Message to Doug: You joined my Ning site, posted a snarky-assed, poorly considered essay damning individualism, started a poetry group which you never posted to, refused to comment or participate in group discussions, then disappeared, later quitting, without warning or notice. A year later you join my focus site, refuse to complete your profile, do absolutely nothing to contribute to the site, then, after some four months, quit without notice or warning. These are facts.
What am I to think of you, of your character? What options have you left me, especially when I toss in your barbaric behavior at the tai chi class I used to run in Imperial Beach? Do you remember that? What options do I have, Doug?
Precious damn few.
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As usual, "Kung Pao Chicken" generated a great deal of discussion amongst readers and my friends. I appreciate everybody's comments and feelings. Perhaps the best came from a friend of a friend, who said that poverty can corrupt just as much as riches. That's true, but it skips the point a bit. Bart knows going in that if he takes the fame deal the Devil offers, he's already corrupt. It is a rare thing to be a truly moral man--and to have great riches. The same is true at the other end. But again, that's skipping the point. How many truly moral men (or women) do you personally know regardless of their economic wealth or its lack? If you can name even one, congratulate yourself heartily. Because they're truly that rare. If your character sucks in poverty, it'll suck in wealth too, and vice versa. Poverty and wealth are thus independent of a person's character. It's only for the excuse-makers and the weak to appeal to either to explain why they're such fuck-ups.
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Val has been dealing with the loss of a good, good friend to the cancer of white lightyism. It's been painful to watch. This good friend ivory towers at her every chance she can get, speaks in gibberish, refuses to truly relate in any meaningful capacity, and resents it when Val finally reaches the point of enough (displaying patience reserved for the gods) and challenges her. It's all really sad. But the lure of the white lighty herd is powerful for some, who refuse to stand on their own two feet and think for themselves.
I was rummaging around my hard drive the other day and dug up this in my "Keepers" folder:
The person I've learned most from in life is my guru and savior, Dr. Wayne-Phil Wilberharshi. He's the world famous teacher and author of such bestsellers such as:
*Enlightenment In Just Ten Minutes!
*Yes You CAN Have a Corporate Job, Live in Suburbia, Drive an SUV, and Watch TV Four Hours a Day & STILL BE ENLIGHTENED!
*Dr. Wayne-Phil's Enlightenment Diet: Use Your Exalted Spirit-Status to Lose Weight–& Keep It Off!
*Kill Your Ego!–Using These Ten Commonly Found Kitchen Utensils
*You Hot, Enlightened Suburban Mama–Scoot Your Egoless Ass Over Here & Gimme Some: Sex the Dr. Wayne-Phil Way
and, of course, his multimillion-seller You CAN Have It All & NOT Call It Greed!–Enlightened American Consumption is A-OK!
Dr. Wayne-Phil is like … a god to me.
****
I found this as well. I've read it over many times now and am amazed that it came from ... me.
Creation and true friendship are two sides of the same coin. Creation of any authentic kind requires true friendship; true friendship must, by its very nature, create. It is for this reason that those you call 'friend' aren't, for by their own actions and words they aren't concerned in the least with what is most essential, most primal in your life as an authentic creator. If they truly were a friend, what is most essential and primal to you would also be essential and primal to them. This is, in the end, and in fact, the truest and harshest measure of those in your life.
This distillation has guided the writing of the novel in form, content, and motivation for me since I started it. But I was unaware that I had bothered to get it down to its essence like this. I'm pleased I took the time.
It takes an uncompromising tack on one's world and the place others occupy in it. The word friend is today so abused and watered down as to be utterly meaningless. (Think of it: how many "friends" on your Facebook profile are truly friends, given the above? Not one, I'd warrant.) Too, it takes real courage to recognize that one has no real friends, as offered in the quote above, but, at best, acquaintances and colleagues and hangers-on and parasites. We live in a world ruled by Machines. And Machines, and the men who made them, know that true friendship is anathemical to the smooth functioning of those Machines. "Don't take it personally; it's just business" is the mantra of today's cancerous Machine culture. And it's how the vast majority lives, whether or not they are aware of it or are willing to admit it.
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I've provided a link to my YouTube profile for those wishing to listen to the Musicscape, which is the music that has inspired--and inspires still--the writing and transcription of Melody and the Pier to Forever. It's just to the right: click on the pic.
Other news regarding the novel: I'm restarting the review contest next month for those interested in winning some cash. Keep your eyes peeled for the banner, which I'll place here.
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Finally, this: If you haven't seen any of Hayao Miyazaki's films, run, don't walk, out today to your local library (which will very likely have a much greater selection than any Blockbuster) and check one out. You won't be disappointed--and very likely will be transformed. I'll be reviewing the work I've seen of his next week.
~~*~~
Fractal Image: Where Rainbows Go To Die by SM Montaigne
Fractal Image: Where Rainbows Go To Die by SM Montaigne
*Late edit: My apologies to those coming to this blog expecting one of my trolley poems and finding none. After posting it earlier today I started receiving some really creepy e-mail comments from trolls and lurkers and stalkers and other pond scum just waiting for their chance to jump me. The poem was an examination of the willful destruction of dreams by the young, and a purposely ambiguous take on what it means to be in love. There is more than one type. But I forget sometimes that some who visit this blog are in fact pond scum, with minds and spirits to match, and there you go.
If you want to read the poem, shoot me an e-mail. If I know you--you have a proven record of decency towards me--I'll send it your way. We can discuss it in private. And screw the pond scum.
If you want to read the poem, shoot me an e-mail. If I know you--you have a proven record of decency towards me--I'll send it your way. We can discuss it in private. And screw the pond scum.
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