Hello to the dozens or so who may have missed adding my blog to their regular reading role the last few days.
For one, I was busy making book covers. here they are!
The reason this one got named is that a very attractive woman from Savannah GA, or close to it, had just caught a 300 pound tuna when she wandered into a salad shop (SALADELIA, Durham, NC) and simply “had” to buy this painting. That was about a decade ago.
It originally hung with the left side as the top, but a keep eye spotted more narrative in this format, and so a painting was born, via re-hanging in another direction.
Isn’t that a great story? it’s another example of how extreme synchronicity works its magic in our lives. but it only works to your advantage if you are open to change, and spontaneous.
Now, how’s that for a story?
Note the chops on Stewart Copeland’s drumming. Short blasts of fills that amaze and dazzle.
Thistles. The natural wonder of Scotland.
Here’s a quick story. I was in love with a woman for at least 11 years who was born on the Scorpio/Libra cusp known as October 22. She is #2 in this sequence.Before her I was in love with another amazing woman for four years, but made the error of going out to caddy on the LPGA Tour. Well maybe it worked out for everyone on that one. In between and continuing as a friendship beyond until now, I met a Russian woman on the International Peace Walk in 1987 in Russia and again in 1989 here in the USA in Philadelphia.
In 1991 the Russian lady visited us in Gainesville, Florida. I was with Woman #2 then.
The three of us went to the Oaks Mall, and voila lady #1 was shopping there by luck.
All four of us sat (I bet I was the most uncomfortable) for an hour or so chatting, and what makes this story interesting to anyone else is this:
All three were born on October 22.
It’s a super significant day for me. Anyone else out there have such an amazing coincidental day in their lives?
I was nominated for a Liebster…again! Wow this is so amazing.
Drop to the bottom of this blog to see if you were nominated by me.
erospea.wordpress.com aka Spaginazioni Poetiche aka Dora
is the beautiful woman who nominated me.
The Liebster logo looks like this:
her questions to me are these:
My questions to nominees (plus Doug’s answers):
- What is your view on ‘”intercultural”?
If everyone were intercultural and studied more about each other’s cultures, the world would have a chance of being more peaceful IF, and it’s giant IF, those in control at the top actually gave a hoot about how those regular folks feel. Sadly, there is always an excuse for war, at least in the minds of those representing war profits in their jobs as professional elected officials. Thus in many governments, but most importantly the big powerful ones (See USA, China, Russia, Japan, and Saudi Arabia first) those making decisions are fully owned subsidiaries of big corporate business. Democracy cannot, or has not, been able to change this.
2) If I say “gestural language”?
Then I think body language, and at the precise moment someone else is falling in love with you they will say it with their body (their eyes, reaching a hand toward you, etc.) first, mouth and words second. OK maybe even mouth before words if the attraction is strong enough. Gestural language is more than ballet or giving someone the finger then, by a long shot. You can really commune with wild animals if both you and the critter believe in gestures.
3) Your own reflection on the “nomadism”
I have lived in 16 cities since I was 16 years old. All of my own volition except two. Traveling and WORKING in other cultures is a great way to live a full life. I want to know how Ms. or mister “Jo/Joe on the street” sees the world, what influences them, and why. Tourist, no. Live there for a year+, yes.
4) Tell me something about your culture of belonging
My culture is a violent, yet caring, warmongering, yet peace donating, hate yet love kinda place. Some of the great benefactors of the world came from the USA, after they made money by underpaying workers and raping the environment. Such potential, often wasted on spending zillions on foreign wars.
5) What is your thought on “religion”?
I think spirituality is worth seeking out and getting better at. it’s nice to try to commune with “the Creator,” but most religions falter when fundamentalists take over. Hence, “which is worse, a fundamentalist Christian or a fundamentalist Muslim?” Answer: they are equally despicable, and are leading their legions down the path to continual war…not a path found in the books of either religion. Dang war hounds.
6) If I tell you “childhood”?
Childhood is to be supported and encouraged throughout everyone’s lives. Especially the lives of children. Education is important, but so is walking around and learning things from nature on your own. It’s hard to be functioning at a high level if your parents did all the chores for you so you could study or practice music ONLY. If we allow our children some time to learn about how things work THEMSELVES, they will be able to learn anything they put their minds too. Keep them away from electronics and out in the field.
7) Do you have a dream?
My dream is that one day my art or music actually is recognized by someone other than myself. To that extent, even when I was playing music in bar bands, there have ALWAYS been people who supported my creativity. That’s the miracle you have to believe in to keep going. You won’t always get in the New Yorker or the Whitney Biennale, but if someone ever asks for a copy of the poem you just read, or buys or accepts as a gift your art, or cheers for the song you just played, dance you just danced, speech you delivered with panache…then soak it in and keep it rolling. Teaching is like a continual boost of your ideas, if in the right school. My dream is to sit at a simple meal or tea and talk to people I agree with: learn something from those I disagree with.
8) What role do you think the “Art” can play in society in relation to the your local context and in a broader view?
Art, like anything, is in the eye of the beholder. The world has thousands of protests artists, musicians, poets, novelists, but it depends who sees it, hears it, takes it in and is influenced by it. In some cultures art is quite important, in others people make art almost in a vacuum. In the end, the universe takes care of artists…I don’t know how, but it works. As a society, any given culture would be wise to listen to its artists, to support them, as without creativity, many become a burden on society. is it better to support an artists who only paints or sculpts or dances, and is dirt poor because they spend their whole lives with their craft, refusing to wait on tables? or is it better to watch someone become dejected because THEY ARE NOT FOLLOWING THEIR DREAMS, and then commit a crime, or do harm to themselves? Easy answer here: support who you can in their dreams because that puts you on the path of realizing your own.
9) What is your idea about “sexuality”?
I think sex is great. Those who deny it are missing out on God’s gift. The Native Americans who walked my space in upstate New York years ago, were naturalists in their spirituality. To them, at least as far as I know, making love was the highest homage to the Creator. Easy to understand: it’s because making love (at least the traditional forms of sex) meant that you were joining the Creator in the miracle of life (or at least a chance of making a new life) and thus, if you love, and love your life, and love your mate’s life, producing a child is a way of spreading the love. The Creator surely smiles on love making. If you and your mate can’t spread the love via making a baby, you ARE however spreading the love amongst yourselves, and helping your mate to be at peace in the world, and helping society by being in love and showing others how good your love is. Thus, sexuality, when coupled with love, is just about the best thing you can do in private that helps the public good. If lucky, you find a partner who loves sex as much and as often as you do.
10) There is a place where you love to go when you want to feel peace and well-being?
Outside. In the Woods. I used to paint outside, I still write outside. I can also be in pure bliss at my sons’s baseball game, or being a part of a crowd at a rock concert.Specifically, Canandaigua, New York, the lake, the hills, the creeks. It’s usually not where I go, but with whom I go.
And here are my nominees. If you don’t want to play along, that’s fine.
AND YOUR QUESTIONS
- Can better communication save the world?
- Are all cultures equal, just different? Or are some cultures stronger/better/more reasonable than others, and why?
- Name a philosophy/philosopher you agree with and why
- Don’t think long: What is your favorite movie?
- If you could give one 30 minute speech that would create universal harmony among humans, what would the title be? Or, write us the whole speech.
- Did you ever fall in love at first sight? If so, explain, if not, what are the parameters that need to fall into place in order for you to fall in love?
- Your favorite flavor of ice cream.
- The teacher you remember most from grades 1-8, and why
- What do you want your children or your friends to remember most about you?
- Is it possible to rise above expectations, both cultural and familial, and make a unique life that is a positive light? If you’ve done that or are in the process, let us know how.
One is David Snape:
Thank you sir for the plug.
This one is soon to be traded for a piece of incredibly crafted pine straw basketry by Renata Lader. Ooh boy.
The featured yellow painting is now in the collection (the family has aquired four ) of Laura and Luc (aka Luc and Laura).
There is this part that hides away. The hikikimori in us, the over-booked stressed out adolescent male who, in Japan, hides away from society, and then may never come out again into the light.
When we lose a friend, or one moves away, or we become adult hikikimories (is that right for plural?) we stain ourselves and our need to be social and have the real chance of becoming weird or influenced by our own strange thinking. The deal is that friends keep us in bounds. They sting us with sarcasm when our thinking is out of line, they inspire us to keep doing what we did as kids, and then some, regardless of the pain. Friends keep us alive and wanting more.
It’s simple: when the turtle-ing instinct kicks in, kick it back by calling a friend. or texting. or emailing. or using Line, Kakao, Skype, your own blog or another of the myriad options for being public, or at least in touch with those who provide the necessary boundaries for a life of achievement.
Be Happy friends. Its an amazing cure-all.
And now this musical interlude:
What if you had a muse. The muse was constantly inspiring more art, more poetry, more investigation of the multiple aspects of life that you might have overlooked. Let’s say you had this muse for 1.5 years, and she/he was in your life as completely as possible, but then had to leave. How long would that use still inspire you? i’d say it has to do with how well you were inspired while together. Also, how strong the bond became.
The muse in my life will not vanish. She is just around the corner in my mind. Just an electronic click away, most times. and the type of friend, though we may not meet again for a long time, that will always inspire these words. I took a week off here, as I got busy with regular chores. Glad to be back. Hope to regain my blogster friends. Everyone I follow in here has inspired me to keep going in blogland, so thanks for the constant perks here.
Have a great week, enjoy your weekend (should you get one) and don’t forget how smart the children are.
life. Even autumn
colors can’t pull us
The penalty for
is another round
of corruption, worldwide wage
A girl in
an engineer’s cap
wraps an afghan on
her grandmother, gets
Hip swerving golfer
a coffee shop with
fully clothed three hybrid: a
incongruent, mingle while
Wall Street adds
A hundred to the
Dow: record profits
obvious bias bestowed,
to owners of the
means of production.
Jesus is a Liberal
Jesus Christ would not be proud
To see religion in this state. (Virginia that is.)
TV evangelists preach a canon of intolerance.
Jesus never expected people to hate in his name.
Building amusement parks in homage to God
Makes as much sense as waging war for Christ.
A god who attracts such diverse attentions
Is not a nice god or even a holy god.
He must be the god of money, or,
The god of land acquisition, or, perhaps
Even the god of death. Now that should
Set bells ringing in your bible-belt ears.
The god of death destroys life and love,
The god of death is worshipped in Lynchburg.
This Poem first appeared in “the Muse,” Edited by Ilya Kaminsky, 1997, Rochester, NY
To Be Human
is to fall in love over and over,
to never give up on any of them,
to cry for the inhumanity, and try to
overcome all that surrounds us by creating
a closeness with those in proximity, both
geographical and philosophical. It is to
carry those loves in our heart, flooding our
minds no matter how gone they are. And
to put others’ needs first, understand their
flaws, work on our own so we can be
better helpers. It is to take it all in and
follow our dreams no matter how preposterous;
to pull apart another brown paper bag and
to write it all out, no matter how choppy.
So take my hand and make it all better
before I repeat the painful parts until
I can no longer act. To struggle past
obstructions and obligations, self imposed and
expected; to wallow in joy, build strength and
change what we can for the better. To live, to give.
Bright eyes dig up a question from generations ago:
You want to know why the wind blew us
Together, how our sons will grow, when we will
Meet again, where will we be as one again?
Training gives you the desire to examine cause and
Effect. Experiences about as wide apart as possible
Come at us, yet we harmonize, learn each other’s secrets,
Give what we know the other will love, provide
Sanctuary in a world spinning out of control for so
Many. This I offer to distinguish myself from regular
Men, be they handsome or young: a complete heart
With continued support, undying gratitude, massage
Therapy, attempts at cooking, quite a way with words.
I expect you to smile when we chat, remain a solid
Force, a muse for my art, the reason I will always
Yearn for more, forever the target of happy life,
Memories (plans?) and a fresh heart, made whole
By the time we spent sincerely swirled, sufficiently
Molded to continually receive jolts of good news,
Connected forever by this love, complex, alive, strong.
We’ve woven a web, you and I,
attached to the world, for no matter
how long, inscribed, though poorly, for
scant eyes, still, as bright a love aura as
has ever glowed, tightly wound around
our hearts, yet soaring miles above
Moodeung’s fog to warm cold February.
Sparks fly off a round-rock fire rarely seen
in these parts. We laugh, it feels like we
shouldn’t be here on a cold winter night,
just a few meters from trails so packed
during the day. This charge will never
leave. We’ve marked this space but must
go to where the stars shine, deer run, art springs.
Keep my heart in your brain, words in your hair.
Matched lifelong yearning bursts in my hand,
fluorescent. Quick, pack what you need, let’s
flee! live life in the positive zone, expand
what we enjoy together, bound by the luck
that brought us this far. Where to next?
The featured image today is one of 350 names attached to crosses of innocent people who died during the US invasion of Iraq. There is also the name of one US soldier in this artistic graveyard. That is the ratio that has occurred there, and prompted this vastly inhuman refugee crisis: 350 innocents for every one soldier dead. Oh. Oh No.
One cherry blossom detaches, falls, aSINGLE unit
allowing fruit its space, starting its new journey: island
to reflecting pond, orchard to cottage yard, daughter to
lover, enhanced by the wind, if even for only six seconds.
Transformed to long-boned genius, long-yearning adult,
considerate friend, purple-green plaid from soft pink,
tan suede boots from four-petalled bloom. Hikaru, as they
say in Japan, hits the town running, arms crossed, cradling
herself like the war-torn victims of Vietnam, but not
worn or torn, she flings enthusiastic youth toward
outstretched limbs. She captures herBEGINNING and future
simultaneously, shedding one form, embracing another,
sweating humid Spring, still awkward in this skin.
Descending unannounced, she moves among mere mortals
Spreading joy, quietly demanding obedience,OFFERING all
in exchange for all. Most cannot accept, choose an
easier, less complicated path; but those brave strong souls
Born from deep roots blessed metamorphosed
beings who join Miss Cherry soon realize, if for one day,
week, or lifetime, their lives will never be the same.
Eagle Pond Farm
October in New Hampshire means colored leaves for kicking.
Donald kicks a few heading into town for cheese.
He notices that the antique dealer, once again, announced
The coming of winter by changing his sign. It now reads:
“Driveways Plowed, Reasonable Rates.” The type of
De-evolution Donald appreciates.
Standard time ensures contrast, as autumn’s last bonfire
Sends a leaf-shaped spark into the air.
A simple way of life is free to walk around without inspection:
So Donald does. He checks out of Najur’s General Store
With Gouda and N.Y. Sharp Cheddar tucked away.
He climbs up the knoll then down the driveway to the farm.
He kicks a pinecone to the safety of the woods.
He exhales steam that quickly disappears.
He can almost see ice forming on the pond.
Donald in this poem refers to Donald Hall.