Happy Birthday, Mr. Thomas.

Today is Dylan Thomas' birthday. He's one of my favorite poets. He died young, drunk and in New York at St. Vincent's Hospital. His last words were, "After 39 years, this is all I've done."

I like what he did. But his dying words bring to mind the Second of the Four Reminders, a Buddhist offering: death comes without warning. The First Reminder is of the preciousness of our human birth. They go hand in hand. Our lives are precious because they are fleeting. Achieving anything in our short lifetimes is a miracle. So i light this J for you, Dylan Thomas. And because it was drink, not weed, that served as your drug of choice, i lift a glass of whiskey to my lips as well. You impressed your heart onto the hearts of many people and refused to believe that you'd done anything worthwhile. Just like the rest of us.

On a less somber note, i found this little gem on newsoftheweird.com:

Least Competent Drug Agents: Just after federal and local narcotics agents cut down and bundled for destruction massive quantities of marijuana plants at a site in California's Marin County in September, officials reported that, despite security, 1,200 of the plants had been stolen before they could be taken away. [Detroit Free Press, 9-14-06] [Marin Independent Journal, 9-2-06]

I don't usually condone thievery, but in this case, I stand and applaud those who took back what the Feds stole.

Love to all,
SG