Firstlight, The Early Inspirational Writings
by Sue Monk Kidd
