In Roman times, there wasn't much else to give them. In today's world, the list is exhaustive and growing exponentially. So, there is little fear in aristocratic circles regarding the unrest of the poor if, in fact, they even notice. There was a time in my life when this aspect of society drove me to drink. Now, I only admire it from afar and applaud the engineers of this wonderful little locomotive of perpetual social malaise.
Wayward Paths
Civilization is a strange pickle. It is built upon lies that create an illusion of truth. It provides security and quite often acts as a prison. It is something that we love and love to hate. It is our mirror until we see something we don't like and then we break it only to forge a new one that correctly answers the question: who is the fairest of them all?
If I were to disagree with Oscar Wilde regarding his quote, I would just flip it on its head: "Individuals exist only as a mental concept; in the real world there are only civilizations."
This quote, from Dickens' book "Martin Chuzzlewit", is dangerous because it is taken out of context. I have not read the book, so I can't hazard to guess, within the context, what its full meaning is. Of course, there is no assurance that Dickens himself could answer this. We, far too often, believe the author is writing non-fiction. A good writer lives inside the story and can, therefore, feel it and describe it, but not necessarily know it.
However, I like this quote because it presupposes, like many of the educated elite do, that moral superiority is what leads to a greater understanding of existence. My question would be: Why do we need to be moral in order to comprehend existence? Perhaps, this is what blocks us from truly understanding our world for it is far from moral.
One And The Same
For some reason, everything in our lives is described in opposites. Night and day, black and white, male and female, right and wrong...even our political parties represent the opposites of left and right. I can't help but think that we frame the world this way, not because that is reality , but that is how we see reality. I know it isn't that simple, but I still can't keep thinking that our incessant analyzation is fruitful for economic production but is killing the patient, our dear mother Earth.
In fact, it is probably the only thing that is stable. Nothing remains the same except our persistent denial. This will never change and it is the thing that will ensure a great change...one that we may not be quite so happy with.
I have always found that cities have an eerie quality about them, especially late at night into the early morning. Cities, even during peak hours, have the peculiar ability to seem devoid of intelligent life. When the automatons are in their cement cubicles shut down and waiting for production time, the city is like a dreamy mirage. Here, at Shenzhen's Civic Center, this was only magnified as the area was still under construction and had no inhabitants. This is natural in China. Within a year or two, it will be filled with worker units and have the faint sense of being an important place to be.
Remember To Forget
These are photos from the third day of hiking the Pembrokeshire Coast Path. Eventually, they will be part of a photo travel poetry story - whatever the hell that is. I don't know what value they serve to others, but to me, they help me plumb the depths of my soul. My soul is fairly shallow, so the piece is quite short.
Written on the walls of our imagination are the instructions we forgot, a map outlining infinity. I must remember to forget.
Art In Life
It doesn't really matter except that it does. Typical Haiku philosophy, but it is all I have. Besides, I have learned that it really doesn't matter how well you style an argument because the listener has already made up their mind before reading or listening. And, because of a thing called schemas and motivated reasoning, what they hear will only resonate with what they already have decided is the right answer. Everything else will find its way into the overpopulated ether of misunderstood nonsense.
I have always thought that works of art should hold a more intimate relationship with us. By this I mean, we shouldn't revere it so much and experience it more. It should be a part of everyday life. It should be integrated into life. It should be life.
Dead rabbits hanging up on the wall isn't so strange. I have seen it. Mind you, this was in the northern part of Canada, and the person who owned the house was a trapper. It wasn't art so much as it was life. But haven't I heard that before. Life imitates art and art imitates life. The lines should be more blurred. In fact, they should be one and the same.
Dreamy Meditations
Being an artist is much harder work than most people imagine. I was in training for a while and it required a daily sacrifice which still causes my liver to ache. A concentrated effort to self-medicate the existential angst, which is a compulsory form of emotional weight training mandated for any post-modern artist, meant a steady diet of booze, pills, and cheezy combustibles. This takes its toll, thus the need to meditate. It's the Dali Lama's orders and who are we to argue with the voice of God.
Did Virginia Woolf Fall Down In The Forest?
There are times, especially late into the night, where the mind feels like sawdust inside the digestive system of the straw men:
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar
Oops, sorry...broke into T.S. Eliot verse there...like I said late at night.
An Artist's World
I am not an artist. I am a pretender. Artists are few and far between, but when you find one, you know. They look at the world in a way that is mystifying to us. They scare us and I think we scare them. Yet, they sacrifice their souls in order to bring us some clarity. Still, even after this monumental effort on their part, we scorn them. Shame on us.