The Coins of Time & Attention [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]

with a fresh page, one recreates the world entirely [Sep. 19th, 2029-08:30 am]








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heart of the flower [Nov. 19th, 2009-03:41 pm]








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What Goes On In The Caves Stays In The Caves [Jul. 10th, 2009-01:32 pm]



Where I Spent The Very Many Years Of A Long And Happy Youth
Built in the 1920's from the coral rock quarry left over from the building of Coral Gables' many coral entrances and walls, the Venetian Pool was the very hallmark of 'The City Beautiful' and it's tony high high society aspirations to stand out from Miami proper...
    I was born in Coral Gables in 1954 and raised there. It is no longer the same but still, I miss it terribly. If any part of it has remained much the same it is this world renowned city pool. I didn't realize there were so many youtube videos of the Venetian Pool. There's a great many of them, and deservedly so. It's an incredible place. (Recently renovated yet again, I am saddened to see in these videos that what was once an intricate high dive tower with winding steps and pathways has now been converted to another set of falls. They already had one set next to the caves...) I haven't been back to South Florida in 9 years and am terribly homesick. I have shown plenty of stills of The Venetian Pool to my Lisa and talked much of wishing to take her there, but videos far better convey the wonder of the place.



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Pen Point [Jul. 7th, 2009-01:46 pm]




Free Earth Now
...I repeat these not just because the context calls for them but also because they strongly bear repeating, as the subject matter itself did in the first place...

    Anything that inspires creativity, freedom, and the
    luxury of personal fulfillment threatens Authority.

    Anything that promotes intelligence, individuality,
    originality, and subdues easy acceptance of blinding
    conformity threatens Authority.

    Any means of propagation of information that cannot
    be dominated, controlled, or suppressed threatens
    Authority.

    Mental and spiritual health, social and personal
    maturity, and but of course; expanded awareness;
    anything that promotes these threaten Authority
    as well -or should I say threaten Power...

    Nothing or nobody should be allowed to insinuate
    themselves between anybody and the planet. Our
    planet is freely for us all. Global Domination
    is the dream of small and foolish gluttons for
    Power who believe people should be controlled.


...In comment there, I added this link of Amy Goodman interviewing
Chris Hedges on his then debuting book,
American Fascists: The Christian Right and the War On America...

...Well, it's been war on everything for years now; the dollar, the country, the planet, people, women, reason, civilization, you, me, any future, you name it, they're agin it. Nothing new. Fretting is surely futile, certainly so, however -it's as impossible for any person to ignore as it for any person to immediately address. It's not just the blood of American troops we pump into our gastanks, it is Earth's own...

Free Earth Now? Certainly. But still, at this point, it's damage control...
The Dark Side of Climate Change: It's Already Too Late

By Alexander Zaitchik, AlterNet. Posted July 7, 2009.

Father of the Gaia Theory, James Lovelock says we can't stop climate change, but that humanity will continue in some smaller form.

related:

FN20 / Enjoy it While You Can
By shellinaya, on June 27th, 2009

Enjoy your life while you can, because nothing we are doing right now will likely stop climate change in time. That is the terrifying message from Sir James Lovelock, famous UK scientist and inventor. Global heating will proceed. All Congress does is pass a cap and trade bill which won't even cut emissions until about 2040. The bottom line is that climate change is coming and we will have to possibly move and adapt.

More on James Lovelock here on Grist.
Download here
...At this point, human matters are left in the hands of Earth herself, and the brushes and pens and keyboards of the artists and writers, and why not...

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Poetry Doesn't Protect You Anymore [Jul. 7th, 2009-01:21 am]




Poetry Doesn't Protect You Anymore

The Dumbing Down Of America (and the world in general) may be running even with it's rightward slide, and no coincidence. Poor Al Gore, seemingly doomed to torrents of conservative rotten tomatoes for genteely observing our assaults on not only our planet but Reason itself, has suffered not only the theft of his presidency but even political weight for demonstrating that any earnest and consistent leader (such as also, say, Dennis Kucinich or Ron Paul) is beyond the pale of any hope of attaining the presidency. Meanwhile, our cultural and political spheres continue to be no less significantly intertwined, to remain supportive of our supra-enterprise; war in perpetua. Arguably, it is perhaps a one-way dynamic else Al's liberal cultural weight would translate back politically...
    Come now our greatest rightward slider and flipflopper of the moment, President Barack Obama, with a brilliance for diametric spin that beggars even the sheerest possibility of common sense or the viability of self-evident truths ever returning. If George Bush witlessly exacerbated and taxed our outrage overload, Barack Obama, with his party's [continuing] overt complicity, viciously mocks our very intelligence. He does so to such degree as to mock intelligence itself, and in so doing undermines any ultimate credibility to his considerable own -seemingly knowingly and willingly. There may be those whom would argue that is his brilliance; a visionary genius who, ostensibly, necessarily presumes the straits we are in to be so dire and our needs so incontrovertibly intertwined (oil and it's pipelines, foreign relations, economic underpinnings, etc.), that to con and lull the Corporacracy and the greater powers that be of the American world into some retreat from the tacit threat of utter self-destruction -or at least some cessation of full wide open throttle charge into it -must be truly appeased (far beyond the merely Chamberlainesque) and given nearly free rein -while contradictorily giving 'Hope' to those desperately opposed to such appeasement. True, it is hard to argue against any -any at all -[presumed] degree of direness at this moment of history. True, it would seem better to err on the side of caution under such seemingly necessary presumption. However, to presumptuously lay the currencies of Civilization and faith in common sense and human intelligence and creativity on such a sacrificial altar -even while patently using such to full degree in their own subjugation and degradation and sacrifice -is as patently self-defeating and at best 'buys' us a few years of such throttling back -these few consequential and pivotal years we cannot afford to spend in any way but Progressively. Obama ultimately amounts to far worse, a reprise of Reaganism, smile and all. Obama ultimately amounts to far worse than Bush for the locking in of the Democratic Party onto the right and the [completely discredited] Republican party further off any sane claim to any degree of the spectrum of thought at all -with no room at all on any Left left for the Libertarian party or who have you. With Barack Obama came doublespeak into full flower. The old simple sly disingenuity of the past Republican party is now the base norm for all. Salvation, like sanity, is off the table, for Obama's concessions are the most destructive for all their depth, for all their centrality, for all their mendacity. There may well come a time when he will defend himself, and say he never claimed to have any or all the answers -as I believe he has already so foreshadowed.
    At this point, America is mostly unhappy, yet still largely complacent, about any seeming loss of intellectual vigor in it's mainstream body. Certainly, there is great concern for the assault on science and it's communities and their importance. There is, however, the changing definition of what mainstream means on any given day in these times, much like journalistic objectivity. Conformity supports what passivity enables.... 'Westernization' too (Google up 'Afghan Star'...) takes it's toll upon the international dialogs on our national questions. We know of the changes to Christianity itself that the pirates have wrought. We know too of our own daily complicity in the piracy (as we pump our sons and daughters blood into our gastanks) and talk endlessly of ways to extricate ourselves or our consciences at least. It does not soothe though, and many are simply left holding their tongues along with their breath. It is left to the Fringe to remark on the rising craziness, the increasing general ennervation, the exponentially converging lines of perspective to the Rapture or Singularity or TimeWaveZero or 2012 presidential campaign or what have you, of some nebulous but no less discerned approaching moment of untenability, of frank ignition. The mainstream, such as it is, largely understands the leveling effect of it's cultural commodities and of the necessarily mediocre (see Kevin Kelly on television's necessary mediocrity), and most of the public is actually soothed by this, ergo their complacency with the comeuppance of the eggheads. If anything, I would assert that Howard Zinn's approach to Progressive views of history are more palatable than Noam Chomsky's, but where really do they differ? Is Zinn's no less an indictment? Or more entertaining, more commoditizable, more 'American'? If this is ever a time for questioning conventions, it is also a time we are hewing ever more to conventionalism itself and thinking outside of the box is not just disdained but shunned in roaring silence.

The Arts. Go to Google news or Reuters and try select that department -it's not there, or at least not upfront. Look for it under 'Entertainment'. Who are our predominant painters, poets, playwrights, authors? Yes, the economic collapse changed all that and journalism too, in any commercial way on the national level. This is what we pay for the commercialization, the commoditization, of our culture in the first place. Old news, yes, but again, the reality is changed by this internet, and there are indeed a great many writers and artists online, doing their thing. They're simply not covered, and again, this is a place without borders. Look at what the Russian people do in Livejournal; there are far more Russian artists than American ones for all I can see. Are they more cultured? Some have said so, as a result of the old Soviet-era repressions which left them hewing strongly to the classics. -As we are beginning to do ourselves, ever referring more and more to our past masters, and so too as age-old debates have taken on regained contemporariness. George Orwell and H.G. Wells' dialog has regained pertinence. New World Order, 1984, etc. indeed. These are the books being referenced and at times reprinted.
    If ever a time called for 'protest' songs, is this not it? What market? What point? Save it for the cinema? Or the documentarians? Or online? Or is this an unprecedented time, too dangerous and unready for primetime save for appointed pointpeople, artists in their right, like Rachel Maddow, Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert, And Keith Olbermann? Are we this removed from roots music, folk music, that 'protest songs' are now an anachronism? Or we are this 'post-modernist' that we are too hip for such Kumbaya-esque communing? Or are we simply too politically engrossed to venture away from politics long enough to regain our humanity, confidence, or perspective? Or... all of the above..?
    And what of poetry?

     There once was the good 'ol U. S. of A.,
     And now no one really can say
     If it's still as terrific
     Or become just too horrific
     To put into poetry today...

Loitering in the Wrong Places

The book, with its halting, unbeautiful, disjointed lines, proves her awareness of the difficulty of writing poetry about war, trade, immigration, Hurricane Katrina, and George Bush. These are intensely politicized issues, claimed by a blunt, politicized language.

In 1915, during the first World War, Britain was battening down the hatches, tightening its borders, and sternly discouraging travel by canceling trains and plastering placards inside the cars of those that remained on their routes -"Unnecessary traveling uses coal required to heat your homes." Rationing was strictly observed, movement curtailed, but England's greater loss, as Paul Fussell notes in his study of early twentieth century travel writing, Abroad, was "a loss of amplitude, a decay of imaginative and intellectual possibility... The very theater of thought and feeling contracted; the horizons closed in." Literature, then, was not in the forefront of the minds of the populace. Still, Augustine Birrell, England's Chief Secretary for Ireland, was riled enough by its pesky persistence to proclaim that he, for one, "would forbid the use, during the war, of poetry."

The statement feels remarkably familiar today, in another wartime era. Poetry stands, as usual, on the outer margin of the national discussion. The public sentiment may be that poetry doesn't matter, but, of course, in its not mattering lies its freedom to hop trains, to transcend borders, to speak from behind enemy lines. Poetry's trickery is interpreted in two simultaneous ways: one, it is difficult, and two, it is unreliable, questioning the way things are -and therefore it is possibly dangerous.

In her thirteenth book, Rising, Falling, Hovering, published in the final months of the Bush Administration, C. D. Wright commits just such an offense as her title suggests -she loiters in all the wrong places. The book, with its halting, unbeautiful, disjointed lines, proves her awareness of the difficulty of writing poetry about war, trade, immigration, Hurricane Katrina, and George Bush. These are intensely politicized issues, claimed by a blunt, politicized language. And so a book on these subjects is a constant tugging between poetry and prose statement, between lyric and document. She levels accusations at herself for her own project: "Poetry/ Doesn?t/ Protect/ You/ Anymore," making clear the increasing psychological weight of the decision simply to write poems when one is aware of the magnitude of the problems surrounding her in the world.

"Nothing is good save the new... If anything of moment results -so much the better. And so much the more likely will it be that no one will want to see it."
-William Carlos Williams

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10 years later [Jun. 1st, 2009-02:01 am]

Cushion (10 years later)
10 years ago, Cushion fell out of my fingers through a casio keyboard and into my computer. i'd initialized a 6 minute file and turned my brain off and let her rip. it's like holding your breath. i'd been working in the [now obsolete] realaudio format of the time and that's still how it sounds best.
    Fourth Time dropped by my apartment (then in Miami, Fl) and listened to it. i drew him. now, june 1 sticks in my memory for more than matt howarth's June 1 parties. happy june, everybody.

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the creative imperative [May. 30th, 2009-05:16 pm]

the creative imperative (will not be denied)
to see what has never passed this way before, ever -something unique,
crack this, this walnut, and behold what you see as you have never
beheld anything before. do so deeply, with a very conscious intensity
of all deliberate Intent upon that matter anew. to see something that
will never ever be seen again by any of the countless eyes ever was or
ever will be, take the matter into yourself. eat that walnut.

matter realizing itself is possibility ablaze, possibility itself as so
materialized. utter ignition. the binary nature of differentia in spin;
enlightenment beside catastrophe, the minute skein of the mirror's very
surface holding clockwise from counter. -spark occurred. motion begun.

aware.

we each are so unique. we cannot behold ourselves in motion; no present
can be beheld or analyzed unless stilled.

Ego captures us to the will of all else save ourselves. it's own Intent
is that of default. mindlessly dumb and blind, soliptic, we assume. we
are soothed by seeming ease. convenience. we cease then to be unguarded
and caring beyond. we cease our dialogue with earth and all as actually
is. we eschew that which earth herself provides to safeguard...

earth is returning to her roots, a churning boil of feral muck & agony.

         wailing, assailing
         all such captivity by convention
         we beat our drums by rote

         recreating ourselves
         from numb despair
         in this desperate air

aesthetic rhetoric (we beat our drums by rote)
nearly all this had already been lain down before i recalled the very
phrase of what i have been working with here, what i had been working
on. of artists, and their mates... the creative imperative.

googling it up, suprisingly, i find precious little.



we will do anything for our children... our works, in most any walk of
life, is just that -our very walk of life. every step brings us closer.
the creative call is the most particular. so specifically demanding...

                                -={0}=-

...and so i've added much here, artists whom i thought epitomized some
different aspects of the creative imperative itself. before adding the
last, i thought this well enough though never really directly touching
upon the thing itself; the personal relations involved in such precious
lives.
    i begin these well enough with modigliani -the proverbial story of
an artist and his mate if there ever was one -but i end it on something
that surprised even me -even though it covers things i've been saying,
in all the same fullness, for many years -just not as authoritatively.

artists are as they are, as helplessly as any so rightbrain possessed.

amadeo modigliani (the high stakes)
"You are not alive unless you know you are living." -Amadeo Modigliani



stanislav szukalski (the struggle)
"Create art. Live and die for it." -Stanislav Szukalski

         

henry miller (the charge)
"Side by side with the human race there runs another race of beings,
the inhuman ones, the race of artists who, goaded by unknown impulses,
take the lifeless mass of humanity and by the fever and ferment with
which they imbue it turn this soggy dough into bread and the bread
into wine and the wine into song... A man who belongs to this race must
stand up on a high place with gibberish in his mouth and rip out his
entrails."  -Henry Miller

"Art is only a means to life, to the life more abundant. It is not in
itself the life more abundant. It merely points the way, something
which is overlooked not only by the public, but very often by the
artist himself. In becoming an end it defeats itself." -Henry Miller

    

alex grey (the mission)
"Every work of art embodies the vision of it's creator and
simultaneously reveals a facet of the collective mind. Art history
shows each successive wave of vision flowing through the world's
artists. The history of art is a vast record of tens of thousands of
artists and their acts of disciplined passion bringing vision to form.
Such a program of passionately committed actions could be called a
mission. Yet, the mission of art cannot be limited or strictly defined
with words. It is much like Lao-tse said of the Tao, "the way" of
enlightened wisdom, "The Tao which can be put into words is not the
real Tao, not the ultimate eternal Tao..." The artists mission may not
ever be put into words or well understood, but it's invisible
magnetizing presence will infuse an artists work completely. What I
mean by mission is the inner calling to creatively serve our physically
and spiritually depleted world. The artist can be a spiritual emissary
working in any media in any part of culture. Mission connotes personal
passionate commitment to something. Mission is applied Vision."
-Alex Grey

           

eugene andolsek (the compulsion)
'But why, if Mr. Andolsek wasn't thinking art, or audience, did he do
what he did for so long, drawing thousands of pictures over 50 years?
Because he wanted to, and because he had to, which in his case are more
or less the same thing. The act of drawing and painting, he has said,
helped to ease a debilitating anxiety that had dogged him all his life.
Once he started a drawing, the anxiety lifted. Relief arrived as a
state of entrancement.'

'The other artists in the exhibition, which has been organized by
Brooke Anderson, director and curator of the museum's Contemporary
Center, are similarly, if differently, driven to art. So "obsessive,"
too, is relative. It can describe pathological behavior - art as a
motor constantly running, a habit, a twitch - or therapy for such
behavior. It can indicate an aesthetic style, a "look," defined by,
say, repetition of forms or motifs, or by excruciatingly micromanaged
details.'



philip c. robinson (the reality)
A ZEN STORY

by Camden Benares, The Count of Five
Headmaster, Camp Meeker Cabal

A serious young man found the conflicts of mid 20th Century America
confusing. He went to many people seeking a way of resolving within
himself the discords that troubled him, but he remained troubled.

One night in a coffee house, a self-ordained Zen Master said to him,
"go to the dilapidated mansion you will find at this address which I
have written down for you. Do not speak to those who live there; you
must remain silent until the moon rises tomorrow night. Go to the large
room on the right of the main hallway, sit in the lotus position on top
of the rubble in the northeast corner, face the corner, and meditate."

He did just as the Zen Master instructed. His meditation was frequently
interrupted by worries. He worried whether or not the rest of the
plumbing fixtures would fall from the second floor bathroom to join the
pipes and other trash he was sitting on. He worried how would he know
when the moon rose on the next night. He worried about what the people
who walked through the room said about him.

His worrying and meditation were disturbed when, as if in a test of his
faith, ordure fell from the second floor onto him. At that time two
people walked into the room. The first asked the second who the man was
sitting there was. The second replied "Some say he is a holy man.
Others say he is a shithead."

Hearing this, the man was enlightened.

--excerpt from The Principia Discordia

    

and so there we are, jill taylor, linked in the image above, has it all
to say on the reality of brain anatomy. "No plans!" i'd cry, holding
out for the possibilities of the moment. "Moment Now!" ever my motto...

crack open a walnut and see that which the world has never seen before.
but feed it to your wife.

thank you jill. thank you philip.

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All my love for devil girl [May. 27th, 2009-10:48 am]


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Mystereal [May. 17th, 2009-07:46 pm]


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the continuing sooth of Vontinuum [Mar. 10th, 2009-06:09 am]

party in my mind
ocean_friction, i hear your glyphs, drawn on slaps of waves from ancient caves, and look to the whole chronicle, the traveling tome of pace after pace, each graf stepping there and there but always on. 'single-blooded words' page 227. like all the books i love best, i can open it anywhere, step in it anywhere, and i'm there.
    not just even on my worst days, but especially then.

    you can imagine.




no jinx to speak of it, no worries. whitecaps.

    thank you for sending it to me. thank you for writing it. for writing at all. just thank you.

'The Butterfly Hunter' by Klea McKenna
    "To contact the cosmic giggle, to have the flow of casuistry begin to give off synchronistic ripples, whitecaps in the billows of the coincidental ether, if you will. To achieve that, a precondition is a kind of unconsciousness, a kind of drifting, a certain taking-your-eye-off-the-ball, a certain assumptions that things are simpler than they are, almost always precedes what Mircea Eliade called 'the rupture of plane' that indicates that there is an archetypal world, an archetypal power behind profane appearances." -Terence McKenna


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