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Tag: conversation

For Art’s Sake

Maybe it’s because I’m a musician, or due to having been read to a lot before I started to read for myself at age 4, or because my family seems to be filled with generations of marvelous storytellers. Maybe it’s because I’ve studied for many years the bardic traditions of the Druids. But if seeing is believing, then hearing is belonging.

For me, audio books are both a natural progression and a journey backwards in time. By this I mean that anything I read, in my head I imagine either reading it aloud or having it read to me. It becomes a conversation. Granted, it would be difficult to have a conversation in real life as long as the Lord of the Rings trilogy. You’d have to stop for meals, a couple of naps, restroom breaks, and the endless stream of diversions that inevitably break up a three-day encounter with another person. Even if you reduced or compared it to that most modern of contrivances, the binge watch, it would take quite a chunk of time – and the rapt attention of both parties – to commit to, engage in, and successfully complete such a talk.

That’s one of the reasons why I’ve started several novels but never finished them. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to talk to me for that long. So, I keep it short – missive like this one, poems, songs. It’s not that I can’t extend an idea or premise out beyond the horizon – and anyone who’s talked to me in person knows I am capable of extemporaneous speech for quite a while. But sometimes, it’s better to take medicine – or poison – in small doses. Think of it as an inoculation against the doldrums.

One of the reasons I don’t play live music much anymore is the absence of a conversation. Again, maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s the people who come to the places around here that are available for gigs, where like in a casino, the band is an amenity like the all-you-can-eat buffet. It’s a loss-leader, as far as the venue is concerned, because people aren’t really coming in to see the band, but to eat, hang out with their friends, or get drunk. A live band in those kinds of situations needs to be more like a juke box, pumping out familiar sounds at a chat-enabling volume, not placing too many demands on the royal ear, so to speak, and definitely not presenting anything confrontational, controversial, confusing, or confounding. Consider yourself part of the furniture. Or worse, a mere player in a tribute band, actively pretending to be someone you’re not, someone completely different, someone worth listening to.

There are music venues that are not like that, of course. But they are becoming harder and harder to find. Odd, because when you consider the performance rights dues that a venue has to pay to support cover bands, radios, or juke boxes, original music is much cheaper. And since the patrons aren’t coming to see the band anyway, from a purely objective point of view it doesn’t matter what they play. So long as it is comfortable, right?

But art is not supposed to be comfortable. It’s supposed to show you something, make you feel something. A live music event is an experience: a specific time and space coordination that exists only now and involves absolutely everyone in its presence. Performers, promoters, patrons, bartenders, wait-staff, and even random passersby. It is a feast for the senses. And too many people these days seem to be too satisfied with pre-processed, microwaved, and poorly presented fast food that looks nothing like the pictures on the menu.

So many people are dying to simply talk to another person. Or to be heard. And yet we isolate ourselves more and more, not demanding greater physical or emotional interaction because we’re taught it’s unsafe, unsanitary – or maybe just “insanitary”.

Maybe that’s the problem. The conveniences we have demanded are now mandatory, and the entire might of civilized society is conspiring to keep us from actually touching each other.

So, if you can’t see live music, or a live play or dance recital, or poetry reading, go to the library on the weekend and watch the faces of children during Story Hour. Let their joy seep into your pores a little. Maybe you’ll remember what it’s like to be part of a tale, story, legend, myth, or history. Instead of just watching it go by or swiping left.

23 APR 2025

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Suppositions: blank verse

There’s no such thing, he said, as what should be;
for if there were, we’d all just waste our time
imagining how other folks should live,
instead of working on the here and now.

Is that a fact? she answered, with a laugh;
you may as well propose there is no past.
If that’s the case, we have no one to blame
for where we sit and spin, stuck in this spot.

Indeed, he countered, why do you suppose
we fight so hard when we could just evolve,
and stop this endless fighting with ourselves
that doesn’t lead to anything at all?

21 APR 2025

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The Old College Try

You can’t make this shit up. But somebody has to, right? It doesn’t just pop up out of nowhere in full bloom without first starting as a seed before it germinates, breaks through its shell, sends out roots and tendrils, shoves it’s way through the surface into the sunlight, soaks up the sights, sensations, and a couple bowls of soup on the way. It got here, this shit, like everything else does. One piece at a time. And time may be an illusion masking the fact that past and future are both shadows that only exist in the here and now, but sometimes it certainly feels like a minute. So you’ve seen this shit before. You can’t pretend you didn’t see it coming.

So if you didn’t make it happen, how are you part of it? Because you are, you know. We’re all connected; there’s no real or permanent separation between you and me and us and them. You have a role and you play it. Just like everything else. It’s like a round table though, because there is no head. In true egalitarian fashion, the one with the skill required for the issue at hand takes point for a little while, to address what they can direct better than anyone else around. And then when somebody else’s strong suit needs playing, that person takes the wheel. Until the next one.

Does that leave anything behind, any scraps, money on the table, cards unplayed, debts owed, or grudges unpaid. Sometimes. But it beats the alternative. Because there really isn’t an alternative, is there?

19 APR 2025

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Anger is an Energy

Just being angry isn’t enough. In fact, anger alone is the absolute worst way to approach any situation. I get it: there are myriad things popping up almost constantly in this world that can make you upset, disturbed, disgruntled, out of sorts, and irritated to the point of distraction. And as John Lydon so eloquently put it, “anger is an energy.” But just seeing red is no better than only viewing the world as black or white. It may get you through the battle, but it won’t help you win the war. it’s not a long-term or really sustainable solution. Because anger is horribly hard on your system. Ignorance and even bliss can numb you deeply enough you don’t recognize the self-preservation signals your body and mind are genetically programmed to give you. But anger, like uncontrolled diabetes, eats away at your psyche, at your body, until before you know it, you’re old, tired, and feeble with frustration at not being able to get over it. Whatever it is.

If you’re going to fight, flee, or freeze, anger convinces you that leaving or shutting down is the least favorable option. When you’re angry, your muscles tense up, your heart rate and pressure build, and your normally ADHD scanning mechanisms narrow to a razor-fine focus. You’re ready to dive into the fray. At the same time, anger doesn’t give you appropriate weapons for every battle. In some situations, it really is true that when you only have a hammer, every problem looks like a nail. But it isn’t. And you know it. You may get loud and puff yourself up to be as intimidating as possible, but the fact is, as you learn when seriously playing heavy metal music, that volume is not an ultimately effective substitute for power, even if your knobs go up to eleven.

But we can’t help getting angry, right? And so much of the vitriol we find ourselves brimming with is really just disgust at ourselves. When we meet the enemy, and it is us, we are merciless. We beat ourselves up for letting ourselves into the corner we’re backed into, we harangue ourselves for believing in the bullshit yet again, we harangue ourselves for ignoring the warning signs and red flags indicating we’re once again on the eve of destruction. Worst of all, we get upset about getting upset. After all, the mystical traditions all tell you to let it go. Let go, let God. Attach yourself to the process and not the results. It’s not about you. Just breathe. Breathe in Jesus, breathe out Satan. Forget about the wrongs done to you and focus on the wrongs you’ve done to others. All great advice, when you’re not blown up like a pufferfish and imagining yourself wielding a cast iron skillet in a dance with someone’s convenient skull. OK, maybe you don’t get that extreme. I don’t, really; at least outwardly. But you get the idea. Not particularly helpful.

Your nature and nurture both play a role in this. In my own case, throughout my childhood I never witnessed any two people de-escalating conflict. Regardless of whether the pot was watched, it came to an inevitable boil and nobody reached to turn off the stove. My exposure to playground politics, sports, and family dynamics all served to instill in me both a great amount of fear and trepidation and a generous helping of passive-aggressive response mechanisms – sarcasm, dark humor, sullen sulking, isolation, and inappropriate laughter. The bubble, bubble, toil, and trouble in my external circumstances were nothing compared to the cauldron of dangerous chemicals brewing inside me. Worst of all, when you work yourself into that state, you become very susceptible to persuasion. Just witness a bull fight. The angrier and more frustrated the bull becomes, the easier it is for the picador to sneak up with the spear. The more inevitable the matador’s rapier becomes a permanent fixture behind the shoulder blades. When you’re angry, you can be led. You can be misled. And it doesn’t really matter which direction that leadership takes you. If all you know is escalation, all roads lead uphill. Unfortunately, gaining altitude in that way doesn’t necessarily give you any kind of perspective or wider view.

There are so many advantages to moving beyond anger. But so few concrete examples of what that looks like to the untrained (or angry) eye. We talk about peace, love, understanding, and compassion, but these are feelings we’re not all that ready to handle. Because they involve surrender – something that anger sees as the anathema. The last thing an angry person wants to do is compromise, cooperate, or coexist. Before we can communicate as equals, we need to get back to the full spectrum of colors and ease out of the red zone.

Who is demonstrating those skills in the wider world? Even the noblest among us seem to rely on an undercurrent of pointed humor to navigate a sea seemingly chock-full of flaming, cavorting assholes with no redeeming features. When they leave the room we mumble under our breath, roll our eyes, and say, “There but for the grace of god, go I.” That’s not an interdependent world view. It’s not even anywhere near the middle ground.

We try to “channel” that negative energy into positive works, right? But without solid, tangible experience with how that happy place feels to live in, we don’t really even know when we get there. Ultimately, we’re still hog-tied to the results, useless babbling that the ends justify the means. And we stay mean. Not in our words, or outward deeds, or even physical expressions – although Paul Ekman would probably disagree.

That anger, if we let it stew on the burner long enough, becomes a roux of hatred. And if you start with a burnt roux, it doesn’t matter how much water you add or how much butter you fold in after the fact, the gumbo you come up with is going to taste bitter. That’s the danger. We need to not control our anger, or deny it, or bury it. We need to find ways to use it for fuel, not as an ingredient in the stew.

So how does that work? You can’t say you’re not going to get angry, not going to let feelings of hate well up in you like acid reflux. That will happen. It’s as inevitable, as they used to say on the radio show The Shadow, as a guilty conscience. What you can and must do is examine some underlying conditions. Something doesn’t “make” you angry. You choose to “be” angry. To let anger at some situation external to yourself (usually) become the way you choose to define yourself. Usually when that happens, like those who do not suffer fools gladly, we are greatly troubled by the presence of reflective surfaces in our environment. Because anger is not pleasant to look at it, any more than it is to feel. And hate? Besides being the only way to surrender control of your being to something you consider an object (the focus of your hate), it is the only way to absolutely destroy anything beautiful in yourself and the world.

A hateful seed grows only thorns. An angry bulb sprouts into a poison flower.

Anger is an energy, all right. But it’s not an efficient, healthy, or economically viable fuel source. You can run your car on it for a little while, but sooner than later the reckoning comes due.

As Douglas Hofstader put it, it’s a record that contains the frequencies to destroy the record player.

10 APR 2025

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The Wind’s Words: roundel

Who can say what words the wind has spoken,
when cast out in the night, it has its say?
Its speech slips out in whispers, clipped and broken.
Who can say

what language that it speaks, to curse, or pray;
and what translation key exists, what token,
to know its words, first heard at break of day?

So many lonely years it speaks, heartbroken,
unanswered in misunderstood wordplay.
What conversation passes with the woken?
Who can say?

12 MAY 2017

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Shut Your Mouth

Shut your mouth;
got to be careful, and nobody
wants to hear what you might say.
We’re going south,
so mind your p’s and q’s
and don’t disturb
the natives as they play.
Just keep your distance.
If you don’t get too close
they’ll never even notice
anyway.

Shut your mouth,
shut your mouth;
you may live to speak your mind
another day.

Shut your mouth;
words can be dangerous,
and no one wants
to spoil a perfect day.
We’re going south,
but never mind
because it’s never been
done any other way.
Just keep on smiling.
If you just nod your head,
they’ll never even notice
what you say.

Shut your mouth,
shut your mouth;
if you want to find a friendly place
to stay.

Shut your mouth,
if you don’t want to be
the one in every crowd
who stands alone.
We’re going south;
but does that matter?
Keep your thoughts
safely inside
the comfort zone.
Just keep pretending.
If you try hard enough
they won’t bother to tap
your telephone.

Shut your mouth,
shut your mouth;
if you want to get along
and feel at home.

01 JUL 2015

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The Conversationalists

There is small comfort in that fragile peace
that rests uneasy when we sit and talk
around the countless things both needing said
and those much better left unshared.

Between the spider and the web of lies
that catches us like aspic still unset,
we struggle both to stir and stay unseen;
our efforts pointless, in the end.

There is a comfort in our meeting,
for a moment, brief and fleeting;
as we linger here together
shadows lengthen on that sunshine.

Let our eyes flash subtle innuendo
in the darkness that descends,
and the simple conversation
lapse into a welcomed silence.

So when the brave encounter finds its end,
we smile and fake a sorrow to depart
until the caravan slips out of sight
and finally feel allowed to laugh out loud.

4 JUN 2015

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