Sunday, March 26, 2017

The Shell Game: Accomplishing what can not be.

What we know we can't accomplish is one issue of art, what we have not noticed and what we are unaware of in our own capacity, is another. 

The trouble is the shell game of life. The bate and switch. The con. 

I am a person, and an artist, who wants to buy in. I want to invest and I impulsively invest in my life and in the lives and choices of those I love. I want to believe and I do. So all the hucksters see the 'Mark' on me. I don't automatically see the 'Mark' on me or on others. So I don't have the gift of the artist or the salesman. 

The obligation implied in our DNA is to Develop. To attempt to became what we are capable of becoming. In the end I think the real artist is a salesman who has the problematic compulsion to sell something that is indescribably to himself or in his culture. Too terrified to be all in but investing time impulsively, under cover of detachment. Selling, being an actual artist, is creating a value and a need, in a part of the present moment, untouched by language while pretending not to care. The best of them appear to be largely unaware of what is happening to them. 

Accomplishing what can not be.

Saturday, March 18, 2017

Chuck Berry, RIP

 "The gateway to freedom...was somewhere close to New Orleans where most Africans were sorted through and sold. I had driven through New Orleans on tour and I'd been told my great grandfather had lived way back up in the woods among the evergreens in a log cabin. I revived the era with a song about a coloured boy named Johnny B. Goode. My first thought was to make his life follow as my own had come along, but I thought it would seem biased to white fans to say 'coloured boy' and changed it to 'country boy'."         Chuck Berry

For my generation Chuck Berry has been a major model in our individual struggles to define personal autonomy. What exactly does, "attitude" mean? What does, "irony" have to do with my family life. What is going on at home anyway. What do I, "have to do?" What is, "My Choice?" What the hell are, "Consequences, anyway?" I think our generation ('50's and '60's) did different things with these questions than previous generations. Chuck Berry was 'way out' there in the vanguard.  Chuck Britt

Wednesday, March 15, 2017

Time for Breathing and Doing

Time for Breathing and Doing

I grew up with right wingers in a mid-American state of right wingers. They were not intellectual or metropolitan racists. They were rural, isolated had recently lost their farm and their way of life and were trying to learn how to run a bleak rooming house in a mid-American town. They had a meager, very fragile income and no safety net below and they did not trust new Social Security benefits and were much too proud to see government or any other hand outs as any solution for them. Very few events in their lives brought up cognitive dissonance. 

No self-questioning of their late 1930's fear of FDR's still not proven New Deal and no questioning the way the Republicans, the America Firster's and the rich media owners of that time invited them through print, pulpit and radio to rely on their profound rural isolation as sufficient frame of reference for their sense of the future in a world heading for a very real and very metropolitan modern nightmare. 

They, now, still stiffly refuse to give credit to FDR and later LBJ for the WWII victory and the supportive post war economic boom and benefits they now rage at loosing. They now continue to blame minorities and foreigners for taking from them what Republicans, the America Firster's and the rich media owners HAVE BEEN FOR 30 YEARS AND ARE NOW CLOSING THE DEAL to take completely from them. They were then, and are now still, being taught by their trusted sources of information, to blame foreigners and minorities and progressives for the problems and discomforts (physical and mental) in their lives. Very little cognitive dissonance yet in this, my home group. 

It is not yet a good time for us to start holding our collective breath counting on them to start the self-questioning process any time soon.  

There is much effigy burning and much voting and winning a return to at least relatively progressing government ... and every day that passes with the Republicans in office... many more executive orders and much more regressive legislation to overturn.

To follow up the above: I am now remembering that my parents lost their small rural home in a forced sale to a rich city guy in the early 60's. We ended up staying in that house PAYING RENT! The 'rich city guy' was dad's boss. Two generations of major loss did not change the my parents politics. (But it did change the politics of each of their four children and apparently their grand children as well.)

Tuesday, March 14, 2017

Believing in photons

Believing in photons
For Constance

When I look at You
I can tell none of my electrons
Leave their place

Each cell chooses to look upon you
Without contentment they continue
Believing in photons

When You look at me
Every portion of me heats
Every electron chooses travel

Taking me thither
To you

When I look at You
My gaze is a prayer

Sunday, March 12, 2017

Laniakea: Our home supercluster

Please watch this great video by Nature Video. The image above came from this video.    

Thursday, February 16, 2017

I The Digger

I The Digger

I know I am immature

Yet I know I will find it
In the denied
In the forgotten
In the shamed
In the beaten and browbeaten

A slavishly self imposed prison
In each of you

Everywhere I aim
My special powers see

Telltale signs of

Making so obvious
Your trigger-prison

In seemingly empty fields
Minute quarks of jailed

Potential dash in and out
Of existence...

You inadvertently show me
Where the hidy-holes wait

All my dogged hunting
Senses dive and dig

My big nostrils notice
One pheromone

My big eyes notice
One cheek tick

My big ears notice
One stifled syllable

All of my own reenergized
Slavish joining dives down

You will not see my maniac digging
Tail wagging with certainty anticipating

The base dirt of your discontent
Flying between my back legs

Yet you may notice that hole
With your vulnerable dirt flying out

And your rising bile

There... I The Digger have
Inevitably found your mood

And my adrenaline addled over-focused mood 
Bites yours 

Thursday, February 9, 2017

You Might Find Irony

You Might Find Irony
01-31-17 For Mothers, Sisters and Constance

When you appear to be mourning.

I notice
My never finished sadness

My uncomfortable impulse jerks
To finally fix your mourning

I move huge rocks unnecessarily
In name of your mother and your sisters

I fill infinite wall cracks
To make an unavoidable
Thing-symbol of love


When I am in my senses
My feeling remains sadness
There is nothing for it
But to have it as I move about... until

My fanatical focus simply... inevitably
Moves on

Later I may notice the irony

The rocks will be a feigning garden
The filled cracks will be ephemeral

But if I distract my fantasy
Of fixing you
With risky work

And then

I manage to avoid wounding myself
In my sad little dance

You might find irony in that