Posted on: April 18, 2012
Ophelia, by John William Waterhouse. 1894
And so I thought …
That Art which appears as a foreign nation over the sea, with a language all its own, with signs that point to something just hidden, just out of reach. For now.
It has an edge to it. It calls to us, but is never pretty. It must be followed. We must take the leap, take the voyage, depart for the other side. Its foreignness draws us like a sublime magnet, a masked pied piper who tugs at us like a thief of love. We go anyway.
Never pretty, never sweet, never soothing, it strikes at us, slaps us in the face, stuns us with a kind of delayed violence, both intellectual and physical, cerebral and primitive.…
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Posted on: November 4, 2011
Cat Stevens — Where do the Children Play?
One of the beauties of numbers is their endless supply. No worries about “scarcity” when it comes to our numerical friends. So, in an economy based upon the value of labor instead of capital, with numbers being assigned for a day’s work, and those numbers in turn being used to purchase goods and services, there is no danger of running out of money. Money, per se, does not exist in Egalitaria, and it doesn’t need to exist. In its absence, anything is possible. In the presence of endless supplies of numbers, the sky’s the limit. A sky made bluer because capitalism is dead.
If Nietzsche had been from Egalitaria, he would have said, “Money is dead. Everything is permitted.”
With our current economy, a business has a finite payroll.…
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Posted on: April 21, 2011
Taijitu. Sun and Moon. Yin and Yang
Measure for Measure
Endless regress of the missing moment
We tune out filter avoid
Run away from
Noise and white noise and buzz and boom
For if we don’t we fold up –
If we don’t we succumb
To that which is not relevant to being
Like dusty animals in the desert searching
For π…
Opening ourselves up to the all
We open ourselves up to that noise
That static beat and whomp and flow
Of third-rate minds and fourth-rate
Play by play
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