This is a work in Philosopical progress
       and these are the '
interesting times' RFK referred to in 1966. . .


          Always.  Constantly.  Your entire life.  Yesterday, today and especially tomorrow; you were, are, and will be talked about . . . after you walk out the door.  Also, before you arrive.  And, when you are not present.  Does this come as a surprise?  Maybe this is something you prefer not to think about?  If so, you might be someone who chooses to think that only you talk about other people candidly, without fetter, when they're out of earshot.

           You were raised by hypocrites, who were themselves reared by hypocrites.  Generations of people who thrived on gossip but shamed those who talked about them "behind their backs."  They, who filled long hours talking about those around them—but, invariably, denied (and will deny tomorrow) talking about you.  The result is a classic dichotomy:  you and your family hold two conflicting ideas in your head at the same time; you talk about everyone you know, but you don't think they talk about you the same way.  They do.  Especially if you attempt to manipulate how they should think about you when you talk to them.  To them.  Not with them.  That shit gets you judged faster than any other behavior.  Fake.  Insincere.  Shallow.  Vapid.  (Are never said to your face.)

          Decades ago, social researchers posited that the majority of adults had between five and twenty-five other adults who were members of their circle of trust.  That was before the internet; when people paid large amounts of money (relative to their income) for "long distance phone calls," and—almost exclusively—communicated by talking face-to-face and writing letters delivered by affixing inexpensive postage stamps to envelopes.  Those hippy researchers labeled our 'inner circles' as circles of intimacy (containing between zero and five people) and the third ring as our circles of associates with a maximum of 150 acquaintances and friends-of-friends.

          During these Trying Times of The Twenties (TToTT®) although technology makes instant communication simple, our circles of trust have shrunk.  [I wanted to edit out these cute correlation-causations, but I like them too much:  the number of characters in your average text; the number of colors and filters in your latest insta; the number of likes; number of favs; of πŸ–’; of conversations (pay-to-talk helps, but doesn't count); of pills you take; of videos you watch; of ... ?] ... Do you even know how to have a conversation?  A real one?

          Today's hipster researchers have re-researched and, now, our circles of trust contain between zero and five people and our circle of intimacy now contains—on average—between zero and two people.  This deserves repeating:  your circles of intimacy and trust may be nonexistent.  Are there any people with whom you can relax and tell anything to ... ... who feel likewise about you?  Are you certain of that?

          Now, of course, you have viewers, followers, and 'facebook friends'.  Those screen-names might fit into our circles of associates, but more-than-likely they are a fourth circle:  strangers hoping you Egostroke, Entertain, or Educate for Free (EEE 4 Free®).

fuck you and the horse you rode in on IRONY HURTS

          O. K.  (you say)  So . . . this is a blog post about Philosophy.  Capital P.  This is the point where you philosophize, bitch.  Impart your art!  Tell me (you demand) about some long-dead, heavily-read, thinker.  Someone who lived during the time of leeches; thrived under the threat of being spiked to a crossbeam until they asphyxiated; for whom pedophilia was routine and customary (their entire lives: catcher-to-pitcher); who practiced a rape-is-legal level of misogyny; who proudly owned slaves (but wrote thoughtfully on how to get the most out of one's chattel-born); and who only thought murder was immoral when it was done to men of his wealth, class, race, and education . . . what knowledge did he have to impart regarding how to cope with my life's difficulties (you ask).  Share the wisdom (you cajole) which might help me assuage these new hardships as I have difficulty coping with uncomfortable and unfamiliar mask-breathing and social-distancing as a modern socially distant person living without access to all the comforts and privileges I was accustomed to a couple of months ago (you say without awareness of the irony, except that I've rubbed your nose in it for a paragraph).

          Stay alert for opportunities to be able to say the sentences: "I was wrong"; "I don't know"; or "That is a new (word, idea, concept, etc) for me".   

          And, when the opportunity occurs, say those words to your viewers, screen-names, followers, and 'friends'.  Then, keep talking to them.  Ask them to explain their point of view, request they share their opinion, and maybe you could even apologize for being wrong. *shudder*  Honest.  Sincere.  Thoughtful.  Challenging.  (Said in your presence ellipsis question-mark.)  

          This mind-set is transformative.  If you are someone who never says these sentences, who never admits to any of these attributes of normal human behavior (or incessantly qualifies the rare admissions you're capable or willing to make) don't give up, you're more than half way there!  It takes more effort to frown than to smile . . . which is just a metaphor I borrowed to point out the huge wall your ego must be constantly building around you.  Justifying the biases which we all have (but which you are seemingly unaware)🞹🞹.

          It is only an inordinate strength of intellect which recognizes it is never the strongest nor the most intelligent, can easily admit if-and-when it has misspoken, and eagerly listens with the intent to learn; which always possesses a child's openness to absorb new information (with the seasoned reasoning of a philosopher only acting as custodial-staff: stepping-in to clean up afterwards); and actively hopes-for and wants—when listening/reading—to hear anything which might improve its out-of-date, biased, confused brain with new-to-you knowledge.  Something, which another might have been carrying around in their head (and been willing to impart) for as long as you've known them.  For free.  All you had to do was ask. *gasp* 

          Normally, I'd attribute, here, which terrible human being(s) I gleaned the above advice from.  The thing is, it came from all of them and none of them.  It's not even possible to source to a single style, type, or area of philo-theosophical writing.

          A bunch of eastern and western dudes (who probably supported the burning of witches for speaking heresy—if, in no other way, than by keeping silent when their next-door neighbors did it) wrote a bunch of random ideas in letters, books, diaries, and formal speeches.  Probably a large amount of which they'd heard or read in books or libraries which were later sacked and burned, so—today—they appear to be the first to think these thoughts.  Which, let me assure you, they were not; almost everything is paraphrased.

          For years, I've put some of that shite which has been attributed to them in my head.  Then, I typed this distillation.  If this makes me a philosopher, please, know this:  I reject almost everything ever written or said, by almost anyone I've ever listened to, or read.  If pressed, I'll probably disagree with the majority of what I just wrote.  *sigh*

🞹🞹  as to what is meant by half-way there and seemingly:  Those who are already vigilantly hyper-attentive, in order to never admit their fallibility, are unaware this always makes them appear to be trying to be someone they're not, which is all it takes to be considered untrustworthy.  Which is why their circles of intimacy and trust are small (or gone) and why they are spoken about, negatively, behind their back.  The fix sounds simple:  admit misspeaking, admit not knowing, admit learning something new.  



more on 'how to relate' (to your-2020-self and others):


          Senator Robert F. "Bobby" Kennedy's full Day of Affirmation speech is linked here; I especially enjoy the following excerpts: ...The cruelties and the obstacles of this swiftly changing planet will not yield to obsolete dogmas and outworn slogans.  ...  "There is," said an Italian philosopher, "nothing more difficult to take in hand, more perilous to conduct, or more uncertain in its success, than to take the lead in the introduction of a new order of things."  ...  Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring: those ripples build a current which can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance. ...  There is a Chinese curse which says "May he live in interesting times." Like it or not, we live in interesting times. They are times of danger and uncertainty; but they are also the most creative of any time in the history of mankind. And everyone here will ultimately be judged - will ultimately judge himself – on the effort he has contributed to building a new world society and the extent to which his ideals and goals have shaped that effort. ...
          That RFK was unwilling to attribute the new-order-of-things quote to Machiavelli, by name, gives me a tickle.  It was ballsy enough to give this speech in mid-apartheid South Africa, but to reference the guy who wrote the book on how to unseat a government by any and all means?  Priceless.        

image portions for fuck you and the horse you rode in on IRONY HURTS by:

KISSES


(click for πŸ”Ž)

           This conglomeration of nine real image portions (one which was quasi-distorted) is intended to instigate a type of ambedo.  One's eye is drawn to the center, into a storefront, to a poster on the wall above teller windows—what kind of business would KISSES be and who would be so comfortable, in today's society, to challenge their customers with such a necessary (albeit polarizing) question?  The pleasantly warm bustle of a city and the genuine happiness of a mother—yet what city has simple-to-climb rungs on sidewalk electric poles?  Multiple mirrors provide you, the driver, with ample all-around views—but what is happening around your bus?  And, what thought(s) or emotion(s) was the artist trying to instigate in viewers . . . of the sticker they adhered to the electric pole?   

Composite collage art comprised of photos by:

Saint Labrador the Retriever (et al)




          In Waterbury, Vermont, you can:  touristy-tour the Ben and Jerry's ice cream factory and the Cold Hollow Cider Mill; view sculpture-art on the train-trestle and Saint Labrador the Retriever; hike, bike, or cross-country ski the portion of the Cross-Vermont Trail which loops around the old state hospital and asylum grounds and parallels the Winooski River; or you can meander the obstacle course of the three-year (2019-2021) construction project to explore the tiny downtown area where there is one art gallery, a thrift shop, a bookstore, two bric-a-brac stores, a nice toy store, and a hand-full of bars with a double hand-full of restaurants/diners.




other Vermont to-see's:


Essential Apostrophe


          Whacha been doing since we last talked?

          A decision tree bloomed in my head.

          I considered, for approximately .07 of a second, replying with a brief explanation of the various philosophy books, video-synopses, websites, and—subsequently formed—logical insights I'd come up with on aesthetics, fallacies and personal politics... and how all that related to the ongoing pandemic from my point-of-cloister; which caused me to focus/trip over how pretentious that-all might sound if it were dumped into my unprepared ear-brain.

          So I shifted to considering (for an additional .14  of a second) a nutshell-sketch of my recent art collages:  how I'd created them after perusing thousands of images—over scores of hours—for just the right fit to tell just the right story, to engage my viewers for an extended moment of their lives and (hopefully) cause them to think about what that specific image is asking them to feel, which is the same as what I, the composer, am hoping to communicate.  Which, unfortunately, caused me to realize;  a conversation of this magnitude would require visuals, and a friendly talk was not the place for a PowerPoint presentation.

          For the next full second I thought about the things I'd done since we'd last talked:  I'd gone to a drive-in theater with four screens to choose from (two films at each) and each screen had it's own audio over a different FM radio station.  But.  It was just a drive-in.  It was just Empire Strikes Back...  Also, I'd:  hiked with my cats a few times, gone picnicking, had a campfire, gone to a museum filled with hundreds of hand carved birds, and explored parts of the Green Mountains as well as the islands in Lake Champlain with my wife.  But those were just special things to us.  It was just sightseeing.

          Same-old same-old.  Tryin' not to catch it again.  Or spread it if I'm still contagious.  Keepin' busy.  You?

          Not much different.  Can't wait for this to be over so I can go back to work.  Back to normal.

          I wondered about asking: what if that's never possible - if wearing masks and staying separate was forever - if the education paradigm was going to become 90% online/virtual and the 10% hands-on requirements were going to be held in sterile environments with 14-day quarantines whenever someone entered - if full-body spacesuits were going to be a thing - if . . . nah . . . too pessimistic. 

          I thought you were an essential worker.

          Who're es..essential workers.

          The preferred term's sex worker; I'm pretty sure they aren't.

          Hunh?  Now I'm confused.

          Asked if you were essential and it sounded like you said whores are essential.

          Oh.  The apostrophe in who-are is essential.  I'm not.


comprised of photos titled apostrophe by:

use yer werds ews-yur-wurdz
     aka: floating heads and already deads




          US Federal personnel wearing military uniforms without insignia (except a POLICE patch), driving unmarked rental vans, have begun arresting/detaining people in Portland, Oregon.  In one video, the protester-camerawoman repeats the phrase: use your words towards the mute authoritarian federal law enforcement officers who are in the act of snatching-and-disappearing an alleged protester.  


 collage-art in the same vein:

The Luck Dragon





Swansong cloudy ride - must you always land?
prolong! vow thee bide, thrust to take a stand.
right/wrong soundly snide trussed beforehand.
ding-dong ciao deride; just th' rue as planned.

Falkor might come back.  He's not forever lost.
give yer kite sum slack, 'tis but weather tossd.
lots more shite-n-frack, xpect untethered cost.
old lore, setback - read mending wall by Frost.




obviously animals got harmed (during the creative process)




This composition was created by searching down the
flikr favorite rabbit-hole:
my discovery of a subjectively relevant image in
a photographer's 'faves' leads to searching that
photographer's faves for another image,
which resulted in - all of the above.




image excerpts by:  Reinhold S, Pavel P, Don Springer, Austin Granger,

eye am knot





you give Me A wood
ICH BiN NiCHT (I'm Not)
This is not a good place.
Cops Set the fire



more pareidolia related art:


image excerpts by Austin Granger and Paul McFarland

Covid Diary - Chapter 2


          About ten weeks ago, I wrote about my wife and I catching what we could only assume was Covid19.  I updated that article for a month, until our symptoms disappeared.

          In the two month interim, I have experienced three slight recurrences of the symptoms and she has experienced one.  Each were/are identical to our first symptoms only milder in both intensity and duration.

          I added 'are' to the last sentence because I—as I type (7 July 2020)—am, again, symptomatic.

          It began yesterday with sore long muscles in my arms; as if I had done too many push-ups the day before.  As the day progressed, I tested my muscles.  Other muscles began to feel unaccountably fatigued after very little activity.  Newly notable, was, when I entered strong sunlight, my iris's failed to contract as if an optometrist had dilated my eyes.  Today, every muscle is just slightly sore, which I notice most in my fingers, neck, abdomen, and thighs.  Slight headache.  No other symptoms.

          For the last three months we both have practiced social distance and/or stayed home; we wear masks and gloves if going shopping (which is the only time I went out recently: grocery shopping four days ago).

          Obviously, antibodies are only effective for a short period of time and then the antibodies, which may be still present, helped to reduce the severity of our symptoms from massive, can't-get-out-of-bed whole-body, 48-hour exhaustion (Chapter 1, for us) to a few hours of slightly tired muscles.

          This is my opportunity to pass along some funny-albeit-apropos words I heard from my daughter yesterday:  after all the shit I've done in my life, if I die because I touched my face...

Orangemen's Mailbox


Orangemen's Mailbox - 12 July (Orangemen's Day / 'The Glorious Twelfth')




Mailbox artwork - ALL
Santa Claus' Mailbox - 25 Dec (Christmas)
AULDLANGSYNE's Mailbox - 1 Jan (New Year's Day)
Sommerzeit's Mailbox - 8 Mar (Daylight Savings Time 2020 / 'Summertime' in Germany)
Γ”STARA's Mailbox - 19 Mar (Vernal Equinox / first day of Spring - northern hemisphere 2020)
Avril Poisson's Mailbox - 1 Apr (April Fools Day / April Fish in France)
St. George's Mailbox - 23 Apr (Feast of St George)
May IV's Mailbox - 4 May (Star Wars Day)
Serling's Mailbox - 11 May (Twilight Zone Day)


image portion by Jamie Wheeler

Laundromat Pantograph




For those interested in a game of Seek and Find:
I compiled this collage from the photographs of
Oregon artist Austin Granger (flikr link below).
- Good luck determining exactly how many -


continue viewing composite artworks:

image excerpts by Austin Granger at austingranger.com