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	<title>zosome</title>
	<link>http://zosome.blogsome.com</link>
	<description>another try at stir-fry</description>
	<pubDate>Wed, 27 Aug 2008 08:38:10 +0000</pubDate>
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		<title>Staggering past heartbreak or genius</title>
		<link>http://zosome.blogsome.com/2008/08/27/staggering-past-heartbreak-or-genius/</link>
		<comments>http://zosome.blogsome.com/2008/08/27/staggering-past-heartbreak-or-genius/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 27 Aug 2008 06:13:22 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>zoss</dc:creator>
		
	<category>excerpts</category>
	<category>books</category>
		<guid>http://zosome.blogsome.com/2008/08/27/staggering-past-heartbreak-or-genius/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[	I don&#8217;t finish reading half the books I start. In fact, most books on my shelf keep pieces of paper or string pointing to where I had stopped.
Perhaps some might think that these bookmarks also mark certain traits: laziness/attention-deficit/procrastination. They would be wrong, at least partially. While I would definitely score an &#8216;above average&#8217; mark [...]]]></description>
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		<item>
		<title>rice math</title>
		<link>http://zosome.blogsome.com/2008/05/28/rice/</link>
		<comments>http://zosome.blogsome.com/2008/05/28/rice/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 28 May 2008 16:13:12 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>zoss</dc:creator>
		
	<category>recherche</category>
		<guid>http://zosome.blogsome.com/2008/05/28/rice/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[	Perhaps in this time of worldwide rice shortage, there are worse things I can do with my time than visit freerice.com, where one is quizzed on vocabulary and &#8220;for each word you get right, [the sponsors] donate 20 grains of rice to the United Nations World Food Program.&#8221;
	It took me about 8 minutes to get [...]]]></description>
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		<title>A poem for the end of a bout</title>
		<link>http://zosome.blogsome.com/2008/05/27/a-poem-for-the-end-of-a-bout/</link>
		<comments>http://zosome.blogsome.com/2008/05/27/a-poem-for-the-end-of-a-bout/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 27 May 2008 16:46:13 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>zoss</dc:creator>
		
	<category>poésie</category>
	<category>fal7asa</category>
		<guid>http://zosome.blogsome.com/2008/05/27/a-poem-for-the-end-of-a-bout/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[	When all the dust had settled down,
And the crater revealed itself
&#8212; a crusty bullet-entry wound
the size of an adolescent heart &#8212;
Only simple forms remained;
Bacteria, Philosophy, and Art.
	(and a polish poem regarding the problem of evil)
	A Poem For The End Of The Century
By Czeslaw Milosz
	When everything was fine
And the notion of sin had vanished
And the earth [...]]]></description>
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		<item>
		<title>Exposed</title>
		<link>http://zosome.blogsome.com/2008/05/26/tip-of-the-iceberg-a-tale-of-web20-gone-wild/</link>
		<comments>http://zosome.blogsome.com/2008/05/26/tip-of-the-iceberg-a-tale-of-web20-gone-wild/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 26 May 2008 15:34:54 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>zoss</dc:creator>
		
	<category>surfin</category>
		<guid>http://zosome.blogsome.com/2008/05/26/tip-of-the-iceberg-a-tale-of-web20-gone-wild/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[	The (2008/05/25) cover story of NYtimes (login reqrd), exposes &#8211;the tip of the iceberg&#8211;a tale of web 2.0 gone wild.
	It’s easy to draw parallels between what’s going on online and what’s going on in the rest of our media: the death of scripted TV, the endless parade of ordinary, heavily made-up faces that become vaguely [...]]]></description>
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		<item>
		<title>Walking Around</title>
		<link>http://zosome.blogsome.com/2008/05/11/walking-around/</link>
		<comments>http://zosome.blogsome.com/2008/05/11/walking-around/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 11 May 2008 15:58:16 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>zoss</dc:creator>
		
	<category>poésie</category>
		<guid>http://zosome.blogsome.com/2008/05/11/walking-around/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[	By Pablo Neruda (translated by Robert Bly)
	It so happens I am sick of being a man.
And it happens that I walk into tailor shops and movie houses
dried up, waterproof, like a swan made of felt
steering my way in a water of wombs and ashes.
	The smell of barbershops makes me break into hoarse sobs.
The only thing [...]]]></description>
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