knowledge and family

only in the conversations
of philosophers who have rejected
the real lived experience of life for
the preference for pure mental activity
would the importance of family
be sidelined if not completely
done away with
for most everyone it is a fundamental concern

the story of the holy family is a story
of a young couple with a child
working through some rather difficult
social circumstances
in order to survive and live into the future

the LUTHERAN SURREALIST assumes
by virtue of his very existence within one
and by his overt statements regarding his
plan for a moral universe
that the family context is the be all and end all
of social meaning and perception
and he may be right
as far as i can tell he arrives at this assertion
by way of looking at an orphan poet
an orphan catholic poet
who suffered so wildly and at least some
of this self inflicted suffering is or was due
to the lack of grounding within a family

as far as knowledge of what we know and how we know it is concerned
i think it fair to say that we grow into
and respond to and react to and are baffled by
the growing awareness of what it means
to be a family
i know i am
whenever i am with my family
it is cause for accepting the feeling of complete acceptance
but also at times leaves me with the amazing question
"WHO AM I?"

in this regard it becomes meaningful this time of year to
recognize who is in my family
a believer in the mystery of Christ
a believer in the story of Christ
a believer in the words of Christ
may pause to reflect that
truly anyone who shares this grace
is considered family

there are degrees of family
some familys are torn apart
by strife and conflict and money
but they are still family
even if they go to the grave without speaking

and there are familys which are patched together
from the remnants of other familys
and there are familys which are chosen familys
when people are older they may chose
to live in a community
which takes on the characteristics of family
for better or for worse

the knowledge of who i am
is inseparately woven into the reality of family even if
i must live my life out not knowing
my parents
that awareness alone is significant
in epistemological terms

self hatred often emerges out of
a person's experience in the family
this is a woeful tale
but it happens

a holy family implies that
a person or a group of people are
set apart for some purpose
set apart to follow the will of god
when anyone has that experience
be it directly connected
to a family or not
there is the immediate possibility
of one form of transcendence
the knowledge of being or deciding
to be on a path that is destined
by a concept known as the will of god
is to contemplate a life of holiness

a family is a constant trial
a trial we should by all means accept
and learn therein the possibility
of forgiveness and reconciliation
and hopefulness
even if the trial should last a long long time

the holy family we honor today
is the story a harried trio
the rush to be safe to give birth
they rush out to get away from danger
they make their way through hardship
in order to resettle in the land

every family has within it the potential
to be a holy family
not because we have a messiah in the bloodline
but because we are given here an immediate
context within which to learn love
and no matter what anyone says
the endeavor to holiness is learned
in the terrible context of family
with all its joys and tribulations

no matter if you focus on the gene-pool
or the cess-pool
we are lumped together in the context
of our familys
the interesting thing is that we can
in Christ
establish a family
which if formed in the mystery
of the life passion death and resurrection
of Our Lord

that's the family i mix in best

amen

j

FROM THE ROMAN MARTYROLOGY

In the five thousand, one hundred ninety-ninth year
from the creation of the universe when God created
heaven and earth;
in the two thousand, nine hundred fifty-ninthe year
from the flood;
in the two-thousand, fifty-first year
from the birth of Abraham;
in the one thousand, five hundred tenth year
from the exodus of Israel
out of Egypt under Moses;
in the one thousand, thirty-second year
from the anointing of David as king;
in the sixty-fifth week, according to the prophecy of Daniel;
in the one hundred ninety-fourth Olympiad;
in the seven hundred fifty-second year
from the foundation
of the city of Rome;
in the fourty-second year of the reign
of Emperor Octavian Augustus;
in the sixth era of the world,
while the whole world was at peace -
JESUS CHRIST
eternal God and Son of the eternal Father,
willing to consecrate the world
by his gracious coming,
having been conceived by the Holy Spirit,
and the nine months from his conception
being now accomplished,
was born in Bethlehem of Judah to the Virgin Mary.

The Nativity of Our Lord Jesus Christ according to the flesh.

the big "O"

who out there is singing O antiphons
who is whirling in the winter storms
with a magnanimous O
the O is the sung sound of hope
the O is the chanted desire

this is the O season
when we are heard to sing the O
along with the snow
and along with what we know

O O O O O

i sing the root of jesse
the key of david
the dawn is sure
the dawn herself sings the O song

never let a year pass
that the O is not deeply sung

jh

collegeville station

i can't remember now if i ever blogged about my saturday night gig
if i have then this will be a bit of a restating what
i may have before typed out
on saturday nights i do this music thing
where i sit in this large room and i play
all kinds of american roots music
and it is for the most part a performance that
is all but ignored which i have come to appreciate
and earlier in the day i had a conversation with
Pat the mandolin player or big red as he's known
in some parts out yonder
and i was expressing some anxiety about
putting energy into something which seemed to have
run its course one of those towns
which must have existed probably still do
where the railroad tracks just stopped
the only way out is to go backwards
but big red prevailed upon me and said he wanted to
get out of the house tonite anyway
so we said alrighty then let's just go there
and pick out our tunes again why don't we

well lo and behold there were at one point over 20
college kids just sitting there in rapt attention
and responding enthusiastically to music
they had never heard
although i was impressed with one student who
knew some obscure dylan tunes

while playing Hickory Wind
i heard a harmonica and i looked up and a young man was hearing the right key
and he just piped right in and took the solo like it was the billionth sunrise
and almost made me cry
but i got through the last verse by god
but that was a nice moment in what collegeville station
has been trying to do

alex sat with his laptop computer
doing what i don't know
he claimed theology
i think the guy was recording me
and sending it out live
i don't care
i don't trust anyone with a laptop anymore
they could be spies

and after a sad and haunting finale of
pancho and lefty
i packed up and came back to the monastery
to type these words for the blog news room
of global possibility

the station is picking up there's a monkey
runnin across the floor
maybe the trains will run after all

check out the collegeville station express

the tooth narrative

a while past a few blog posts back i revealed the fact that i was involved in an escapade known as tooth surgery where in one of my deficient teeth was removed and an implant put in i am now wearing the prosthetic temporary tooth all this brings back the historical drama ofa bar fight one drunken night in my 20's when my mouth met a drunk madmand's fist so now there's that and and my head is awash in pain relievers and just the mere fact of knowing i have this hole in my head yesterday i could actually feel my immune systen flooding me with tears and snot mostly and phlegm yes considerable phlegm human bioguck basically but the sleep has been real restful deep mattress hugging sleep into the place of blessed earthly unconsciousness that sublime place of dream and this morning a dream of a guitar recital for which i did not adequately prepare and i was scheming to blow people out of their chairs with guitar licks they ain nevuh heard before but it was just a dream and now i sit here typing words onto a screen and realize that anyone who reads this is in a way participating in the traumatic epistemological distortion of life known as dental surgery which is where i am at and what my mind is doing it will be a miracle to stop typing now and have so few typos i better qwit wiles i'iz ahed

tag yr it

somehow i feel like i've been seduced into
a moment of transparency
one
i have an unhealthy relationship with books
two
most of my books are OK with that
three
i work out life's difficulties by hearing sounds
shaped out of a feminine shaped box with six strings
four
my geographical consciousness is marked with
the place known as montana
five
i live in central minnesota
six
sally mcgill considers me a friend
and i'm cool with that
seven
i perform occasional musical invasions in airports
in unsuspecting acoustic places
eight
everyday i work and pray and read

any more requests for self revelation
must be directed to the editors of PEOPLE
magazine

IN MY END IS MY BEGINNING

slowly quietly in the grey chill of
novembers' waning days
time has come to an end
and time instantaneously
begins once again
like a miracle
we've heard the readings from
revelation these past few weeks
all sort of scary about the end
and the visions
really cool stuff
when properly understood

the umbered sky
impedes upon the mind
the way it should
the way it should

in a new time a mere three weeks
before the darkest day
and the solstice turns and
a new swing through space begins
don't let anyone tell you
we're just a cosmic top spinnin

god has nuzzled and kissed his lover
and she awaits him now for another kiss
another day of sharing the breath
of her gallant beloved

something truly spectacular is about to happen
by all means
remain vigilante
stay awake
i know it's getting darker but the light
will surprise us all no matter what
keep open the eye
keep fires kindled in the heart

sshh
everyone get real quiet

happy new year

a curmudgeon's thanksgiving

what have i to do with
this vile thing gratitude
these sentimental folks sitting about
as if nothing matters but family
and an odd friend
guffaw guffaw
and i spit horribly
at all this mushy banter of love
between mouthfuls of potatoes
screw your flippant turkey
sitting there in ridiculous command
its ass staring you in the face
no good will comes from me
puhshaw i spit your direction
you hideous practioners of tables shared

won't the world be better when
the gripe of life is all we know
won't it all much clearer be when
every breathing yapping human dog
can be the enemy at least suspected
of viscious intent
gaze a severe gaze in the warm bath
of human kindness
breathe cold
it's the only way to be

there is no goodness no hope
no beauty no good food
we choke on the illusions
we gag on the ill got hopes
we spew out every orifice
the bilious vomit of decency

don't give in
don't let anyone tell you
the hearts of men and women can
yield the joy of friendship
hate it all
clothe your wiltering body
in the garments of
indiscrete mistrust
pay for it if you must

the world will be better will it not
the world will
not be will it not be
better will be worldy willful and better
when we all learn to despise with justice
to hate with impunity
to trample the idiotic hopes
for a better world somehow

give the sour sentiment over
to the rancid puddles
drink cheers of that my
laughably desperate friends
ha ha ha ha ha

knowledge from the studio

what does a musician know while "playing"?

this morning i looked into the archives of the blog
known by everyone who matters as
PHILOSOPHICAL INVESTIGATOR
http://billborneman.blogspot.com/
back to the beginnings of that blog
two years ago
and i recollected some thoughts about
the guitarist derek bailey (d. christmas day 2005)
of course i went to google
and accessed some cyberclips
of derek performing and i thought about him
these thoughts followed me to my studio
where as soon as i took my guitar in hand
i began playing with verve and nerve
hacking at the strings
sliding my pick up and down the bass strings
using a rapid action to arrive at a vibrating sound
on one note a sound that also possessed the quality
of plastic scratching steel
and an array of harmonics and percussive sounds
and extended notes bending everything
which began to sound like coherence
immediately attacked with incoherence
and when i had finished i knew
that i had paid due homage to the spirit
of the great exploration guitarists
but it was but a random moment of
articulated noises and notes
and i am no better for having done that
(except perhaps for the thought that occured
in the midst of sonic mayhem
that i will perform this and a few other things
soon in a chapel setting)
but then i played a heavily corrupted
version of DARCY FARROW
a song by steve gillette
and i applied some of the technique
or lack thereof to this song and
i was delighted
then i switched guitars and sought out
some of the sounds of john fahey once again
as i have been doing for the past 30 yrs or more
i then played an extended version of a very
clearly structured compostion that is known in
my mind as FOR SALLY
a piece possessed of 3 distinct sonorities
played four times in consistent order
and embellished each time
and i finished out my playroom activities
with BIG ROCK CANDY MOUNTAIN
a ballade of hobo heaven

for all this i know only that i can go to a place
and allow my mind and my hands to create sound
on a feminine shaped box with six strings over a hole
and it is enough
amid everything else that happens on the planet today
i have made my say
and it is enough
that's all i know

the epistemological questions involving music
are awaiting some treatment
treat those questions with love and a certain ruthlessness

it is interesting to consider ones mind
what is tracing through the incorruptible substance
while one seeks to give some order to sound

the world is humming with it

on a monday

monday arrives and immediately
the mind is given to speculation
about a full five days of activity
the week days

in this light i wish to speak of an event
which if one is lucky can mark the life
of a christian for ever
that is the opportunity to be of service
to a saint

there is an implicit argument at work
with the whole social construction
known as LUTHERAN SURREALISM
that is: the 2 kingdom principle - the idea
that our earthly life and our eternal lives
are essentially divided and the resolution is
only to be had in death in the hoped for afterlife
the statement is basically
yes heaven exists saints exist but not in this life

the immediacy of the experience i am about to describe
suggests that one's heart can come into play when
considering the parameters of the life one chooses
last night i wandered out in the dark down the walk
upon which many monks tread
at the end of this walk there is an iron gate
and i often arrive at that iron gate
and reflect on the fact that i have chosen
in some respect to live an imprisoned life
even while having the ability to walk through
the gate i still possess the awareness
that i have chosen to confine my life
within a structure of prayer and work
a structure with fairly clear
parameters
a structure in which even the thought
of something like sex comes under
rather serious scrutiny
as do all human relationships
i am fortunate enough to have as the basis
for my choice the context of christian charity
for within the acceptance of that
is the freedom the soul really desires

thus this morning as i brewed my coffee
br urban who for years has been the
resident expert in gardening
who knows both finches and birmingham roller
pigeons and has raised both coqatiels
and doves
whose tomato patches were the wonder
of the whole area
who at one time grew strawberries
and brought smiles to the faces of monks
in short
i wish to make a claim against the LUTHERAN SURREALIST
and insist that Br Urban is a saint
and if the said proponent of the doctirine
to which i just referred
were to meet Br Urban he would no doubt agree

so as i brewed my coffee
Br Urban who is now in his 80th year
came forth requesting that i help him
with a matter having to do with
his room out of which he was set to move

the saint was a heap of misery
the saint was complaining
the saint was whining a bit
the saint was buckling under
the hardship of age
the saint was irritable
the saint was without humor
even my smartass remarks
could not bring the saint to laughter
(one joke did get a smile)
but as i finished the task
his face was so full of gratitude
that i am moved to acknowledge
that in terms of consequences
nothing much matters now for the rest
of the week

i have served a saint
and he said that he will need me again
and i do not doubt it

from this saint i learned the importance
of caring for tools
and accepting the logic of nature
and the importance of going very slow at times
(here there might be some area for agreement
with the Slow Loris symbol)

no
heaven appears here on earth
as now in a glass darkly
but apparent none the less
in the beaming smile
of Br Urban

a monk shuffles down the
cloister hall
at a loss to know his bearings
having lived 60 yrs as a monk
is now being stripped
and readied for the final journey
he gazes into the abyss
there is some horror on his face
his brothers carry him along

the sri lankan franciscan
says in his culture
there is an ancient allocation
for the status of life choice
as life sanctification
the people are more than ready
to acknowledge that a person's vocation
be it in buddhist or hindu or christian
tradition the socially agreed upon role
of the religious person is acknowledged
and thus the expectations for religious life
are defined
and of course the possibility of failing
in that context carries some dire ramifications
most likely a beating and a displacement
if not jail
i wonder what would happen
if we re-established public beating
for every crass sexual infidelity

the weighty reality of christian witness is
that human nature is hard wired to fail
when it comes to living out the life
of virtuous purpose
and while i cannot observe
the failures of br urban
i am aware that his struggle is not over
and that he may even convey
aspects of human nature which
are all too human
none the less
i know i have served a saint

br urban anyway will work out
the earthly details of his sanctity
to the best of his ability
detaching himself from his
quaint treasures
the most valuable of which is
the little wood sculpture
made by his grandfather
a man on a horse
carved roughly and painted with
precision only time on a farm could allow

i dedicate this day to br urban
and to the chance of being his servant

amen

NOVEMBER

Rock fences litter Delaware county,
Driving one sees smoke curl from chimneys into
Necklaces of geese gone south.

The town is empty at 6 a.m.
A lone bundle of clothes
Waits at the red light to cross,
Steam pouring from her mouth.

- Kirby Olson (the Lutheran Surrealist)

this poem represents a first a first the first time a poem has been sent to me by email
a really fine poem
i think it is information
for a painting and nothing more
the aspect of the poem which carries
the sense off song
is in the ending of both stanzas
in order to print it here
i wrote it out on a sheet of paper
and now i have the sense
that the poem will remain with me forever
it is a poem
that speaks for itself
not even the poet himself
is evident in the picture
except for the fact
of someone having
seen something
should you be the soul
who comes across this poem
take the time to read it out loud
the overall sense
at least for this reader
is the haiku
that sense of stoic observation
this poem was published in the
South Dakota Review
or something like that
and i present it here
as a gratis offering
to the indifferent world
save for a pleasant voice or two

jh

november snow

grey rust dark green white
black shadow of branch
against the grey sky and crystals
fall as silently as death
nothing will change the day
the sidewalks have taken
their patina of white
and are now a threat
for snow is slick
we walk dangerous paths all the time
rarely do we know it

human color is different
in this light
the various pinks of caucasians
the dark skin of indians
the beige tint of orientals

the light is tinged with grey
and nothing else speaks the day

leftists oppressors

so i ask myself
what does it mean today
to live in a country
with its first african american
president
i've been wondering about
political emotion
that now very openly
expressed area of life
thanks to the feelings sages
of the last 50 yrs
now what does it feel like
and can i say soemthing about my feelings
regarding a leader
whom i trust and for whom i voted
and is this a way of knowing

there were i will confess
a few moments over the past
few days
when i was sharing in the tears
of amazing hope
in the faces of people
people obviously moved to tears
tears of joy
at the outcome of the election

so in this regard i would have to say that yes
i know something by the fact
that i share in the emotion of others
when i observe it
i am moved as they express
the emotion of tearful joy

and now i am thinking that to
a large degree the political game
is an emotions game
knowing the image helps to
assure the emotion

it is grey day where i live
a rather grim cold late autumn day
wet and cold
nothing about the day indicates hope

yet i have self awareness
that says
because of my knowledge
that a man has been elected president
a man for whom i voted
i am happier than i was two weeks ago
certainly two years ago
two years ago i was thinking
i got to get out of this country
its turning into a fascist police state
i suppose the left political world
can push forth its own agenda
which might indeed look like a
fascist police state
we'll have food police and behaviour police
and language police and media police
and police everywhere
all people assuring us that yes
we will have freedom

there is one political theory afoot
deriving i think from the novel 1984
that the hidden monster of the left
is the ardent desire to organize
and manage every aspect of living

but i am more concerned with
a view which grows out of the right
the view that government must manage
the populace that the cameras and the
security and police and the homeland security
agenda in general is the technique
for assuring freedom for the people
the CIA and the FBI
are the big personel management teams

i ask the question
would human beings left to their own wiles
perhaps forced there by circumstances
excercise the virtues of patience and charity
would people learn to grow gardens together

perhaps the largest political questions
on planet earth for the 21st century
the most pressing the most urgent
the questions we can unite behind
and strive to address
are the questions of survival
and peace
can we disarm
can we bow in honor
of the differences
can we speak with our neighbors

and i am wondering today
how the man on the street in baghdad
the man struggling
to get some food for his family
the man uncertain of every car
coming down the street
the man with vague hopes of rebuilding his life
does this brother of mine have hope
in his heart that barack obama
can serve to make things better

i suggest homeopathic diplomacy

has the shock doctrine worked in iraq?
are we now strapped with a patient
whose appearance remains almost comatose
shuffling down the corridor of the world
with a cigarette?

i am curious to know the
statements and the path
to be set forth in the mideast

i know that i have political comfort
i feel good about obama

the tone of his voice is confident
the task before him is big enough
to break any man
and i think he knows this
in his bowels

j

to vote

well over 100,000,000
voting ballots will be cast
today

the word vote
comes from the same root
as the word vow

so there is something
very serious about all this

we want a say in who
and how and for what purpose
we will be ruled

it is hard to claim
that then we can speak
as one country
for the differences
are often stark

the wind changes in the sails
the tack is on
the rudder is being pulled
the flag is changing

the winds are changing
the times are changing

vote veto tove tevo
ovte otve oetv oevt
evto etov etvo eovt
eotv vtoe veot voet

vote for kindess
and decency and hope
and a better world
for those aching for it

j

THE MAPLE TREE

The maple tree that night
Without wind or rain
Let go its leaves
Because its time had come.
Brown veined, spotted,
Like old hands, fluttering in blessing,
They fell upon my head
and shoulders, and then
Down to the quiet at my feet.
I stood, and stood
Until the tree was bare
and have told no one
But you that I was there.

-Eugene J. McCarthy

cohabitation

there are three lady bugs in my room
and i have made the agreement
to cohabitate with them
one hangs out near my sink
another wanders around my desk
and yet another is near the head of my bed i
have heard her
flitting about landing with a quiet
thit

i suppose they will eventually
make it over to the window
and die

i think these lady bugs
are perfect insects
they are clean and harmless

if we must share the space
of my monastic cell
well so be it

these ladies are delightful
and innocuous

i must watch so i don't step
on them or ignore their
very tiny needs

blog report

my friend sally often gives
very personal updates
in regards to her thinking
and experiencing life
for that was her blog mission
statement

today i merely want to make
a reference to a few blogs
that i know and
check into on occasion

THE LUTHERAN SURREALIST
is awash with comments
i went over there awhile back
linked through SILLIMAN"S BLOG
which is a blog dedicated
to new inroads into poetic expression
and news of the art world
as it happens today
kirby olson
over at LUTHERAN SURREALISM
is working out a whole
contemporary political dialectic
with a number of commentors

i leave the longest comments
over on AN EARTHLING WONDERS
a theological geological venue for musings
regarding the earth faults landscapes
god and a good dose of just
plain personal experience as
immediate history
sort of the life revealed in actu

the PHILOSOPHICAL INVESTIGATOR
is a photographer
he takes pictures of life
as it happens even as it degenerates
and is famous for pioneering
the contemporary genre
of artbucket expressions
of paint of various colors
joined together in the acts
of painting and then dried
and photographed
for all the world to see
if you have a chance
you should really check out the
dried paint portraits
of
"Listening To Paint Dry"

i divide my blog time amongst
these
and i post on two seperate blogs
this one
which if you're reading you
know you are here
and that is fundamental
to the epistemological parameters
i established when doing this first
my other blog is called
DE GUSTIBUS

there i leave pieces of cognition
little quotes
and aphoristic doo dahs

my approach to the blogosphere these days
is to be thoughtful to the point
of ennui

the news from a bewildering search
doesn't get much better than this
a very quiet rodeo

thanks for stoppin in
and have a nice day

upon finishing a novel

i wish to quote the editors of
the novel BLINDNESS by
Jose' Saramago

upon coming to the end of the story
i turned the page and was informed
by what amounts to be a eulogy
and a word of appreciation
all wrapped in one


PUBLISHERS NOTE

The translator died before completing his revision
of this translation. The Publishers acknowledge the
help of Margaret Jull Costa in fulfilling this task.

the novel itself is a disturbing story
and i was left with the intense and
overwhelming sense of having to
face my own blindness
so that to be informed immediately
that the translator had died was
like being told that blindness is a way
of being dead...even though i was also informed
that Margaret stepped up to the task
and finished the deal

what this did however is direct me
immediately to the second title page
in order to learn that
Giovanni Pontiero
was the primary translator
from portuguese to english
and he has since died

so despite the horrible sense of
confronting the truth of my own blindness
i was granted knowledge about the book

i am thinking now i will have to see the movie
as i see now it is in the theatres

what a strange sensation to go about
realizing ones blindness while actually
still being able to see

Saramago is a genius of the allegory
a master of the form
i would like to emulate him
once i recover my sight

i am typing like a blind man

j

experiential cognition

this is a relatively modern concept
which goes some way to distinguish
the knowledge which takes place
by means of intellectual activity
such as reading a mathematical equation
as opposed to that which is known
in the act of something actually occuring
like sitting in a dentist chair and
having a tooth extracted

this has been my knowledge of self
since monday
i am aware that i have one less tooth
and i am aware that a prosthetic tooth
is in the place of the tooth i no longer have
all of this resulted from a longish morning
lying almost or beyond horizontal
with my whole head it seemed
numb from novacaine

now i know as looking at an event
that will go on for some months
i will have my tooth replaced with
an artificial tooth which will
if i treat it with due respect
i will have in my head for at least 50yrs

i am presently wearing a prophylactic
over my upper row of teeth
it serves to hold the one tooth in question
in place while i await the permanent fix

i also am aware of taking a drug called
vicoden
and it has made me very sleepy
but the throbbing pain
in my upper jaw
is almost none existent
when i am under the spell
of that particular drug

it is a grey day
rather cool and wet
and my head throbs a bit
from the operation
but i think i will get through this
now a walk
and them some work
and then some rest
and then tonite some twang
because
the country blues
is where it is at

o my mouth is hurtin baby
but i still got a lot of sweet lovin left for you
yes my mouth is hurtin baby
feels like a fight i just been through
oh the dentist makes me feel fine now
ain't make no difference what i do

j

ways of seeing

i think it was merlou-ponty who said
perception is the cradle of cognition

but what about the phenomenon of
the slow but persistant loss of sight

i realize i do not focus so clearly on
some types of type

just the other day
i realized that i can increase the size
of the type on this computer screen
and that has made all the difference
perhaps my eyes are only meant to
see things which are compatible with
these eyes to see

i realize i don't squint anymore
at the screen
obviously it is possible to know
without seeing
obviously it is possible to see
without knowing

so i look and see what i can
and my cognitive abilities seem
no worse the wear for simply
accepting a certain fading
of the strength of my eyesight

i know that i can see enough

joe the plumber

well he has to know a couple of things
to make his business work
he has to know that gravity
will help his business work

he has to be on call
when the systems in a stall
and the principle he lives by
and probably always will
is the insight from the plumber
shit don't flow uphill

no shit don't flow uphill
never has and never will
you can pull and you can suck
and swill a plunger through the muck
with pressure that could kill
but no matter how you try and try
shit still won't flow uphill

we hope that our taxes
help the pipes to flow out clean
we'd rather live clean lives
you know what i mean

but if something's going to happen
the plumber comes out trampin
for the principle he lives by
and probably always will
is the insight from the plumber
shit don't flow uphill

no shit don't flow uphill
never has and never will
you can pull and you can suck
swill the snake line in the muck
with pressure that could kill
but no matter how you try and try
shit still won't flow uphill


after reading the new york times
reviews of the debate last night
which i did not watch
rather i sang songs
mostly the blues in a corner
i thought to myself
this morning it will be lyrics
so here's a song
my patriotic song of today
if you want to put the lyrics to music
you must pay me directly
$100,000
after that you are even free
to change the lyrics if you so desire
maybe i should go somewhere and
study finance law

it's crap shoot

treasures of cleaning my room

i reached a point of almost complete disgust with myself
and realized i had to bring a sense of cleanliness and order
to my cell

one of the benefits of doing things like this
is you find things you didn't know you had

i found three poems
each one printed on card quality paper
with a photo print above the poem
and a tonque depressor glued to the back
which gives the thing the quality of something
you might want to use to cool yourself down
in a hot room...or something to easily pass off
to someone else

i don't recall how these three poems came into my cell
and i see now that the one i have chosen to print here
is actually signed by the poet on the tongue depressor

David Bengtson

something tells me he is a local minnesota poet
as will be inferred from the title of this poem


Japanese Garden/ Little Sauk, Minnesota

in the garden one tree is weeping
while another's bent branch waits for God to sit
and the lantern rides a frozen wave

all winter we waited for these few days
when plum and apple blossom

tomorrow we will walk this path again
and stand here with outstretched hands
as petals fall silent as snow

i realize i am being a bit contrary here
as the season most apparent is and should be autumn
but i give this little statement by mr bengtson
as a witness to some hope
that one day after the cold trial
there will be petals to catch from the apple tree

nerd dom redux

where my misunderstanding occured is not real clear
but i did look at an imaginary number at some point
and have gone through the cognitive turmoil now
of the grotesque nature of my misperceptions

as if the doubling of negatives does turn out
to be a simple pattern
for all of mathematics and all of confusion start with
1
no matter what relationship it has to 0
whether nothing can be reduced or not

but the shape of this very blog now
competely in the throes of potential devastation
the blog may cease to exist
but i am now faced with the positing of
the surreal imaginary number
the square root of -1
and while there must be a method by which
a mathematically inclined soul might
display symbolically exactly what he means
i am reduced by my ingnorance as well as the knowledge of my ignorance
in that i know in these matters i am if nothing else
ignorant

all numbers are imaginary
all numbers derive from a mental image
there is not one number that in it's appearance
it's symbolic intention as it were
actually exists..so real is something else
when compared with the green yelloworange
tree outside my very window this moment

this being said i guess it matters not in the least
in cognitive speculation as to the mathematical worthiness
of such a thing if one can call it a thing at all
as the square root of -1

i am astonished
that my mind would even consider such a proposal
but then
one is the number god states in his infinite mathematical mystery tour

nerd-dom

this could be a joke
it started in a joke
but now i think it's getting serious
and the epistemological musings
of this blog may be in for
some radical re-assessment
for
something has come to my knowing
yet i am not at all sure if the
shall i call it a concept
well yes it must be
at least for someone
a concept
came to my awareness
based on the joke

says pi to i be real
says i to pi be rational

my ignorance in arriving at
even a chuckle until now
wait a minute
there
i laughed
has to do with something which
has my mind in a muddle
for "i" represents an imaginary number
of all things

i = -1 squared

at first glance it appears that nothing will
come of any further speculation
into the existence of this number
for to do that would call into question
the existence of the imagination
and once we've detracted from zero
it seems apparent that we're now working with
negative abstractions
and when the proposal is subject
to imaginary doubling then it behooves
the epistemologist to ask
can this be said to be any sort of knowing what so ever

and it then appears nothing but appropriate
to yawn and leave the imaginary problem
to artificial intelligence which i guess
is all based on the possibility of -1 squared

the added problem then becomes whether
or not any sort of commentary lends itself to
the further efforts in comprehension all of which
point quite naturally to knowing something
however in this case it is perhaps best to merely say
the knowing is worth less than nothing
and if you so intend to square that well
you might as well invest in a whole new line
of mutual funds from AIG
based on the negative zero sum and then some dim sum
game

i may never be so moved to speak in epistemological terms
of the unreal character of an imaginary mathematical concept again
but i assure you it has been worth
more than what it appears to look like
in the grand scheme of things
god imagined all the numbers
in that he created a specific spark in the brain
to respond with a shadow entity which is we will admit
existentially challenged
registering a microelectronic
superconductor antimatter blowwhistle of a shadow
that will leave your mind quiet in
the peaceful re-absorption policy of
unreal numbers
that is
minus one squared

when you've attained to a negative pathos
it will occur to you that the most futile of thoughts
surge forth with some efficacy
in the further developments
of imaginary numbers

like sitting down and going through the process
of mime-eating your oatmeal with your eyes closed
a half hour before actually eating a bowl of oatmeal

so much to say
so little time emit

moments of convergence

oftentimes what we know becomes entwined with experience which supports our knowledge
tonight is a time when that very thing has happened

let me explain

over the past week i have been reading and re-reading an article
in HARPER'S of May 2008 entitled Faustian Economics by
Wendell Berry

it was my intent to do a complete overview of that article on this ever so popular blog i have been writing in for a year and a half now

my thoughts were interrupted tonight by a complete coincidence from my point of view

being the blind half witted erudite that i am
i had no knowledge of the person
WANGABI MAATHAI
nor did i know until yesterday that she would be speaking
here
i did not know that she had received a Nobel prize in 2004

thus i resolved to hear her words tonight and am ever so pleased

she is from Kenya
although she went a long way out of her way to recognize her
american college education at Mt Atchison KS
and she heaped praise upon her benedictine teachers of that place

Wangabi Maathai is the person who began the
GREEN BELT MOVEMENT in Africa
and it has spread to places around the globe

in her words tonight i heard the echoes of all Wendell Berry has
lived and worked for his whole writing and farming life

after college Wangabi returned to kenya
and became increasingly alarmed at the disappearance of the forests
she knew as a child
the country was turning itself over to mono-crop agriculture
and she began to see that this was ruining the soil
and as the soil was ruined so were the streams and rivers
turning to muddy undrinkable water sources

her work was to first listen to the women in the villages
and then recognize that they were the ones to experience
the first waves of devastation brought on by a ruthless practice
of deforestation and a cash crop fast economy
it became more and more difficult to preserve water for drinking and watering of gardens
and the women and children were the ones to suffer these losses most

she explained in graphic detail how the beauty of the land
she grew up in became a wasteland with productive coffee trees
and tea fields which brought in money for farmers
the depletion of the soil often meant the death of the orchards and fields
especially in drought times
and it didn't take long for them to realize that it is difficult
to make good meals from these products
and with the loss of the forests came the loss of rain
as the forests are places of moisture which evaporates and
produces more and more rain
the cycles had been interupted by man's ingenuity and desire
for money

the connection to Berry's thesis
one he has been articulating in one way or another for 50 years or so
is the ecomomic and social presupposition of limitlessness
the idea that man can alter and use and re-use the earth
and its resources ad infinitum

Berry comes at the problems of man's relationship to the earth
from a literary perspective
he is a poet who knows a bit about farming
and has reflected deeply on the matter
of man's way of living on the planet

he takes his idea to the Rennaisance playwrite
Christopher Marlowe:
A Tragical History of Doctor Faustus

Marlowe describes Faustus as a man who longs
to possess
"all Nature's treasury"
to
"ransack the ocean.../and search all corners of the newfound world."

in order to do this he must deed his soul to Lucifer
who appoints Mephistophilis the slave of Faustus
but who actually acts as the Master

Faustus asks
"How comes it then that thou art out of Hell?"
Mephistophilis replies
"Why, this is hell, nor am I out of it."

the explanation ensues

Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed
In one self place, but where we [the damned] are is hell.
And where hell is must we ever be.

as he strives for a coherent conclusion to the thesis
Berry states once and again
that man cannot be free without limits
and that this very illusion of a limitless earth
and limitless supplies of resources
is a way of imposing a sort of hell on earth

where Wangabi Maathai inspired us tonight
to be wise and well informed stewards of the earth
Berry turns to the practice of art
he seems to think we've had enough of the pretensions of
the scientists who live off the illusion
"science will find and answer"

the arts and the people who practice them
are by their very definition
engagements with limits
painters limit themselves with frames and canvas
sculptors with stone or bronze
poets with a line or a page or a book
musicians with the recognition
that an audience is a limited entity

he claims then that survival on the planet
a survival that upholds decency
and friendship and neighborliness
will have to be a kind of art
that all of us are engaged in
an art that recognizes the true limits
which will then give rise to our creativity
once we know what we truly have and do not have
then we can begin to know how best to use and share
the gifts with one another

this will take some effort at virtue
and science cannot teach us virtue
but art can at least be a medium
where the virtue of wisdom bowing humbly
to limits will bring about some amazing and creative
solutions

at another point he states that in the arts there is
the unspoken idea that you get only one shot
the Divine Comedy and Macbeth could only
have been written by the authors of those poems
or else they would never have existed

perhaps the most insightful paragraph in this article
is the one i now quote in full:

in our limitless selfishness, we have tried to define "freedom"
for example - as an escape from all restraint
but as my friend BERT HORNBACK has explained in his book
the wisdom of words
"free" is etymologically related to "friend"
these words come from the same indo-european root
which carries the sense of "dear" or "beloved"
we set our friends free by our love for them
with the implied restraints of faithfulness or loyalty
and this suggests that our "identity" is located
not in the impulse of selfhood
but in deliberately maintained connections

Wangabi Maathai ended her acceptance speech
(she was awarded the DIGNITAS HUMANA AWARD)
by insisting that we are all one family
and we share in the joy and suffering of one another
no matter where we are on the planet
and by doing this we give one another the chance
to "bloom like flowers" and recognize for ourselves and one
another that we are beautiful children of God

i have yet more to read and think about
and these are but some of my accepted limits
but i am left with the words of Christ
resonating in my mind
"I call you MY friends"

The God of christians is a god who
in order to show his love
for all of humanity condescended
to take on the form the limits of man
even to the point of accepting the limiting
(or so it would seem)
event of torture and death

where am i going with this

i am limited by fatigue tonight
i accept this as a limit and access to
a freedom
the freedom that comes from good rest

amen

one among many

i do not know who sid gershgoren is

somehow a little booklet
(if that's not too redundant)

appeared on my desk

it is 3" x 2"

a graphic figure of an elephant
marks the front cover

the publisher
is
red dragonfly press

the poem was published in 2000

i am the only person in the whole world
typing this poem out
and giving it any sort of recognition today

i should hope sid gershgoren
appreciates the effort

i am attracted to the poem for its
complete lack of capital letters
and punctuation



one among many

rocks tight fists for miles
lie at the bottom of the stream
passed over by clouds and wandering
herons
smoothed heads hermetic as monks
they lie there in the rounded voices
cold and self-contained
all surface turned completely inward
rounded
rounded forever by the endless water
empty of selfhood
all pity washed from them
they lie together in silent herds
held by the water's perfect atmosphere
who once had fallen through its slower
gravity
swift fish glide soundlessly over them
they have no thought of falling
as these have fallen

and suddenly a hand reaches down
two or three feet
to the bottom
breaking the membrane of the sky
the thinnest membrane
breaking the sky into ambiguous
divisions
sending it
on long rippling voyages
until the sky composes itself again
inside the water

this is the opened hand completely
opened
that is not itself cold
that reaches
into an unknown of its own inventing
and grasps something
cold and perfect
naked out of a place under this water
reaches
into a beyond that is not itself
complete

we the others are also uncompleted
reaching
into a world that is not complete
all reach into a beyond
that cannot be understood
inside itself
not complete not understood by itself
but only by all the others together
reaching
it draws this stone slowly upward
one among many
one among multitudes
these fists that lie there
huge and
magnified in the current
or perhaps draws it
downward


the open hand out of the sky's reflec-
tion
still inside the skin of the water's
tenuous
boundaries


and out of the water
beyond some barrier not completely
defined
and holds it dripping
with something heavy heavier than
itself
something fundamentally condensed
it is the cold and the clearness
it wanted to hold in its grasp
through the water's magnification
not only the stone but the opened
hand
which is its first and deepest integration
an essence a taste an odor
a tangible impermanence
that inhabited its merging
something
with another world inside it
or a world by its side merging
like a sudden binocular vision in dogs
single vision from a multiple source

as from this stream only this one
the single stone
is drawn out
from a distinct herd
of condensed particularity
which is the water's condensation of its
suspended thoughts
made clear and settled
yet only to return once more to water
one among many uncountable
one from history a condensation of
time
grouped like a glass of shimmering
hardened
thoughts
that particulars
darkened into an accumulated mystery
out of time that stretches its tenuous
membrane
from the mineral waters at birth
condensed
condensing toward its final
accomodation
with everything
they remain there
magnified by water
covered pieces of a continent
and only slowly worn down
by the wave's diamond
by the water's slow caress

so large and by this hand
suddenly pulled from its kind
its herd of condensation
and thus above this water
suddenly diminished

one is given in thought
to the famous philosophical phrase of heraclitus
'you cannot step into the same stream twice'
which i have heard
was amended in his later writing to
'you cannot step into the same stream once'

the gist here as i read it
is the subtle feeling of
disappointment
at removing a stone from the streambed
where it held its beauty in common
with all the other stones
but alone now in a state
of drying and dripping above the water
in the hand of the one who extracted it
the stone is somehow even less
than when it simply rested in
the midst of its brother stones
in the choirstall of the ever flowing stream (jh)

ramblin near the crossroads during a pilgrimage

we could go either way
or we could go straight
or we could turn around and go back
the way we came

these are always the choices
in the morning one commits
to play
some music another smokes
a cigarette and another kneels
in the garden to get the last peppers

nothing more happens
nothing more is right

afternoons in autumn
can last forever
if summer preparations are adequate
by all means avoid
anxiety in the autumn
it is a time to take it easy
stack some firewood
smell the air
eat soup
pick a few vines
and call it good
it's harvest time

i may have forgotten by now just how
precious the shared goods can be
when the gardens turn to brown
and the blade of the tiller
is all that can be known

aftershocks are the rumble in the belly
after the quake to match all quakes
presumes to make theyselfs
known
ride it out and laugh
the earth is coughing
belching farting grunting spewing
somewhere the earth is shrugging
and waking from sleep

some are prone to measure time thus
by the extraordinary events
by the deaths the first groinal ballet
the empty days of tending to the needs of a toddler
the days of terrible illness
the days of heightened awareness
the days of unbelievable occurrences

everything else is gliding on the surface
we share time with everyone thus
but the moment rivetted with
pain and sorrow and perhaps even eventually joy
that is the stuff of
deep time

deep time has a rhyme
keeps its feet in the thyme
juggles all the drinks
like turpentine
feeds the myna birds
feeds the swine
deep time baby
we are talkin about
deep time now

th
e poem

ends


her

e

walking knowledge

what is to be gained in knowledge
from walking long distances???

today i walked about 7 miles in
the central minnesota countryside
and as i walked i let my thoughts
wander with my eyes

as i sit here to type i doubt that
i can recall anything i may have thought
along the way

i checked out some sites
for possible wild grape harvesting
and remembered some excursions
for that very purpose with a
holy old monk in my early years
in the monstery

on the first mile i encountered some
people walking in the opposite direction
walking for exercise
which was only a minor component
of my intention to go out walking

i met a young woman whom i know
have known since i was a college student
she informed me of her new marriage
and invited me to a little
party acknowledging the fact
yet i had heard of this marriage already
however she conveyed to me the
certainty of it in no uncertain terms

to walk is a way of exercising the mind
a way of allowing the mind some freedom
i place a higher priority
on mental health than on physical exercise
the modern american preoccupation reeks
of rationalistic ideology

i am willing to suggest that to cease
from the diligent activity of knowing
is a way of knowing in itself
the mind
being granted the permission to
seek nothing save for the end of the walk
is allowed to relax and strive
for the contentment
which completion will bring about

i learned that 7 miles is not as easy
as it once was

i also have determined to repeat this walk
in the not too distant future

long relatively purposeless walks
now that's livin

prose poem

the intermediate genre
of the prose poem
while perhaps technically dating back to the beginning of
poetry
enjoyed a stylistic rebirth in the poems of rimbaud
and more recently borges

it is a way of apprehending narrative
and placing it into a contained form
by allowing only the essential things
and acts to speak for themselves
without resorting to development of anything
let alone plot

thus
in the past year
amongst a number of books
which have stacked up in
my bathroom
for purposes of momentary
distraction from immediate tasks
i have enjoyed a book of prose poems
by the australian writer
gary catalano

herewith is one
of the poems from
FRESH LINEN

TRUE RELIGION

A boy is slowly making his way into the far corner
of a shed. Engulfed by the warm and chaff-smelling dark,
he reaches for the heavy flap of the big hessian bag
which stands in the corner, then bends down
and sinks the tin he is clutching in the bag's unseen belly.
As the grain rushes into the tin and fills it nearly
to the brim, he hears a sound like that made
by an army of roller-skaters. Yes, the roller-skaters
are passing him by at a distance of fifty or so yards.

When he reappears in the open door of the shed and
once more stands in the sunlit world,
he is surprised to discover that the only things
to be seen are the chickens in the nearby run.
The road along which those skaters should be moving
is empty of people or traffic. He weighs the tin
in his hand, then steps over the run.
An ambassador of darkness who dreams constantly
of roller-skates, he has come to these
heathen creatures charged with a single
commission - and that is to spread the true religion
of the big hessian bag.

from an epistemological point of view this is interesting
for the basic question of epistemology is
'how does the mind know?"

catalano is using the simple devise that
strikes us in the way that a short film might strike us

his description is one with the boy
acting and the boy thinking and imagining

perhaps a blind person is able to depend
more realistically on the sense of hearing

and here we are treated to a young mind
engaged in a chore but lost in his own thoughts
to the extent that he mistakes in judgement
the sound which is most logical and immediate
to his task

the sunlight serves as the light of reason
ultimately reality will assert itself
and the imagination
is just that

reality tempers hopes and dreams
yet it is the best teacher
and we do well to heed it
in all its severity

in this innocent portrait
religious imagination is called into question
not judged so much
but the notion of TRUE RELIGION
is given a connection to
the demands of reality on life

the law of simple and humble servitude
cannot be avoided
and is the practical law
by which all great religion must be tested

MARY MAGDALENE: APOSTLE

I'm no prostitute, nor ever was.
No come-on loitering in dark
door ways, hand on hip,
skirt slightly hoisted,

inviting Jacobs into bed:
four drachmas up-front
for spasms they'll not forget.
Whatever the testosterone scribblers

write, I'm not a sack of wild
seeds for the sowing; rather, with Joanna,
Susanna, and other women,
a disciple walking at his side

over lush grassy Galilean hills,
speaking kingdom to the people.
My devils, seven Beelzebuls
to be exact, rummaging among

my modest ruins in the noonday sun,
until he cast them out with, "Go"-
leaving me with an everlasting
hunger in my everlasting need.

- Fr. Kilian McDonnell osb (2008)

rejoice in the beheading!!

there comes a moment when the fate of the prophet john is sealed
sealed in the knowledge of blood soon to be spilling from his neck

to be a prophet means to speak the word of god
whether timely or untimely
and there is no right time to die
or
in the new kingdom
any day may be the right time

it was john's mission and his greatness
to proclaim the advent of the kingdom
the kingdom has come near to us
our challenge is to enter
at the price of our own earthly happiness
at the price of our practiced contentment

to stand against violence may be the violence we get
to be a voice for peace may bring anything but peace

let us concentrate for a moment on john's fate
he lies in prison
a powerless victim of wretched paltriness
and fully aware of the death threatening him
from herodias' hatred
must not the knowledge of his own greatness
have revolted against the apparent senselessness
of it all
surely his darkest hours came then
and with them danger of rebellion and doubt

can he who allows such things to happen to his servants
really be the messiah

perhaps all the complexities of human love are contained in this story
love that seeks to be certain in marriage
love that binds friends
love that is dedicated to the well-being of others
even the basic love as affection is on trial
surely the concept of love of god is called into question

"blessed is he who is not scandalized in me"
these words sent to john from jesus
as john paces his cell

the lord knows his herald
knows his need
the message sent by the mouth

of his uncomprehending disciples
into the darkness of the dungeon
is a divine message

john understood

ours is bloody faith
and in that blood spilled from johns death wounds
co-mingled in the blood that spilled
from jesus' side and down his face
we have a mandate for the kingdom
here on earth
our very lives are asked of us

this reflection was inspired by the reading from
morning office which comes to us from
THE LORD by romano guardini
the words in bold type
are the words of romano guardini
the original text is in italian

altering a poem by denise levertov

she would be the same age as my father
had she not died in 1997

she was perhaps the greatest woman poet
of her age

for purposes of my own deciding
i will take this poem
out of the 6 questions
6 answers format
and
answer each question
with the answer
poetically given

thus there will be an
immediate cohesiveness
which obviously existed
in the mind of the poet
but i will establish here
as is my wont

WHAT WERE THEY LIKE?

1) Did the people of Viet Nam
use lanterns of stone?

....Sir, their light hearts turned to stone.
It is not remembered whether in gardens
stone lanterns illumined pleasant ways.

2) Did they hold ceremonies
to reverence the opening of buds?

....Perhaps they gathered once to delight in blossom,
but after the children were killed
there were no more buds.

3) Were they inclined to quiet laughter?

....Sir, laughter is bitter to the burned mouth.

4) Did they use bone and ivory,
jade and silver, for ornament?

....A dream ago perhaps. Ornament is for joy.
All the bones were charred.

5) Had they an epic poem?

....It is not remembered. Remember,
most were peasants; their life
was in rice and bamboo.
When peaceful clouds were reflected in the paddies,
and the water buffalo stepped surely along the terraces,
maybe fathers told their sons old tales.
When bombs smashed those mirrors
there was time only to scream.

6) Did they distinguish between speech and singing?

...There is an echo yet
of their speech which was like a song.
It was reported their singing resembled
the flight of moths in moonlight.
Who can say? It is silent now.

Ms Levertov used the form
of a court briefing
or a military manual of some sort
which suggests a straightforward
businesslike approach to all matters
6 questions asked
6 questions answered

i on the other hand wish to use the call and response
approach here because i hear a conversation of some sort

so while acknowledging ms levertovs' published intent
i have merged the two parts of the poem
in order to lend the responses some immediacy
to the questions

that is all

knowing and politics

as we grow to adulthood it seems
we get interested in how the world
around is working

what are the trends
who has the power
who decides the laws
who gets the breaks
who gets broken
what can i get away with
who takes care of the streets
whom do i serve
whether consciously or un-

some folks become die-hard apatheticos
not wanting anything to do with
the social structures of governance

most thinking and reading people however
engage in some form of discernment
and discussion as to the qualities
and merits of the people who set out
to work in the arena of civil service
and wish to partake in the procedures
which serve to create laws

the notion of politics as a means of discourse
requires that a person first of all
believe that some form of change through
the action of participation in legal deliberation
is possible
the person must also have considerable
self-confidence that he or she can work
to bring about some form of change for the
benefit of others

the american system has been worked out
in a slow continuum of history
dating as far back as the greek polis
and the philsophical contributions
of plato and aristotle the stoics and the
epicureans and later the romans

the notion of individual liberty
as a right accorded by government
is really quite recent

up until the 18th century
it was held that individual liberty
was either something one was born into
or was accorded a person based on their
level of education

while it would be difficult to prove that
before the system of voting we know of today
was in place that people did not have any effect on
the processes of their immediate social settings
it is safe to say that the institution of
voting as a means of establishing laws
and choosing leaders was pioneered
in the New World
(the Magna Carta aside)

so what do i proclaim when i assert
that i am for a particular person
and would vote for that person
to be president or governor or
city alderman or mayor or
school board director

is it ever a case that people discern
that the public good might have to
take precedence over more selfish values

for instance
i have made it clear that i vote the democratic ticket
in my mind however i know that i am an independent
and i see no contradiction here
FDR once stated that he was a member of no
political party
he said: i am a democrat

when i say
i will vote for barack obama
what am i saying as far as
what i know

i do not know the man personally
i know something of his biography
primarily through the reading of
articles and essays of political writers
and watching and reading the news
i know his political views
from watching and listening to him
speak along the campaign trail

in some regards i must admit that
my favoring this canditate (presumptive at this point
...it could change at the convention next week...
highly doubtful however)
is a position of reaction
i know only disappointment as i look
over the past 8 yrs of domestic
and foreign policy
the primary motivation for governing
at the federal level centers around a war
a world wide effort to curtail terrorism

there is nothing to indicate that the
effort in iraq has resulted in a safer world
and if anything given the inclination
to blood vengeance mixed with
religious zeal
the stakes might be quite a bit higher
than they were before 9/11
american pragmatism is no match for
the earth bound sense of destiny
articulated in islamic fundamentalist rhetoric

i do know that the experience of 9/11
is to be understood in terms of religion more
than in politics
however it seems we have assumed
the political option for resolution
which includes conducting a war
a war that will not simply end

thus i make up my mind based on what
i know and judge to be important

i know war is a bad idea
and it rarely solves anything
there may be resolution when
the fighting stops but the scars are
forever re-opening

i know that i do not approve of
the two party system of american voting
it seems on the one hand rather
efficient to divide the contest
into two sides of looking at important
social issues and problems
and it plays itself down to a sort of
highschool debate that doesn't cease

i know also that the fate of a country
is not in the hands of a leader
the most a leader can do is influence
the direction of decision making
(although at certain moments...for instance
the position taken by Lincoln concerning
the civil rights of africans in america
did in fact lend itself to the fate
which layed itself out in the 1960's...and the decision of
harry truman to drop the atomic bomb on japan
forever changed the way we look at war)

i believe that the measure of good government
is discerned in the way that the least advantaged
are treated in a society

by this standard the american form of government
is historically rather deficient

i have made a personal decision in my life
to place money way down on the list
of priorities or values by which i will
engage with the world

this sets me aside from most principles
that are considered REPUBLICAN

i do not doubt that republican policy has
benefitted the social network of complexities
by allowing for a more free wheeling approach
to the acquisition of money and the
sustaining of a viable business climate

yet i reel in disgust when i see that
the determinants for making good
decision regarding the common good are
inevitably determined by business considerations

so i trust that the human side of things
will win out

this being said i must also state
the points where i detract from
some of the recent interpretations

i do not support the right to abortion
i do not support the right for human beings
displaying behaviours of homosexual orientation
to have the right to join in marriage

i do support the political efforts of ecology
i do support the principles of human rights
i do support the efforts leading to a world
where war is no longer the option
i do support the notion of local government
and suggest often that the most
important dimension of a free society
is local government
democracy played out at the federal level
is essentially a weakened and abstract
application of the idea of democracy

i have said time and again that i am a wendell berry democrat
and i hold to that still

for anyone curious to know just what that means
i would suggest a serious reading of the
works of wendell berry

his book
"what are people for" sums up for me
where politics and social action
and the lived reality of people
merge to create a context for change

i know that milton friedman sought to
dissociate his methods for free market
involvment in the world from humanitarian
concerns
and this is its flaw

he detracted from what he considered to be
the much more laborious and "soft"
approach to the market and society
as stated by john meynard keynes

so i am against the economics and politics
deriving from that school of thought
the friedman world horrifies me

ultimately i know that my mind was
made up about voting this year
as i read through naomi klein's book
"the shock doctrine"

i know more
and would be willing to state more
but i will end here

vote obama
he'll eat couscous and tabouli with the arabs
and then life will be better for everyone

what is known of evil

in a recent conversation which had its origin
in a couple of coincidental meetings with a
jewish architect
the question of evil arose

a week ago i was surprised to meet
a man i had met earlier this summer
and after the obligatory handshake
he immediately pressed me on the issue
of the notion of evil in christianity
wondering if i might guide him to
a writer or a book which would elucidate for him
the christian understanding of evil

perhaps 3 or 4 days later my friends
ran into this same person in a completely different place
and engaged in a conversation which was very much
like the one he (the architect) and i had had earlier

and as things would go
my friends and i have met in another place
some 1200 miles from the original conversation
and yesterday we conversed between the three of us
what in fact was at stake in this original conversation
"why does this person have such an intense interest in the topic
of evil?"
"how do we (I) understand evil??"
"what might be a way of enlightening this man
to what christians believe about the phenomenon of evil?"

the name RENE GIRARD recently emerged on the blog
LUTHERAN SURREALISM and the mere suggestion of the name
strikes me as almost too coincidental to be coincidental
at any rate
it occurred to me within the context of the most recent conversation
here in california
as opposed to the two that occurred in minnesota
that Girard's sociological insight into the largely
unconscious communal dynamic of scapegoating
might be the place to start
thus i will make the effort to contact the person
who made the original inquiry and suggest that he
read RENE GIRARD

but what do we know of evil??
the knowledge that events and relationships
can go terribly awry in life is something
that even children can experience

people hurt other people

within the context of narratives which inform us
as to the why's and wherefore's of evil
the genesis story of adam and eve in the garden
of paradise stands as the ur-story

i think it is safe to say that story exists
due to the insight on the part of someone
that human action and human will are just as
inclined to fail as to succeed
there is a likelihood of human affairs going
horribly amiss
and that there is a right way to think and to act

in that the symbolic tree from which adam and eve
were commanded not to eat is the tree of knowledge
it becomes an immediate concern for epistemological inquiry

how do i know that a person or an action is evil or the result of evil??

my good friend J stated that it is important to consider that there
is an intelligent deliberate and willful spiritual power in the world
as we know it which "inspires" and directs the force of evil

he was not saying that he knows that this intelligent entity exists
but that we cannot rule out such an entity

this entity is given the name Lucifer or Satan or the Devil
and as most people know in the christian world (and jewish)
there is a constant battle afoot between God and the Devil
the resolution of which will be the end of the known world
and the (hopeful) establishment of the one true kingdom of God

it was my contention that it is impossible to posit
the existence of an EVIL BEING in any sense other than
metaphorical
SATAN is and anthropomorphic concept deriving from the
religious imagination

this being said
i do not dispute the power of evil
any more than i dispute the power of ignorance
in fact my judgement is that
evil as it is worked out in human affairs
is the result of human ignorance more than anything else

thomas aquinas explains the phenomenon of sin
in terms of a lack of the fullness of love
sin is the result of the incapacity to love
or the human tendency to love in a purely selfish manner

now suffering it is true
often seems to occur when there
is no obvious lack of love

a car accident in most cases is just that
an accident
however this being said
if a factor such as human ignorance
such as "one driver was drunk" is part
of the reality of the accident
then it is possible to say
that a form of love was mitigated by
what amounts to a lapse in self love
putting oneself and others at danger
without recourse to reasonable prudence

what we know of evil then is
largely determined by experience

when we attach the quality of evil to
another human being we are making a judgment
which serves to separate us from the person
and there is then an unconscious attitude of
superiority
he is evil
but i am not evil

we may even say
he is possessed
(and i am not possessed..at least not by SATAN)

we know about murder
we know about despair
we know about people destroying
the good names of other people
we know about war
we know about irrational violence
we know about deception
we know about the scourge of wanton selfishness
we know about political oppression
we know about human recklessness

what we seem not to know
is how to love

the monks of early christianity
went to the desert to do battle
with the demons
and the literature of the desert fathers
and mothers is a witness to spiritual warfare
yet it must be understood that these battles
were waged within the constrained environs
of the cave or the simple desert cell
they were largely personal efforts
of clinging at all costs to the belief
in god's love for humanity
and a personal effort to "cleanse" the soul
with the necessary help of prayer
an active faith in the love brought into
the world through the person of JESUS CHRIST

the buddhist "gospel" simply determines that
DESIRE is the cause of all suffering
and they too have their personifications
of evil spirits

the beauty inherent in the creation story(s) is
stated in terms of "goodness"
all that god created
was perceived as good
as very good

what we know and understand as evil
stands in either deliberate or unconscious contrast
to that original perception of the goodness of all things

it is perhaps an equation that is too simple:
evil = ignorance

good = knowledge

perfect good = perfect knowledge

it is for us to consider whether perfect knowledge is something
to which the soul actually aspires

harmonic convergence and the knowledge of dissonance

in a backyard bedrock performance of folk music
with the grudging expectation that there might be participation "i"
attempted to sing and coax the audience to sing along
(people come together let us sing)
it was well nigh futile
but i twanged and played anyway
a photo appears on http://billborneman.blogspot.com

at one point there was an attempt
at "playing together" with a person named
karl
it resulted in an expression of dissonance
which remained on the civil side
for while i was aware of another guitar
which happened to be a lo prinzi guitar
made perhaps in the same month as mine
(both of us acquired our instruments via bill borneman who
gracefully hosted the informal event)
and i was aware that things like tempo and
even relative key were subject to question
the sound of the other guitar did not impede
the completion of the blues i was singing
in fact
the dissonant quality has moved my habitual
performance of at least one song
to a new interpretation

i did not have the opportunity
to rehearse with or even get a sense of the mind of karl dede
however i learned that he graduated from the
same high school as my mother in milwaukee

music is ethereal
and it speaks to the ears
and the ears are the avenue to the heart

love is always a little dissonant

may i live to know what to make
of a moment of combined musical effort
when song and sound and minds and styles
and guitars and memories and voices
converge
not to mention the full moon

in annals of musicology
the performace will be remembered as
LIVE!! OFF RODNEY

russell edson poem

elephant dormitory

an elephant went to bed and pulled a crazy quilt
up under its tusks

but just as the great gray head began filling with
the gray wrinkles of sleep
it was awakened by the thud of its tail
falling out of bed

would you get my tail? said the elephant to another elephant
also tucked up under a crazy quilt

i was just in the gray wrinkles of sleep
sighed the other elephant

but i can't sleep without my tail
said the first elephant
i like it stuck just above my anus
i feel more secure that way
that it holds my anus
from drifting out to heaven

---russell edson


....i should hope russell edson will not mind
my posting this brilliant poem
on my blog for all to read
if i should gain any money
from this strange private
but public means of
publication
i will go to great pains to send him
the proceeds
in the mean time
i think he is a poet who
should have more exposure to general readership
and i grant that this blog is perhaps an impediment
to that end
but what the hell

sonic evidence

on the blog post of june 4
i commented on the experience
of recording
without in fact having in hand
the CD
the little silver disc
that might be indubitable evidence
that in fact a recording did occur

now i have in my possession
the result of the collaboration between
3 somewhat likeminded souls
a very generous and capable production
manager and his wife who
on more than one occasion
saw to the nutritional needs
of us all

thus it occurs to me that
the project stands as a testimony
to an idea and the willingness
of the whole group to go with the idea
and dispense with the pretense
of aesthetic appeal

it was far more important to me to see
if in fact we could get the idea onto
some sort of recorded material
than to think about how it might be heard
by others

the result is for me one of delight
and music is for delight

i could not help but perceive the "roughness"
a sort of self-critical reaction ensues
for any artistic endeavor
"is this what i want?"

finally i have to admit that not only the idea
but the process and the belief that
no matter what the overall sound
the concept will work...
this held forth

i suppose it is rare that one begins
a recording project with the sense
that "this is a work in progress"
typically a recording is about
putting out music that is well-rehearsed
and will somehow supplement
the musical efforts of the ongoing
professional/musical life of the musician

so i find the approach we took
to be more authentic in regards to purpose
and in regards to what music is

the recording stands
as an "art piece"
both attesting to
a level of completion
and an "open-endedness"

music is an exploration
into the organization of sounds
one is always in conflict
between the clear idea
and the possibility of something new
and unimagined occuring

all music should in fact have something
of the spontaneous in it

my goal then is not the CD
the goal is performance
the goal is to be present
to others with the collection of songs
fit into the structure of the roman catholic mass

and within that given structure
there is the acknowledgement of
ongoing change
there can be considerable creativity
within the "form"
for the form
in a sense
"lives"

the other aspect that occurs to me
is that this sort of project
fits into a description of activity
we might term
"serious play"

gods' children
making noise
twanging strings
raising voices
giving expression

within the given structure
various musical expressions are audible
appalachian (shaker) hymns
blues
bluegrass
gospel
funk/rap
rock anthem
spoken word
freeform guitar improvisation
organum (parallel 5th harmonies)
country
reggae
bossa nova
celtic

variety holds within the form
and the form is open
to even more variety