Thursday, 26 October 2017

farm for sale

I set it in action, I invited my friends in too

I started a process in motion and now
what can I do?

have to let it all play out,
have to find out what it's all about
have to be secure and not be in doubt

maybe I will be sold out to one
sees the value of what we've done

maybe I'll be here when ninety knocks on the gate
or just down the hill in the next lovely place

but I set it in motion and now my fate
hangs on the kindness of strangers that come through my gate.

On an island in the sea

On an island in the sea lives a woman I've never met

and the more I imagine her, the more real she will get

I imagine her long locks, blowing on the ocean breeze

I imagine her yoga moves, her head between her knees

I imagine her loving look taking all of this in

I imagine her smile as she jumps in the sea for a swim

On an island in the sea lives a woman I've never met

and the more I imagine her, the more real she will get

I imagine her converted van, her little dog and her Hawaiian tan

I imagine her fleece and her blue flowing dress

I imagine the sweetness of her soft caress

I imagine she sees me here so far away

On an island in the sea lives a woman I've never met

and the more I imagine her, the more real she will get

Thursday, 26 March 2015

Sounds like poetry...

A friend who aspires to intellectualism claims that music , "anthropologically" came before poetry and that writing came after music...
What I find interesting in this view is that she has supported it with the claim that anthropology actually knows which came first.
As an intellectual, a lover of ideas and a philosopher, I wonder how so many seemingly intelligent people can accept as "gospel" academic claims.
There exist numerous reasons to doubt the claims made by social scientists, even reasons to doubt the findings of "the hard sciences". I don't say this as a knee-jerk skeptic, but rather because it is through such doubt, sometimes called "peer review", that epistemology advances.

The claim that music is prior to human writing and poetry may seem true on the face of it, but if we consider that in nature animals communicate, have use of language (albeit proto-language) and engage in ritualized behaviors as a form of communication, then the order of developments seems wrong. It can be understood easily by simply watching animals go about their affairs. Even differing species can communicate , often through sound.
If we consider that music is a complex process, a phenomenon that requires certain conceptual understanding, then it hardly seems logical that music appeared before poetry. Poetry being an art form that is both sound and marks, (or writing)  dependent on repetitive structure, meter, and rhyme and an aspect of the internal play of the mind, it would naturally come before music. In fact, it would be more likely that mind games that played with sound as an aspect of communication were well established before any ritualized behavior could develop, ie; music.
It is true that we have no evidence for the argument that I propose, but that is because we consider writing to be necessary for poetry to exist, yet no such proof has ever been found either.
Consider that communication/language in whatever form was used by our ancestors likely developed out of hunting behavior. That behavior relied on clicks, pops, whistles, claps and calls. These eventually came to be used in other forms of ritualized behavior. These sounds also derived from internal ability, they required no abstracted element such as an instrument because the sounds could be made by our bodies.
Another important consideration is that necessities are fulfilled before luxuries are available. Food, shelter, security all come before free time. Free time is essential for creative activity, specifically for art. Before the ritualized behavior could be accompanied by abstracted elements/instruments it had to complete the course of survival. Communication is essential in group survival.

Our first efforts at communication were through use of our internal abilities; calls, clicks, pops, etc. This implies that our mouths were primary in the making of sounds that were useful. Music would follow poetry in this case, if only because one can be a poet without a drum.

Sunday, 8 February 2015

Be a sport...

Would it be so bad if each sport event ended with a cathartic event? As it seems that the custom these days is to riot after a sporting event, why not just set up a gladiatorial contest en masse after each game?

Saturday, 7 February 2015


The world cannot be saved, not in any spiritual or religious way.
It doesn't need salvation, resting as always in absolute perfection,
the world and it's wonders are beyond any human ideas.

The world cannot be saved, but we shall, misguidedly proceed on
a pilgrim's journey to redeem what gives us base.
Like some retired, first grade teacher whose pedagogical insights fail
when applied to adult life and the real world, no ritual, no march
or riot will make what is any better.

The world cannot be saved, in another sense still, by new age fancy,
gender-based empowerment, or deconstructive stratagem.
The world clings to all it contains, so nothing is better than anything else
if it has been deemed fit to be.

The world cannot be saved, not stored up or
hamstered away, no investment for the future can invest
anything with more value than the world already has.

So let us not save the world, better to run from it.

Tuesday, 17 September 2013

The Cripple and the Crone/( thanks to the Bros.Grimm)

The two, like characters from a fairytale, lived down the road from the good place. They had wasted their years in vanity and consumption and had nothing to show but a shabby house. They hated their limitations, they hated each other too. When he or she would get a chance to visit the good place, they brought their bile and poured it in glasses to serve all around. The people of the good place overlooked such evil, wishing instead to be accepting of differences.
This bothered the crone to no end. She found someone new to hate. She developed a tale that would make the good place bad. Her lies she would craft to make all the virtue she had been shown, dissolve in a lie of epic proportions. But she made sure to hide it from all who offered a sympathetic ear. She painted all the kindness as imposition, she tarnished good names for her own amusement.
Sadly, it was the community that suffered from the lies. The good place remained good and the 2 never found their way back to it again.

Monday, 2 September 2013

Friendships of convenience

I wonder how anyone can live by giving away all their integrity.
To be critical of another and then accept their invitations.
To be willing to be used by someone who is busy recuperating their failures by associating with reputable people.
I am not of this cut, I stay where I have put myself after coming to terms with
the facts of a situation .
If you don't value your own judgment, if you can be swayed by a cheap meal served by a cold and calculating face, then I don't want to see yours.
I am happy to be alone as much as I am, for I find the fakes just too much to take.
But for those who would be my friends, I say, do not play yourself, because once you have been played, you are no longer in my game.
I choose my friends carefully, I don't put them in place to be fooled by them.
So listen, if you care to have my ear,
listen closely to what I say...
If you cozy up to liars and such I 'll not have you in my way.
They say it is a fool who makes his world smaller by rejecting others...
I say the fool is he who kisses ass to be included.