How loud do you talk?

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“Tell me”

chirped the tiny bird

its wingspan less than the span

of a quarter

its eyes so tiny you could not see them

yet you could feel them

as it stared

waiting for the answer to

its lingering question

poised and posed to the air around

“tell me”

but it was so small

its ears punctured by the sound

of a voice so distant none of us could hear


the tiny bird

floating in mid air like a helicopter

doing its tiny dance

to stay aloft

and fighting

the buffeting sound waves

of the distant voice


did it want to hear what

it had asked for

the booming voice

growing closer and closer

the sound buffeting

the bird has it slowly drifted off plane and began

to sink slowly down

towards the ground

until it could not be

seen anymore

just another victim of the

booming voice

on the box

far away

but dominating everything…



The light switch is broken

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In the darkness

the gathering gloom the

sightless inky quiet

that falls below the crack in the door

and seeps everywhere

like oil

coating in a viscous fluid

I cannot shake it from my hand

and the inky darkness


unlike a liquid

not filling the shape

rather creating the shape

becoming the shape

and changing me around it

so that I to am the shape

but less than the shape

a mass

not completely in the inky well

I hear Poe’s heart beating

and I know I am not alone

the inky darkness

has consumed more than me

I cannot swim upstream here


in brushing away inky cobwebs

suddenly see

I feel the cold draft

and from there I do not see

reaching for the gunwales of a boat

not there

reaching for an end to the darkness


clicking the broken light switch

I am alone.


Just one more nut for a tightened dream

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Turbine screaming as the

screw turned

one turn

two turns



he said as the wrench flew from his hand


the loose ones


and smiling he turned towards the row of


and nuts

each one aligned with the others

but aligned with nothing

the wrench flying from bolt

to bolt

nut to nut

sparks flying

his fingers bloody

the smile gone from his face

bolt after bolt

nut after nut

each day the same as the last

we seek the loose ones

he said through

gritted teeth

we tighten those that do not fit.




One nut, too tight and the pool of blood

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The loose guide nut

a wing nut

tightened to the point

that it was squeezing blood

from the bolt

dripping to a small pool on the floor

and winking

each drop falling to the ground

splashing around in the pool and

completing a perfect backflip

disappearing into the sea of red

that grew from the tight nut

ever and ever further across the floor

the un-calibrated nut

that striped its

threads and

leaving the bounds of propriety

left the bolt

bleeding from


the spreading pool of blood

spreading ever outward

in an increasing pool

of vicious fluid

from an un-

calibrated nut


as if life

could be squeezed by an ever tighter nut

more and more pressure

resulting in a

bursting blast of blood

alliterative yes

but pointing to the floor

the man with the mop sighed

“a mess”

he said

and the door closed.


Saturday–the one day I am free and its cold outside.

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March, Sunny and less than 40 degrees. Why?

So this spring started with rain virtually every day. Which you may recall wasn’t my favorite. Now it’s the end of March – and it is cold again. Why is that? During the spring I transition from riding my bike indoors, to walking amongst nature outdoors. When it is cold in the spring time, nature goes in doors and I stare forlornly out at the passing clouds.

I want to go outside!

Anyway – enough of that. Time to get cracking on the things I need to do.

Have a great saturday all!


Lost memories and the broken glass

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Laughter when she turned around

the lights in the room


she leaned towards the


and pushing it to the max


as the light spread outward

faster than

the eye could see

or feel

but seeming to increase


filling the room


her voice filling the room as well

“I can see”

she finished looking around to see

the art hanging on the wall

the lost memories in picture frames

each one a memory

a moment in time

captured forever

but lost

lost forever


the empty room shrugged

the walls now empty

glass shattered

and she cried.


Profession, Professional, Profess

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What does it mean to be a professional?

It’s a question I’ve asked myself for a number of years, more recently as a Software Architect but starting out as a school teacher many years ago (ok let’s say 3 years otherwise I feel old). Indulge me for a moment as I break down professionals a little.

  • The first category is that of professional by knowledge. People who are esteemed members of a profession because they understand the Zen of that profession. They are able to build and do things based on the knowledge they have accumulated. These professionals are Tacit knowledge applied.
  • The second category is that of professional by education they may combine the knowledge skills but they also have components you gain from being educated in the methods of a profession. They are the “devotees” of the professions “methods.” Or Explicit knowledge applied.

You tend to move from one to the other over time normally from Explicit to Tacit. The old adage about the factory not running because Bob isn’t there to kick the machines.

The reality is the two categories become an issue when organizations try to build training around a profession. Tacit knowledge is easy to learn over time, but hard to instill in someone during a 5 day class.  Explicit knowledge is easier to convey in a five day class, but doesn’t always add the real world component of tacit knowledge. A blending of the two provides us with the maximum training, but it is harder to build courseware about the two together, tacit knowledge is agile and changes quickly.

It is a problem, how to become a professional.


More on this later!