Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Give Peace a Chance

Maybe my problem is with the word, “peace.” I hear that word and I hear “boooring,” I hear status quo, I hear don’t make any waves. Shhh can we get some peace and quiet around here, someones trying to rest.

I totally admire the conference but personally I think war vs. peace is a faulty question? To fight or not to fight? No, for me it’s who will you fight for? Will you fight for the man who has no arms? Will you fight for equality?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1SN7Pko_jCM

“How much can you know about yourself if you’ve never been in a fight?” ~Fight Club

Marginalized globally by an income gap that is growing exponentially and people are pissed.

The mission as I see it is not to preach peace to the marginalized it’s to redirect their angst. To convince the Catholics and Protestants that their enemies are not in pubs but in banks. To convince our disenchanted suburban youth that brand names are false and hollow idols. To convince the quiet sheep that earnest expression is “the strong life,” and that living your principles is a life in the “extremis.” Passion in your principles, love making, dancing, and debates, will be the enemy of Ennui.

Friday, April 29, 2011

My Creepy Basement

I want to inspire a mutual smile
Traversing all potential joy.

I pledge to muster the courage to open that creepy basement door,
to descend the quiet lack of light.

Hands shutter as I open the box;
Heart flutters as I feel for the switch.

There, I'm touching it, illumination is imminent!

But wait, before I flip the switch, I take pause…

No light, no sound, who would of thunk it,
No fright to be found.

I see my dark basement in a new light.
By Embracing the darkness I've eliminated the shadows.

Upon ascension I will exalt with fearlessness!
First though, I have a corner to explore.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

A forrest fire is started by a spark.

The camels carrying thugs wielding clubs running over Blackberry wielding protesters in Tahrir Square are a ballyhooed symbol of this clash of civilizations, but it’s the elephant in the square that has sparked the kindling. Kindling (made up of small sticks and twigs) would be the massive multitude of instances in Egypt where women are oppressed. It’s the mothers, daughters, sisters, wives, who are giving these young men the hutzpah to poke a hole in their damned dam.

The only stat we need is the following:
(According to the World Health Organization in 2008, an estimated 91.1% of Egypt’s girls and women have suffered female genital mutilation).

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

I Will to Oneness Ascend.

I find myself having more visceral experiences in the presence of beauty. The revelation for me has been that the experience of beauty cannot be passive; now when I come across a flawless flower, I walk up to it, touch it, smell it, contemplate it; I consider the harmonious symmetry of it’s seed carrying ovaries; I focus on the contrast of its color with the dark dirt it blossomed from, I consider the ephemeral nature of it’s against-all-odds existence and in doing so, consider mine;
I wonder if the honey-stuffed bumble bee that prances up and down it’s prickly pedals made a consciences choice to climb this particular flower, and I wonder if it was a similar bee that carried this plant’s pollen here, from some other place. What will it feel like I wonder, if I am stung...if only I am stung.

So now, if by happenstance I find myself under a white flowering dogwood tree
and drips of spring mist
drop on my tilted-back forehead...I will feel the urge to
drop to my knees, spread open my chest, and let some tears of joy
drop onto the leaves of grass below.
I will to oneness ascend.

Thursday, May 27, 2010

dancing under moon on a rainy day

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R42C6xhNvLI&feature=related

This is the Van Morrison performance we experienced at Jazz Fest. Notice Van solo on this harmonica (one of five instruments he played) with the effusive energy of an indomitable 25-year-old, and the joyful hard-living blues of a mortal 65-year-old rocker (how can a man be so ugly and so suave at the same time, he’s like a musical Bukowski); notice the misty moondance rain frame the painted yellow sun in the background; notice the black dapper suits and the gold microphone on a gold stand emblazoned with a gold “VM;” and oh yea, notice the damn good musicianship, the likes of which spanned jazz, blues, rock, reggae, Latin, Irish folk, and more. What you won’t notice is the wide weird range of fans, including the two toddlers next to me that ran around in circles and let it all seep in.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

The Gospel Tent

by the way, it happend, beyond my wildest expectations. I heard Aaron Neville's voice sweetening the air from afar and I pushed in close to the Gospel tent until I witnessed him overseeing our festing congregation. The song was Amazing Grace but I've heard that song before and this was something else, this was a communal uplifting in harmony...this was Mr. Neville handing out wings to all of us, so that we can forever fly in a flock above the pain.

The echo of his last note lingered like a lover's tear that refuses to let go of the eye and slowly drips away.

"Whooooow...ahhhh...whoooow!!!" Just as a flock of birds turn in knowing unison, our shared silence turned into a primal uproar as five hundred pairs of hands reached out to whatever Aaron was giving. And yes, Aaron was reaching back.

When it was over, Two middle aged woman in front of me turned around with tears in their eyes, and I think we almost hugged. But instead we stared at each other. And as I write this now, I can still see their wet joyful eyes; a shared stare so strong that it goes on.

Sunday, April 11, 2010

Plagiarism R us

The following is my response to this program:
http://www.radioopensource.org/david-shields-reality-hunger-kicking-ass-and-dropping-names/


A man named Robert Ross was speaking with Oscar Wilde one day and Wilde was complaining that a well-known novel had been borrowed from an idea of his, Ross countered that Wilde was himself a ‘fearless literary thief.’ ‘My dear Robbie,” Wilde drawled in answer, ‘when I see a monstrous tulip with four petals in someone else’s garden, I am impelled to grow a monstrous tulip with five wonderful petals, but that is no reason why someone should grow a tulip with only three petals.’

A similar sentiment was voiced by Mark Twain in a letter to Helen Keller after she had been accused of plagiarism as a child (I have a feeling I will appropriate these words myself someday if accused):

“It takes a thousand men to invent a telegraph, or a steam engine, or a phonograph, or a photograph, or a telephone, or any other important thing—and the last man gets the credit and we forget the others. He added his little mite—that is all he did.”

“To think of these solemn donkeys breaking a little child’s heart with their ignorant damned rubbish about plagiarism! I couldn’t sleep for blaspheming about it last night. Why, their whole histories, their whole lives, all their learning, all their thoughts, all their opinions were one solid rock of plagiarism, and they don’t know it and never suspected it. A gang of dull and hoary pirates piously setting themselves the task of disciplining and purifying a kitten that they think they’ve caught filching a chop! Oh, dam—

But you finish it dear, I am running short of vocabulary today.”

GO TWAIN!

Aristotle begins his “Poetics:”

“Epic poetry and Tragedy, Comedy also and Dithyrambic poetry, and the music of the flute and of the lyre in most of their forms, are all in their general conception modes of imitation.”

So, I think we can all agree that imitation is good. I push back however in another respect. I fear that in Mr. Shield’s zeal to “dissolve genres” he’s gonna throw the baby out with the bathwater. And by baby I mean, Plot.

I imagine that Aristotle might respond to Mr. Shield with a passage from Poetics:

“Again, if you string together a set of speeches expressive of character, and well finished in point of diction and thought, you will not produce the essential tragic effect nearly so well as with a play which, however deficient in these respects, yet has a plot and artistically constructed incidents.”

“The Plot, then, is the first principle, and, as it were, the soul of a tragedy: Character holds the second place. A similar fact is seen in painting. The most beautiful colours, laid on confusedly, will not give as much pleasure as the chalk outline of a portrait. Thus Tragedy is the imitation of an action, and of agents mainly with a view to the action.”

Grandmaster Flash collected samples of catchy hooks from multiple songs and made it into one song, and Hip Hop was born. I applaud Mr. Shields for embracing that essence. At the end of this interview when talking about the future of writing he even says, “Bring the Pain” – which is the title to a song by Method Man.

Methinks Aristotle would gently remind Mr. Shields to bring the plot first.