City: Jerusalem
Country: IL
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02 Apr 09 Thursday
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Current mood:  excited
Category: Writing and Poetry
Just in time for National Poetry Month in the US
Michael Dickel's eBook, The World Behind It, Chaos
is now available from wv? eBook Press (online)!
Book Title: The World behind it, Chaos Author: Michael Dickel Publisher: wv? eBook Press (http://www.whyvandalism.com) Release Date: March 1, 2009 Price: Free ($0.00) downloadFormats: Flash Projector (no plug-in needed), Flash online (requires Flash plug-in for browser), Adobe Acrobat PDF No fooling, my e-Book was released 1 April 2009. Click on the image of the book cover below (or go to http://www.whyvandalism.com) in order to go to the why vandalism? web page and download the book. If you like it, spread the word to your friends, family, and loved ones. If you don't like it, spread the word to boring colleagues and people you don't like so well. But tell them they'll enjoy it. Just, please, spread the word! Recently announced: Michael Dickel, along with Sheryl Abbey, will be co-editors-in-chief of the Voices Israel annual poetry anthology, beginning with issue #36, Voices Israel 2010. Issue #35, Voices Israel 2009, will be released at the end of April. For more information about the anthology, click here (http://www.poetry-voices.8m.com/anthology.htm).   Press Release Michael Dickel's The World Behind It, Chaos Read Michael Dickel's blog Michael Dickel's home page
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30 Mar 09 Monday
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Category: News and Politics
University of Chicago Professor William Ayers, whose past with the Weather Underground recently gained notoriety through Sarah Palin's linking Barack Obama to "a terrorist," was banned at the last minute by Boston College from giving a talk there. This action came about after pressure from a right-wing radio talk show host. The host linked Ayers and the Weather Underground to a murder in Boston, even though evidence pointed to supporters of the Black Panthers and people not associated with the Weather Underground were convicted for the robbery. A Northeastern University professor was verbally attacked by the talk show host after he posted information that showed there was no connection between the Weather Underground and the robbery / murder. Perhaps both the conservative talk show host and Boston College, which also referenced the murder in its last minute cancellation, really feared the topic of Professor Ayers' talk: education reform. After all, statistics seem to show that education tends to lead to liberal views... See the story from Inside Higher Education: http://www.insidehighered.com/news/2009/03/30/ayer...
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30 Mar 09 Monday
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Poetry Thrives Online: Free Poetry Sites And eBook For National Poetry Month, April
April may be the cruelest month, according to T. S. Eliot, but it's also National Poetry Month. Read poetry during National Poetry Month, and read it for free online! Bookstores and online literature continue to thrive, despite the economic crisis. That doesn't mean that you have to buy your poems, necessarily. Online literary publishers offer many options for quality, free poetry. Explore these free online sites for contemporary poetry. This press release also features my forthcoming book, The World Behind It, Chaos.

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29 Mar 09 Sunday
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Category: Writing and Poetry
 The Writer's Chronicle is a fun and enthusiastic place for writers to come, meet up and discuss everything and anything across a wide scope of topics. The forum deals with all aspects of different types of writing, so whether you're a journalist, poet or Novelist - there is a place here for you! Currently we have a wide variety of writers across all ages and countries including two debut authors, a former newspaper editor now freelance writer and a POD author.
At The Writer's Chronicle, we also understand how hard it is a] get an honest opinion/critique on your work and b] promote your book once you're published. So at our forum, we now have both the 'published ones' forum - which allows published authors to post a thread promoting their work, providing excerpts and answering questions etc. and a private members only 'Critique forum' where writers can set up their own thread for their work and have it critiqued by other members on the board.
Our Forum is a fun, relaxed place to discuss your writing with other like minded individuals and we are always open to new ideas and suggestions.
So, please drop by and have a look. We'd love to have you join!Posted by Authors Promoting Authors at 8:49 PM  Labels:
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27 Mar 09 Friday
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Category: Writing and Poetry
What do you get when you involve a television reporter, a paranormal investigative team, an opinionated ghost, a secretive best selling author and a demon?
Lucien D’Angel. Excerpt from ANGEL'S FIRE, DEMON'S BLOOD by Tamela Quijas. “Do you truly believe in what you investigate, Mr. Angeles?” She persisted, even as a slight dizziness caused a wave of nausea to strike her. In the far distance of her hearing, she heard his softly issued response over the muttered and undecipherable complaints of her sound technicians. “Do you, Miss Keyes?” “I don’t believe in phantoms.” The words had been an effort for her to pronounce, the letters thick within her throat. “Not even in the slightest sense?” “No.” The camera had panned in her direction, revealing her discomfort. She kept her features calm, even as a wave of embarrassment washed over her and heated her chilled flesh. Luke’s expression was placid, the slightest of smiles touching the thin line of his lips. “I dare you, Miss Keyes, to join my team for an investigation.” “You dare me?” She was astounded, even as his words sent another chill of cold over her flushed skin. “Oh, yes, I dare you.” He reaffirmed sedately, his words silkily smooth. “I dare you to join me.” The camera had not moved from her face. Eva’s stunned expression was visible to every single person who had happened to tune into tonight’s broadcast. “I don’t believe in the existence of the spiritual world.” She whispered, the brightness of her gaze dropping as her producer signaled the beginning of a commercial break. “You don’t even believe in that voice?” He persisted, the sound of his words a simple whisper in the air that was nearly undetectable, even to the highly sensitive lav mike. …having trouble, Noah. Mike seems to be on the fritz… “What voice?” …Eva, there’s a problem with your mike. We keep getting some sort of feedback…. “The one that is whispering in your ear.” …Ignore it, there’s only the wrap up of the show left…. It was impossible he could have been knowledgeable of the strange and incessant buzzing that had become a throaty whispering in her inner ear. Eva shuddered, an increasing frisson of cold washing over her as she faintly heard the voices shouting across the set. She was unaware her reaction had been captured by the television camera with a chilling clarity. “Believe in me, Evangeline.” Luke Angeles whispered throatily. She felt a quiver assail her and she raised bright eyes to him. She blinked in bewilderment at the name that had fallen easily from his lips. How could he have known? There wasn’t anyone in society, besides a select few close associates and her immediate family, that knew of her true identity. “How do you know my name?” “I know a lot about you, Evangeline Keegan. I know more than you would ever be capable of understanding in this lifetime or the next.” Luke Angeles' lips curved into a semblance of a cryptic smile. Her eyes flew from his face to the set hand flashing raised fingers at her, signaling the end of the commercial break. “I don’t know how you found….” She began to sputter in outrage. “Listen to the voice, Evangeline.” He coaxed, blatantly ignoring her, the delivery of his words nearly hypnotic. Her eyes widened and she realized that his lips had never moved. “Take heed, Evangeline. He, alone, will tell you my true identity.” She focused blindly on the man seated before her, a shiver of cold washing over her again. The hum that had resounded repetitively in her ears had vanished during the course of the interview. The noise had been replaced with the unmistakable sound of an ever persistent and throaty series of whispers. The whisper fine softness of the voices gradually became clearer. Eva closed her eyes wearily, her mind aching, striving to breathe deeply as she focused on the whisper soft enunciations. There was a single word that formed, one that spiraled within the confusion of her dazed mind and leapt to the tip of her tongue. “Do you believe in the presence of disembodied spirits?” Luke Angeles was persistent in his questioning. She was close enough to realize that, although it appeared he was looking at her, his attention was riveted to a point just beyond her. The word that had settled upon the tip of her tongue tingled, longing to be released, the faintest sound of laughter invading the multitude of whispering tones filling her mind. Dimly, Eva realized a change had overtaken the man she was interviewing. The alteration had not been detected by the camera, for he had deliberately kept his face in profile. The cold grayness of his eyes had slowly vanished and, instead, the color had become the most unsettling shade of sable that had hungrily consumed the clarity of the orbs. “If you believe, Evangeline, he’ll provide you my name.” Lucien…
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18 Mar 09 Wednesday
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Read my poems and see my digital art online.
“Renewal,” “Leaping Deer,” and “Clouds.” Poems. “Grain, Tzfat, Israel,” “Cloud and Moon,” and “Soaring Eagle.” Images. Now in Sketchbook 4:1I February 28, 2009. “Entanglement of Light,” and “Return of the Sea.” Poems. “Return of the Sea.” Image. Emerging Visions Visionary Art eZine #14, March 2009.

Indeterminacy, digital art by Michael Dickel

 Press Release Michael Dickel's The World Behind It, Chaos Read Michael Dickel's blog Michael Dickel's home page
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17 Mar 09 Tuesday
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WINTER WINDOW Outside the opportune window one head of pink flowers survives above geranium leaves blowing in the winter wind, covered with cold rain dropped from dimmed desire. The basil released its hope in the face of war, the driving forces of December and January, mere stalks rising above the window box, darkly silhouetted, backlit against the clouds. Drought has dropped across the shoulders of Judea and Samaria—the Occupied West Bank— The shoulders of the Galilee and Golan Heights falling beneath its weight, as well. The Negev wishes for its few drops, water not blood. This cold rain has its purpose, offers some possibilities; for all thirst, mouths dry, for a soothing rain to redeem the seeds and grow again the fresh dreams of seven species in a promising land, milk and honey flowing between siblings and cousins lighting bonfires for warmth, not war, a light unto nations.
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15 Mar 09 Sunday
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13 LINES ON MATHEMATICAL MODELING OF REALITY In the developing neuro-network, gaia, quantum determinism unfolds into refracted realities, glimmering sparks, momentum of free will a response to randomized chaos, clouded electron thoughts orbiting ceaseless action until ultimate zero— immeasurable as all theorems, improvable as all facts— philosophically unwinds spiral staircases into nothingness that cannot be known even as all information, finger-tip ready, dances within the folds of cortical cyber space, electro-magnetically stored, bought, sold, traded, and useless, at our beck and call, freely willed static charges, plus or minus a bit of uncertainty, all unknown and unverifiable, even in mathematical rhythms, harmonies, waves, particles, entangled across probabilities within possibilities— at this moment the improvising musician listens quietly for a note to play.
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08 Mar 09 Sunday
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My friend and fellow writer, W. Scott Olsen, posted winter blizzard-storm warnings for Eastern North Dakota, Western Minnesota (where he lives and works, in Moorhead, MN, across the river from Fargo, ND) and Northern Minnesota effective for the next few days. While I used to live much, much closer to Scott--in Minneapolis, only a few hours drive from Fargo-Moorhead--now I'm half a world away, in geography and climate, and in geo-political climate. This post includes two photos from my excursion yesterday into northern Israel that sharply contrast with blizzard warnings. These are from a wooded area (mainly eucalyptus) next to a small airport for private planes and gliders, just outside of Afula, a mixed Arab-Jewish city in the north of Israel. Wild anemones (koloniot in Hebrew) bloom here; different paths are laid out through the woods each year to allow people to walk through the flowers without permanently compacting the ground, which would prevent their growing. We also saw a small iris variety native to the area and butterfly orchids, among sweat peas and other flowers enjoying their brief moments before the hot summer.  Arabs (Christian and Muslim) and Jews wander through the area, picnic in it, and enjoy the beauty together. Yesterday, a Druze family sold large, flat pitot (more than one pita), with Lebaneh (a thick, sour yoghurt-like goat cheese) and Zatar (an Arabic spice mixture of sesame, sumac and thyme); home-processed olives; goat cheese in olive oil; and olive oil. The martriarch of the family draped our large flat bread over a metal plate resembling an upside down wok and heated by a flame, warming it up. She spread the lebaneh over it, dribbled olive oil on it, and sprinkled zatar over all. She placed the whole back on the metal plate to warm the lebaneh, then spread it with a flat knife before folding it expertly and placing it in paper. This was our lunch. Arab families picnicked nearby, as did Jewish families. Tourists wandered through the area, as we did. The flowers, nearing the end of their season, were in all stages: some late buds opening, some seeds falling off, some seeds forming, many flowers scattered above the bright green of winter growth, encouraged by recent rains (we're in a record-breaking drought, so the rains were a gift). These anemones grow throughout the Mid-East, according to a sign in Hebrew near the parking area, but mainly in Lebanon, Syria and Israel. The different colors favor different soil conditions, with the red growing most easily in a variety of conditions; areas that have soil conditions favorable to all of the colors, such as this one, are not common. However, they do exist--they are also not rare.  This is, of course, offers the perfect metaphor for what we need here. Areas with favorable conditions for all the possible varieties of color to grow, places where Christians, Jews, Muslims, Druze (and whomever else) might gather and enjoy Creation unfolding all its beauty. These places, if not common, do exist--they might well be rare. Still, almost everywhere I go to hike, view birds or find flowers in Israel I meet people from all of the groups in the region. Those of us who have sought out these places greet each other in peace and point out to each other a nice view or stunning flower. We laugh with the children, smile at each other in our shared enjoyment and hope. We try to ignore the inevitable barbed wire stretched out in our way. Yes, there are coils of barbed wire rusting even in this grove, left over from the days when the nearby airport had military uses. It's overgrown with flowers now (last year, I took pictures of it; this year the paths did not lead near it, and I wanted to respect the protective policies for the delicate eco-system, so stayed on the path). I hope that you, dear readers, enjoy this alternative view of the Middle East and that, for those in the line of coming storms, you may find in the photos some warmth and vision of a spring to come. Please leave your comments.   Press Release Michael Dickel's The World Behind It, Chaos Read Michael Dickel's blog Michael Dickel's home page
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03 Mar 09 Tuesday
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Category: Writing and Poetry
I read on an email discussion list that Barbie, the doll, celebrated a birthday this week. You can Google it; apparently she turned 50 on Monday (yesterday as I write this), complete with a birthday edition release. I doubt there will be any gray hairs, wrinkles, stretch marks, or gravity effects. Then again, Barbie always did have the best plastic surgeon around (even if, reportedly, she wouldn't have been able to stand up with her bust measurements, especially not with those pointy high heel shoes). Some, apparently, think she's still hot at fifty (see here, for example). Art and poetry must respond! Here is my poem, in response to a Barbie challenge on the email list to write something short about Barbie for her birthday: BARBIE CHALLENGE Barbitol Barbie, barbiturate babe, fingers flying, found Ken lacking below the knave; Ken for his part at first thought she had shaved, until his fingers slid over polyethylene seams pulled taught like one too many face lifts in the totally wrong place. Therefore, they discovered: naked did nothing for them, so they lived polyester lives in suburban ruin. Now both down downers in their McMansion home, wondering where the children had ever come from; the passion all leached like plastic left in the sun, one more drink, one more toke, one more porno before their night is done.  Suburban Flaming Oh, Digital Art by Michael Dickel
  Press Release Michael Dickel's The World Behind It, Chaos Read Michael Dickel's blog Michael Dickel's home page
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