Happiness is Laughter: Bumper Stickers

Happiness is Laughter: Bumper Stickers

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Tonight a collection of bumper stickers to give you a chuckle, enjoy and have a happy day my friends ~ Rev Kane

First from Buzzfeed 27 great bumper stickers

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30 funny bumper stickers

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Very funny bumper stickers

5 3 2 1






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Happiness is Poetry: Chris Cunningham

Happiness is Poetry: Chris Cunningham

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Tonight another recommendation from our friend Hosho McCreesh, tonight we feather Chris Cunningham – read, enjoy, have a happy day my friends ~ Rev Kane


To Clark Kent

When did you know you hated him?
Was it the cape?  the tight red undies?
the way that Lois said your name

or the smell of urine and cigarettes
in phone booths?  Was it he who insisted
on glasses and hair oil?  he who suggested

the awkward bumble of your gait,
the pratfalls, the befuddled, stumbling
stutter?  Of course, the newspaper bit

was his idea:  he wanted you
to hear about him, read about
him, see his picture.  Although

he must have known you’d never write
a big story.  How could you?  He—
the man that you could never meet—

would always be the only story.
When did you suspect that he
preferred it that way?  Still, he worries,

nervous that someone will notice
your mutual exclusivity,
your perfect anti-coincidence,

coaches you on explanations
inane and implausible,
and yet you know these lame evasions

are unnecessary—know
why no one ever puts the zero
and one together, because you know

no one ever notices
that you’re not there.  At night, while he’s
out flying through Metropolis,

you lie in bed and try to convince
yourself of the invisible
heroism of your silence,

retelling to the darkness all
the secret things you can’t have done.
And when did you begin to tell

this new kind of secret?  After he
has gone to sleep, you whisper it
into your pillow, quietly,

so soft your lips don’t move, your thought
dissolving just before it takes
the shape of words.  But there, shut tight

in the lead-lined safety of your soul,
the one he doesn’t know you have,
you tell the dark, ironic tale

of how the man of stainless steel,
the speeding-bullet, leaping-buildings
man will finally fulfill

the fate his parents saved him from,
fulfill the end you dream for him.


Still Life

A pear, yellow-skinned,
bruised, sits in a shallow pool
of its own syrup,

its blunt-ends flattening,
slowly splattering in bone
china (a pattern

of pallid purple
lilacs blooms unendingly
around an edge kissed

with gold), resting, if
not yet at rest, at the end
of a long, winding

fall from a tree whose
white blossoms once shuddered and
danced in the cold rain.



Their knees are touching, but he’s across
the room with his friend the barkeep.
He’s flirting with the waitress.

He’s at home asleep, on the street,
under a woman, he’s in a different bar,
or the same one the next night,

or the night before.  We don’t know
where he is.  Their knees are touching.
He’s her brother and their mother has died.

He’s her lover, and he’s leaving her.
He’s her husband, their baby has died.
He’s the man sitting next to her,

whose knee her knee is touching,
and she doesn’t know he’s there.



Her hands trail off into wispy gestures
of brushstroke, as if she doesn’t exist
at the ends of herself, less real

than the froth of bows on her shoes
or the yellow absinthe in the goblet
before her, its lips rimmed with light.

Dark bangs hang down
to thick eyelids, hanging heavy
over heavy eyes gazing at a spot

on the floor.  She’s thinking about
her mother or her brother or the bread
she will buy and eat with cheese

and red wine for dinner.  She’s thinking
about the pattern of the tiles on the floor
and the slow blur of her days.

She’s thinking about the darkness
of the city at night and the coarse ricochet
of voices in the street outside

her window when she can’t sleep.
But she’s not thinking about her hands,
which sometimes don’t exist.



Lips, painted and straight, chin
withdrawing into neckflesh.  Slouched
with shoulders slack and round,

arms hanging to lose themselves
under the table, the right knee
swung wide, foot tipped on its side.

When they see her in London
and hang her on the walls of the gallery,
she ignores them, looks right past them

at the same spot on the floor,
and they call it absinthe, The Absinthe,
a moral as pretty as the bow

on her hat, filling her empty eyes
with the potable emptiness of wormwood.



Later, when the artist leaves
with his paper and ink, she looks
down into the cloudy drink sitting

untouched on the table before her,
and she smells anise.  And then
she drinks it, sweet and yellow

and sharp, the glass cold
and reassuringly solid in the hand
she discovers at the end of her sleeve.

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Happiness is Poetry: Frank O’Hara

Happiness is Poetry: Frank O’Hara

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Tonight we feature the poet Frank O’Hara, another recommendation from Suzanne Burns.  Give these pieces a read and enjoy! ~ Rev Kane



Mothers of America
let your kids go to the movies!
get them out of the house so they won’t know what you’re up to
it’s true that fresh air is good for the body
but what about the soul
that grows in darkness, embossed by silvery images
and when you grow old as grow old you must
they won’t hate you
they won’t criticize you they won’t know
they’ll be in some glamorous country
they first saw on a Saturday afternoon or playing hookey

they may even be grateful to you
for their first sexual experience
which only cost you a quarter
and didn’t upset the peaceful home
they will know where candy bars come from
and gratuitous bags of popcorn
as gratuitous as leaving the movie before it’s over
with a pleasant stranger whose apartment is in the Heaven on Earth Bldg
near the Williamsburg Bridge
oh mothers you will have made the little tykes
so happy because if nobody does pick them up in the movies
they won’t know the difference
and if somebody does it’ll be sheer gravy
and they’ll have been truly entertained either way
instead of hanging around the yard
or up in their room
hating you
prematurely since you won’t have done anything horribly mean yet
except keeping them from the darker joys
it’s unforgivable the latter
so don’t blame me if you won’t take this advice
and the family breaks up
and your children grow old and blind in front of a TV set
movies you wouldn’t let them see when they were young



The Sun woke me this morning loud
and clear, saying “Hey! I’ve been
trying to wake you up for fifteen
minutes. Don’t be so rude, you are
only the second poet I’ve ever chosen
to speak to personally
so why
aren’t you more attentive? If I could
burn you through the window I would
to wake you up. I can’t hang around
here all day.”
“Sorry, Sun, I stayed
up late last night talking to Hal.”

“When I woke up Mayakovsky he was
a lot more prompt” the Sun said
petulantly. “Most people are up
already waiting to see if I’m going
to put in an appearance.”
I tried
to apologize “I missed you yesterday.”
“That’s better” he said. “I didn’t
know you’d come out.” “You may be
wondering why I’ve come so close?”
“Yes” I said beginning to feel hot
wondering if maybe he wasn’t burning me

“Frankly I wanted to tell you
I like your poetry. I see a lot
on my rounds and you’re okay. You may
not be the greatest thing on earth, but
you’re different. Now, I’ve heard some
say you’re crazy, they being excessively
calm themselves to my mind, and other
crazy poets think that you’re a boring
reactionary. Not me.

Just keep on
like I do and pay no attention. You’ll
find that people always will complain
about the atmosphere, either too hot
or too cold too bright or too dark, days
too short or too long.
If you don’t appear
at all one day they think you’re lazy
or dead. Just keep right on, I like it.

And don’t worry about your lineage
poetic or natural. The Sun shines on
the jungle, you know, on the tundra
the sea, the ghetto. Wherever you were
I knew it and saw you moving. I was waiting
for you to get to work.

And now that you
are making your own days, so to speak,
even if no one reads you but me
you won’t be depressed. Not
everyone can look up, even at me. It
hurts their eyes.”
“Oh Sun, I’m so grateful to you!”

“Thanks and remember I’m watching. It’s
easier for me to speak to you out
here. I don’t have to slide down
between buildings to get your ear.
I know you love Manhattan, but
you ought to look up more often.

always embrace things, people earth
sky stars, as I do, freely and with
the appropriate sense of space. That
is your inclination, known in the heavens
and you should follow it to hell, if
necessary, which I doubt.

Maybe we’ll
speak again in Africa, of which I too
am specially fond. Go back to sleep now
Frank, and I may leave a tiny poem
in that brain of yours as my farewell.”

“Sun, don’t go!” I was awake
at last. “No, go I must, they’re calling
“Who are they?”
Rising he said “Some
day you’ll know. They’re calling to you
too.” Darkly he rose, and then I slept.



I am stuck in traffic in a taxicab
which is typical
and not just of modern life

mud clambers up the trellis of my nerves
must lovers of Eros end up with Venus
muss es sein? es muss nicht sein, I tell you

how I hate disease, it’s like worrying
that comes true
and it simply must not be able to happen

in a world where you are possible
my love
nothing can go wrong for us, tell me


Finally a video of Frank O’Hara, from 1966 reading his poem, Having a Coke with You.



Happiness is Poetry: Pablo Neruda

Happiness is Poetry: William Blake

Happiness is Poetry: Even More Bukowski


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Happy News – October 14, 2014

Happy News – October 14, 2014

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Our weekly tour around the web to bring you the kind of good news cable and your local news seem to ignore, enjoy and have a happy day my friends ~ Rev Kane


One act of kindness can last a lifetime


Teen saves woman from oncoming train


Dogs do Halloween


Utah Jazz sign 5 year-old fighting cancer and let him dunk in game


Hero cop drives car and does CPR and same time!




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Happiness is Photography: Burning Man 2014

Happiness is Photography: Burning Man 2014


happiness, burning man

Here are several sets of images from this years Burning Man festival, enjoy ~ Rev Kane


First off from the San Francisco Chronicle, photos by Mark Morford

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A really nice gallery by Sai Mokhtari

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Pictures from a drone’s eye-view

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Finally a gallery from one of my favorite photographers at the event, Patrick Roddie, of course I’m probably biased because he did my portrait (below) back in 2005.  Also his galleries focus on people, faces, body parts, great stuff.

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Happiness is Art: Burning Man

Happiness and Hugs

Happiness is Photography: Great Sites

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Happiness is Laughter: Miscellaneous Hilarity

Happiness is Laughter: Miscellaneous Hilarity

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Most people see the first image, decide this will be gross and skip by it, mistake, take a look at the images they are hysterical, The 21 Worst Playgrounds Were Fun Goes to Die

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19 Unintentionally Awkward Kid Book Moments

happiness, laughter 4








A guy gets a spam text and he replies with pure gold



Happiness is Laughter: Autocorrect Fails

Happiness is Laughter: Kids Explain the World

Happiness is Laughter: Silly Sites



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Appalachian Trail (AT) Happiness: Fear and Loathing on the AT

Appalachian Trail (AT) Happiness: Fear and Loathing on the AT

happiness, appalachian trail

As I’ve mentioned previously I have undertaken planning to do a thru-hike next year on the Appalachian Trail (AT). My hope is that I will walk all 2,200 miles of the AT from Springer Mountain, GA to Mt. Kathadin, Maine starting in late February or early March, 2015. This is my trail journal where I hope to take you from my decision to do this, through my preparation and then notes from the trail and hopefully all the way to Maine. All of this in my journey and process to live happy days my friends ~ Rev Kane

Fear and Loathing on the Appalachian Trail, a catchy title for a book, well more like a stolen title. Of course I’m referring to Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Hunter S Thompson’s masterpiece and probably the funniest book I’ve ever read. No other book has made me laugh out loud more often on airplanes than this book. Often flight attendants ask me what I’m reading, I tell them, and when they explain they’ve never heard of the book I gift it to them. I’ve given away at least five copies of the book on flights and it will likely be one of my few luxury items on the AT.

I liked the title so I used it, but the title of this post should have really been fear and anxiety. I mentioned in the first post I did about this journey that there are lots of way to get injured or die on the trail. Bears are the way most people fear and the one thing people always bring up when I tell them what I’m planning on doing. I do have a healthy respect for Black Bears and will take the precautions I can in regard to them, my first piece about my thru-hike has the list of potential horrors.  But there are some specific things I really am anxious about on the trail and they are probably not the ones you would expect. Lightning is my number one fear, having once been caught in a severe thunderstorm at 9000 feet in Bryce Canyon National Park with lightning hitting trees around me, I am very afraid of getting caught out in a lightning storm on the trail. Both that day, and on the AT, I will be carrying metal trekking poles and that makes me a big bag of water with lightning rods in my hands, pretty much the perfect conductor for a bolt of lightning. However to keep things in perspective, from my reading I’m only aware of two people having been killed by lightning on the trail in the last twenty years.


The second source of anxiety for me on the trail is exposed trails. Exposed trails are trails that are narrow and have a rock face on one side and nothing on the other. Often on the nothing side, the drop off falls a hundred feet or more to the forest floor. Given the amount of rain the AT sees each year walking muddy exposed trails is a real source of nervousness for me. As I explained in an earlier post, the hardest day of hiking I’ve ever experienced was eight hours of exposed trails in the Himalayas, some with nearly a thousand foot drop offs. The amount of focus needed to hike these trails safely is amazing and very tiring; thankfully, I don’t expect nearly the amount, or severity of exposed trails I experienced in Nepal.

The final source of my anxiety for the trail is actual rock climbing. There are some sections in the White Mountains and maybe others I’m unaware of where I will have to do some minor rock climbing, up say ten or fifteen feet. I’m not a good climber and I don’t particularly enjoy it, I like climbing down even less, in fact I’m a terrible descender. On top of that, I’ll likely be doing it in the rain with a thirty pound pack on my back. Not something I’m looking forward to doing at all.


The thing about these sources of anxiety, other than the lightning, is that they are things to overcome. I have to keep in mind, children, people as old as eighty, and even the blind have completed this trail, I’m capable as well. Part of the reason you do things like hru-hike the AT is to stretch yourself, to do things that you wouldn’t ordinarily do, things that make you anxious, because accomplishing these things builds something inside of you, call it confidence or character or whatever you want. Overcoming obstacles transforms you in ways you can never predict or imagine.

So there will be fear and loathing and anxiety, but more than anything else there will be happy days my friends, months and months of them. ~ Rev Kane



Appalachian Trail (AT) Happiness: A Start

Appalachian Trail (AT) Happiness: Beginnings

Appalachian Trail (AT) Happiness: Three Important Questions


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Happiness is Poetry: Raina Maria Rilke

Happiness is Poetry: Raina Maria Rilke

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Tonight another poet suggested to me by the wonderful Suzanne Burns, Raina Maria Rilke.  Short, powerful pieces, reminiscent of Peter McWilliams but with a somewhat haunting quality.  Amazing to me these pieces where written a hundred years ago, they feel incredibly relevant even now.  This first piece is absolutely amazing, enjoy my friends and have a happy day ~ Rev Kane


You Who Have Never Arrived

You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don’t even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of
the next moment. All the immense
images in me — the far-off, deeply-felt
landscape, cities, towers, and bridges, and
unsuspected turns in the path,
and those powerful lands that were once
pulsing with the life of the gods–
all rise within me to mean
you, who forever elude me.

You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house– , and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me.
Streets that I chanced upon,–
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and,
startled, gave back my too-sudden image.
Who knows? Perhaps the same
bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, separate, in the evening…


Again and Again

Again and again, however we know the landscape of love
and the little churchyard there, with its sorrowing names,
and the frighteningly silent abyss into which the others
fall: again and again the two of us walk out together
under the ancient trees, lie down again and again
among the flowers, face to face with the sky.


Falling Stars

Do you remember still the falling stars
that like swift horses through the heavens raced
and suddenly leaped across the hurdles
of our wishes–do you recall? And we
did make so many! For there were countless numbers
of stars: each time we looked above we were
astounded by the swiftness of their daring play,
while in our hearts we felt safe and secure
watching these brilliant bodies disintegrate,
knowing somehow we had survived their fall.



The leaves are falling, falling as if from far up,
as if orchards were dying high in space.
Each leaf falls as if it were motioning “no.”

And tonight the heavy earth is falling
away from all other stars in the loneliness.

We’re all falling. This hand here is falling.
And look at the other one. It’s in them all.

And yet there is Someone, whose hands
infinitely calm, holding up all this falling.


Before Summer Rain

Suddenly, from all the green around you,
something-you don’t know what-has disappeared;
you feel it creeping closer to the window,
in total silence. From the nearby wood

you hear the urgent whistling of a plover,
reminding you of someone’s Saint Jerome:
so much solitude and passion come
from that one voice, whose fierce request the downpour

will grant. The walls, with their ancient portraits, glide
away from us, cautiously, as though
they weren’t supposed to hear what we are saying.

And reflected on the faded tapestries now;
the chill, uncertain sunlight of those long
childhood hours when you were so afraid



Happiness is Poetry: Suzanne Burns

Happiness is Poetry: Pablo Neruda

Happiness is Poetry: William Blake


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Happy News – October 7, 2014

Happy News – October 7, 2014

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Our weekly tour across the web to find you the type of good news your news channel isn’t giving you, enjoy and have a happy day my friends ~ Rev Kane


Worlds first surviving Panda triplets

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Giving 300,000 Birthday Smiles

Firefighters rescue elderly woman then do her yardwork

A man put a Buddha statue in a high crime neighborhood, what happens next is amazing

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Inspiration Campaign, You’re Amazing



Happy News – July 31, 2014

Happy News – October 1, 2014

Happy News – September 9, 2014



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Happiness Resources: Giving

Happiness Resources: Giving

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Tonight a tour around the web to give you some places and ways to give back to society.  We have talked before about how giving actually makes you happier, so tonight some resources to help you do that and have a happy day my friends ~ Rev Kane


First a little piece on How Giving Makes us Happy

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These are the top 10 charities that are supported only by private contributions

happiness, giving

A great piece from Tiny Buddha on Ways to Give Back to Your Community

happiness, giving

20 Ways Your Family Can Give Back

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Teaching Kids Ways to Give Back

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Inspiring Stories about Giving Back

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