Classive Storytelling Perhaps you notice that we live in a story of our creation. That all we see is borne of human imagination. Cities are our stage sets. Nations our cast. And each we all is the star, a villain, a hero, a fool. Well, not so much our own story, Homer’s story, Luke’s…
Paideia, Book I of Colloquies, A Review of Civilization in Little Songs Wonder what Isocrates might have made of me. A Greek, I suppose. As ipso facto he did, just as he made you, Greek. We are who we are by how we know of what we are, universally, biologically, creatures who can know…
Do you recognize your neighbors, I wonder. Neighbors who I have known for months, years, decades are changing into a people I do not recognize. No, not merely the bandit masks that disguise faces, nor the isolated eye that shows fear or anger, even unto the strange attitude of the knotted brow, but that deeper…
Perhaps your school-desk was alike my school-desk covered edge-to-edge in sketches. The desk surface, as you know, is an almost perfect blank canvas, a clean slate, a tabula rasa*, of sorts, where knowledge acquired might be reflected eye to mind to hand, to nun who might correct wayward drawing knuckles with a smart, wood-ruler, snap,…
Self-Singing Rainbow People Recently, following nearly a year’s absence from television, I had the opportunity to witness one of those common flatteries, television commercials, vehicles to sell some frivolity by appealing to typical vanities, pride, lust, sloth, et cetera. You have seen them, I am sure, rainbow people, proud, self-selfing, posing by not posing, assuming…
This, below, the preamble to an old book of notes, chapters, really, 40 chapters that considered American history in entire, every art, every craft, every variation. The thing is cumbersome, not likely to be published in its present form, if at all. Yet, opening statements, because brief, would like sharing for the introduction of a…
I do, and I can’t stand it. So, friends,I have composed a book for your amusement, for your understanding, a book to tell the truth on those who lied to you, MODERN ART: A Critique in Rhyme Here, examined: the lives of the knuckle-headed artists, their splattered pictures, crooked statues, bumbled books, collapsing buildings, and…
Here we are at circus, you and me and all the others, facing each and every way in The Age of Absurdity. Rather alike some Swiftian satire, some Aesopian consequence, some Seussian phantasmagoria where all the world is upside down, facing sideways in slow-motion walking backwards into a psychedelic truth. Yet, who can say: This…
