Several things motivated this piece. A question from a friend, provoking realization that some truly good things end. One such thing was the very recent passage of a great man, back into the dust from whence all of us were formed. Nelson Mandela returns to eternity’s pool, there to swim with the likes of other rare souls such as Mahatma Gandhi and Mother Teresa.
I count myself blessed to have walked upon the face of this earth with two such gloriously serene souls. You should too.
~ Where lies Eternity? ~
Is time the constant that it seems, or is it something mystical, and unseen, the immeasurable, between, varying with the wind, slowing its passage past the sun, or the age of the heart within. ~ If eternity is merely time, does it vary with its where, or is it constant, and everywhere? Time multiplied, is eternity. Yet how measure we, this thing we so casually call, eternity? ~ Longer than a universe’s life, or from a universe’s birth, till its demise, the trajectory of light, into a black hole, the gravity that marks, the circuit of a sun, or of a heavenly body, overrun, from humanity’s rise, until to its past due fall the duration, of a momentous human life, or the entire passage, of a seemingly insignificant fly, where in all these things, does eternity lie? ~ Or is it shorter still, from a dusk, until wherever’s new dawn a single day, trapped in a job that we despise, hours, spent in bliss, with the ones we so will miss, the duration of a dream, another changeling thing, or a minute, in a chastised child’s eye, the full circuit of, a single drop of blood, as it courses through our veins, does eternity terminate, when our blood’s movement, ends, when our blood becomes still? ~ I think that it might, and thus is a soul’s plight, to return to the void, and there to begin, Again.
~
{Should you so wish, you may find other bits of thought cast in lyrical form on the page named [Samples], linked above. Or simply browse around my blog, or head back into the web without further pause – your choice, this a moment of your eternity, to be spent as you will.}
Twitter’s 140 character limitation curtailed it, so below is the “real thing”.
~ Links ~
The bond that binds, is the emptiness between, it can’t be touched, it can’t be seen, its distance is measured in dream, yet for all these things, that bond binds stronger than any steel.
As with so many things in life, I’m left wondering about better.
~ Of Eros, and Arete ~ ~ Of memories, of who once we were. Of quests, to find who we might become. Of thoughts we have, yet think should not. Of lines we draw, only to cross. Of searching, through the sands of time. Of thoughts, that are themselves sublime. Of texture, touch, and taste. Of sensual curve, to slender waist. Of perfect fit, and delight’s slip. Of joyous dreams, to misery. Of Eros, and Arete. ~
While you’re here, look around. Though you might find something to your taste, I am more confident you’ll find things that present opportunity for reflection. If you’re interested in Poetry, there is a drop down on the right titled “Categories”, you might find more there…
a short poem in which I attempt to capture my sentiments on matters to which I do not subscribe, yet in which I hold hope for justice of a universal nature.
~ Of heaven, and hell ~
Where will the kind forever dwell, in our hearts, not in our hells, and what of the greedy, and the cruel, dispersed into soon forgotten dust, if our universe proves just.
Why does it seem that every time I hear someone talking about “Traditional American Values” what they are really doing is selling spin?
The phrase “Traditional American Values” is a leading statement designed to entice you into accepting something as truth. The speaker is more interested in selling you on how they want you to behave than they are in discussing history. You see, the truth of matters is that there is no such thing as Traditional American Values. This is not an opinion, it is a fact which I will illustrate in this post. Yesterday I tweeted
There is no such thing as “traditional American values”, the USA is a cultural melting pot, not a one pot kitchen that only cooks cabbage.
There is no such thing as “traditional American values”, the USA is a cultural melting pot, not a one pot kitchen that only cooks cabbage.
One of the essential truths I believe about the USA is that it is a social melting pot. I believe that the premise on which the USA grew to be a superpower is this: The USA cares naught about your origins, your culture, your religion, your gender, your race or any of the historical things that strive to mold you. What the USA cares about is who you have the potential to become. The USA cares about the real you, not about the you others would have you be.
In my opinion, that is how the USA should remain – more concerned with who individuals might grow to be than how their history has tried to shape them.
Must each of us abandon our heritage and the things we hold so dear? Absolutely not. I treasure my troubled past, and I hold my heritage in high esteem. My culture and family did shape me, however I now have a family of my own, and it is much more important than me.
The moral values I’ve developed had their origins in my past, and all of them are important to me. Yet I hold one of my values higher than any other, and that is this: Provided they do no harm, everyone is entitled to their own values.
And thus my taking exception to meaningless leading phrases like “Traditional American Values.” Precisely whose traditional values is the speaker attempting to impose on me? The Native Americans? The Eskimos? Perhaps the Apache, or maybe the Cheyenne, or any other unique tribe… for surely if anyone can be termed a Traditional American it is each and every one of these? They all are the true traditionals, and much more so than any immigrant which the majority of us are.
But no, that is not whose traditional values they are attempting to impose on us. The values they are attempting to impose on us, are theirs. Sorry, I am not buying since not only do I already have my own values but I think my values are of equal worth to yours, and yours, and yours as well.
So, the next time you hear someone say “Traditional American Values” you would be well advised to turn on your brain, pay close attention, and listen with a skeptical ear. The chance is good that what they’re about to tell you isn’t about values at all, but about them leading you by the nose onto their train of thought.
Personally, I don’t like people telling me how to think, I particularly don’t like being led by my nose, and I really don’t want to get onto anyone else’s train. For some reason the metaphor of trains just doesn’t sit well with me – it conjures visions of unwitting, innocent animals being shipped to the slaughter, and of tight-packed emaciated bodies en route to Auschwitz or Siberian Gulags.
“Traditional Values?” – you can keep yours, and I’ll keep mine. Or even better, let us start a dialog about our differences. Who knows, I might find some of your values to be better than the ones I already have and mix them in with mine.
So what are we supposed to do? Let’s consider these contradictions.
Life absolutely requires us to make an almost endless series of judgments, in the form of minor decisions. We cannot choose to opt out of making these judgments, because if we don’t choose we simply cannot function. We face judgments constantly, and often without awareness or conscious thought. Little choices in which we weigh the relative merits and choose. Should I wear red or blue? Should I take one lump, or two. Should I speed up, or slow down? If this food safe for my family? Can I afford this? Should I answer this telephone call or text right away, or can it wait? Should I read Malmaxa, or go to bed early? The list is quite literally endless.
Some judgments need to be made, and if we don’t make them someone will suffer for our indecision. These judgments can be painful, but they must be made for moral, ethical, and safety reasons. You hear what you know to be a lie. You witness an assault. You witness a theft. You sit on a jury of your peers and have to decide the fate of a proven villain. Do I spend the remnants of my paycheck buying food for my family, or health insurance?
When you have to judge, don’t be judgmental.
Some judgments are more judgmental than others. Why don’t we like that person? Exactly what about their statement angered us? Does their difference warrant our angst? Do they stand for something we abhor? Do we understand them, and perhaps more to the point – do we understand our own reaction to them?
Yes, we have to judge, but before we do, we should try to understand.
The tweet below initiated a discussion on the nature of art. It also provoked this post, in which I’ll try and define, for myself, what art is. Yes, I know I’m tackling a touchy subject for some, but that’s never stopped me before so I don’t see why it should now.
If we paint with a broad brush, we should not expect fine art.
If we paint with a broad brush, we should not expect fine art.
Onward! The following are my views on the nature of art, you’re entirely free to disagree.
If someone has to tell you it’s art, it isn’t.
I’ve had many people tell me various things are art. If they don’t move me on some emotional level, then to me they are anything but art. I don’t care how smart, popular, or prolific the artist is. I don’t care how brilliant and renowned the critic attempting to coach me on the meaning of art might be, or might believe they are. If it doesn’t make me care, then it is not art, least not to me.
What art is not, is easier than to grasp than what art is. But art is not, simply because someone says, "it is."
What art is not, is easier than to grasp than what art is. But art is not, simply because someone says, “it is.”
Art, is soul essence, extracted.
I know when I encounter art. It doesn’t matter what form art takes, I just know. And I think you all do too. There is something very special about real art that makes it easily recognized. I think each of us has favorite art forms. It might be music, painting, sculpture, poetry, or prose – what it is doesn’t matter so much as that it is. And when we see it, we feel it as well. If we don’t feel it, well then is it really art at all?
Art is not created for cash, but for necessity.
Can an artist prevent themselves creating art? I don’t think they can. Whatever their muse, if theirs is like mine, it wants out! It needs out. It will get out. And we, the appreciators of their creativity, will be the richer for their muse’s escape. Do artists release their muse for money? If I sold mine, I don’t think it would ever return. Am I saying artists shouldn’t make a living from their art? Hard question, that. I don’t think I am.
Art is not arrogant.
It might be bold, it might be brave, art might be bigoted, or free, but one of the things that art never is to me, is arrogant. I’ve never gazed on a piece of art and felt it looking down on me. Critics? Another story entirely. Artists? Those few I’ve met have never been arrogant, indeed they have been as close to arrogance’s opposite as I can imagine. The word? Humble. Perhaps humble people are more willing to bleed, and what is art if not a soul’s essence, reformed?
Art is created, not accidental.
Can there be such a thing as accidental art? I firmly believe there cannot. Yes, within nature are many beautiful, wonderful things, but art is more than that, and sometimes art is neither of those things. Something essential about the nature of art is that it is created with deliberate intent to evoke emotion. By extension nature does not create art. Nature creates things with an intent of life, not of emotion. However, whatever art is, art invariably has soul. Soul comes from the living, and to be released from its holder requires a conscious decision by the artist. Art requires effort. Art, it don’t come easy…
Artists should be the last to label themselves so.
Said it already, but I’ll say it again. Humble. Humility is not feigned. The “artists” I’ve encountered who break this pattern are invariably the ones who need to explain their art. Usually in a condescending manner expressing amazement we cannot perceive the magnificence of the emperor’s new clothes {reference intended}.
Art needs no explanation.
We get it, and it grabs us, or it isn’t art.
Artists are indeed capable of creating stuff that simply isn’t art.
Even the most prolific sometimes simply can’t. Do you doubt me? If you do {and who in their right mind would not}, then reflect on this next sentence. If everything an artist creates is art, then the world’s sewage systems are treasure troves.
And that, is a tiny piece of what art is, to me.
{With the post completed, I’d like to mention how the tweet that started this wasn’t referring to art, per se. It was about how willing we are to apply broad labels to individuals.
I write. Tweets, thoughts, obscure thoughts, even a couple of books. I don’t consider what I do art, but it’s as close as I can come to creation. Browse around my blog, read some samples of my work, who knows my words might touch you, and if they do… they’re art, least they are, to you.}
Magic of demise is misting the air here, drifting into the life of all around, poisoning it.
All those who bear the marks will be forgiven.
Living a lie, yes most are.
Memories are warped by the color of their jewels.
Apprehension felt by the young waiting for their skin to be carved along with their fate.
Xenophobic Men killing for nothing but hate.
Although there is bad in this world of mine,
I see there is someone great
slicing through the dark to avenge my kin and to spread the
light.
This is my final word.
{Tonight my daughter Julia asked me to read her poem, and see if I knew what it meant. It appears above, verbatim. Julia first read Beltamar’s War at about age ten, she is about to read it again, but I think she grasped it quite well on her first pass.}
In Twitter I’ve seen innumerable people saying a “proper retweet” is done by prepending “RT” to whatever the person you’re retweeting said.
No.
Perhaps that was true before the advent of Twitter’s embedded “Retweet” links, but no longer. A proper retweet is performed by clicking Retweet. Including “RT” in the words you’ve just ripped from someone else’s timeline is not proper at all. Indeed, it’s like placing a use tax on your generosity.
Taxed generosity isn’t generosity at all.
Perhaps if manually RT’ing took less effort than clicking “Retweet”…? The point is moot, since manually RT’ing takes significantly more effort than clicking the retweet link. Worse, manually RT’ing corrupts the words – they never remain exactly same as they were when said. Even if you keep every word and every piece of punctuation, a manual RT never looks precisely the same as the original – and most manual RT’ers don’t bother because it takes too much effort. To me this proves they’re only interested in forcefully injecting their name into the conversation.
Recently Twitter added a great feature. On the “Interactions” page of your profile you now get informed every time someone favorites or retweets something you’ve retweeted. Twitter does that when you retweet the “real proper” way – with “Favorite” or “Retweet”. What an awesome feature – now you know just how far your charity {and your influence} goes. And best of all, it really is charity – because only you know of the good deed you’ve done.
I’ve also seen it said that using “RT” allows you to add a comment to the thread {which is truly bizarre since there is a link called “Reply” specifically for that purpose}. It doesn’t add content, it hijacks the conversation by forcibly inserting something completely superfluous into it, namely your “look at me, look at me” @handle. What if you add your “RT” in a legitimate reply to the thread? Read what I’ve already said about taxing your generosity.
“RT” is not a stamp of approval on a Tweet, it is a stamp of “I was here!” A manual “RT” has become another form of obnoxious graffiti in the virtual world.
Don’t get me wrong. When graffiti is art, I approve. In fact, my Twitter timeline is covered with that type of unadulterated virtual art – they’re called Tweets.
So am I saying I never use “RT”? No, that’s not what I’m saying at all. I manually “RT”, but only under two circumstances I’ve found so far.
The first is when I want to repeat something a private account holder said. Tweets from locked, or private, accounts don’t have a retweet link. In order to grant attribution I have no option but to place my “I was here!” stamp on their words.
The second circumstance is when they never actually tweeted the words, but they did say them. For example, words from their Twitter profile.
Which brings me to the issue of plagiarism. Perhaps people think stealing another person’s words is a “no injury” crime. It isn’t. Regardless of monetary value, authors, writers, and everyday people should receive credit for their contributions to the written word.
To me, the written word is the highest form of art.
Words can make us laugh, or cry. Words can fill our mind with images of things that cannot be. Words can make our heart feel light, or they can crush it in a vice. Words are the foundation upon which deeds are built. More than any other art, words literally change the world.
No decent person would ever steal a piece of music and claim they composed it. No decent person would duplicate a picture and claim they painted it. No decent person would make a mold of a sculpture, recast it, and claim they chiseled it from their heart. No decent person would tear a page from the most sacred texts and claim they wrote it.
No decent person steals another person’s words and claims them as their own inspired thoughts, penned to paper of a real or virtual nature. Call this by a fancy word like “plagiarism” if you like – I call it exactly what it is.
Theft.
Decent people don’t steal. {Well, certain circumstances might force decent people to steal. However, the operative word in that sentence is “force”.}
Look at the example below, and tell me if this is an accident. Perhaps a rare wind of inspiration blew on two people at almost the same time. Before you decide, peer close at the thumbnails in the upper part of the image. In order to spare them embarrassment, I’ve blocked the person’s name from the image. If they have a conscience, it should goad them to change their ways. If not, well I might remove the blocks and see if that plants the seeds of conscience.
Is imitation the most sincere form of flattery, or is it just stealing?
Don’t misunderstand me. Inspiration is quite literally everywhere, and I would deny it to no one. Do I never re-frame another person’s thoughts? Of course I do. However, the words I use are my own, and they are often contrary to the inspiring thought. {Such is my nature, for which I am not sorry.} If my words inspire you to creativity then go for it, and more power to you – I am truly delighted when I see signs of this. However if my words touch you in some way, and you wish to share them, then please grant me that which I grant every borrowed sentence I use – attribution.
Our beloved daughter Julia sent me the image below.
Lotus blossoms
The wording down the image’s side is a quote from my work, Malmaxa.
While writing the first book in the series, Beltamar’s War, I asked each of my children how they envisaged their marks. My interpretation of Julia’s description appears below, personally rendered into art that strives to emulate the words used to capture a mental image of her dream.
My interpretation of my daughter’s symbol.
Some say, “A picture is worth a thousand words.” I don’t hold this to be true, there are many things a picture cannot capture, yet words can. Thoughts take this to another level entirely – they are elusive and hard to depict in either image, or word, yet artists manage.
Were you in Malmaxa, how would your marks of family appear?
Would you wear their symbols etched upon on your flesh, or in your heart?
