I like my coffee like my heart—black and unsweetened.
Monday, 9 August 2010
It is very curious how in a culture on far too easy terms with self-aggrandizement, the ego and narcissism slurs are almost never trotted out except to explain generally selfless, principled acts. There is really nothing mainstream media and political types find more objectionable than passionate adherence to a coherent set of convictions.
Comment from girard on Gomer Warhol
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Sed,
I sincerely want to thank you for taking the time to write that thoughtful answer to my question.
Thank you for helping me see these things a bit better.
My birthday was last week and I think that was the gift I didn't know I needed. Anyway, hope all's good in your corner of FL, ya beautiful basterd. I'm in CA, as you might recall. We just had two big quakes (one of them was the strongest in 20 years). If the Big One hits and I survive I'll be sure to let you know by way of The Chalkboard! :D
I like your take re: Art; being closer to naked than honest.
I think, to add to this, that truly great art doesn't aim at "being (great) art", but rather at discovering, mapping, dancing and foraging into darkness or chaos in some kind of innocent manner (notwithstanding nakedness, the potential vulnerability, the apparent danger). The routine you speak of here resonates especially. No worthwhile art or achievement seems to be accidental or random. Lately I've become acutely aware of the fact that Time feels way more finite and important than 10 years ago when I was dicking around to a greater degree.
I always heard from older folks some version of the same thing you've been saying but lately it resonates in more places.
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An Eagle, swooping down on powerful wings, seized a lamb in her talons and made off with it to her nest. A Jackdaw saw the deed, and his silly head was filled with the idea that he was big and strong enough to do as the Eagle had done. So with much rustling of feathers and a fierce air, he came down swiftly on the back of a large Ram. But when he tried to rise again he found that he could not get away, for his claws were tangled in the wool. And so far was he from carrying away the Ram, that the Ram hardly noticed he was there.
The Shepherd saw the fluttering Jackdaw and at once guessed what had happened. Running up, he caught the bird and clipped its wings. That evening he gave the Jackdaw to his children.
“What a funny bird this is!” they said laughing, “what do you call it, father?”
“That is a Jackdaw, my children. But if you should ask him, he would say he is an Eagle.”
Take that, subspace.
