The Poet's Heart is not altogether like the heart of the nonpoet. There are no musical works entitled "The Nonpoet's Heart," whereas I have heard of more than one musical works called "The Poet's Heart." This always invokes the image of a heathen sacrificial rite, does it not? Fortunately, that is not the matter at hand, as heathen sacrificial rites make me queasy, which is a very strange word when one thinks deeply on it. "Queasy," that is.
Queasy queasy queasy queasy queasy queasy queasy queasy queasy queasy.
Non sequitur...
I dreamed recently I met Erik Satie. We had a wonderful time. It is sort of like the time I dreamed I met Edvard Grieg. Of course, it is sort of disappointing to wake up on these instances.
The Poet's Heart has a special substance to it, lacking in the hearts of nonpoets. I believe that this substance is a deadly poison. When a nonpoet with a Poet's Heart fails to write poetry or engage in some other such Art, the poison will likely build up and kill that poor individual. This deadly poison, of course, is what I refer to as longing. The word "longing," when it comes out of me, does so ambiguously (though not androgynously, mind you; it is pure masculinity), in the sense that if one (a rational one) believes it could mean something, it probably does. Longing can be drawn out by the making of art, and it is for this purpose that I insist on making art. That is, I am full of longing, and I have no idea what to do with it.
Thus I became an Artist, specializing in the Arts of Mediocre Music and Pedestrian Poetry. Of course, this is a dangerous pursuit, but well worth it, I think. I have made three poems and numerous pieces of music, I tell you, and I am a better and healthier being for having done so.
27 September 2007
25 September 2007
Buffoonery
I am pleased to note, my friends, that I am no longer the buffoon I was several weeks ago. Furthermore, in several weeks, I do not plan to be the buffoon I am today. Indeed, I plan to be precisely the buffoon I shall be in several weeks. Is that not simply wonderful?
My prayers that you all might do the same.
My prayers that you all might do the same.
23 September 2007
Becoming a Bohemian: or That Which I Have Learned and That Which Might be Learned from Me
On Saturn's Days I do what is commonly referred to as "work." This is a very silly thing to call that which I do, because I have never done any work doing it, but all the same, it produces one of The Man's favorite things: income. I do not believe it pleases The Man; however, as I am vastly entertained by my "work," henceforth referred to as "play." This is an excellent choice of word for that which I do, for it is precisely my doing. I play. More aptly, children play, but not with me, mind you, but for me. Sometimes I play for them as well, thus subjugating them to my superiority and reminding them why they are learning from me, and not me from them. Otherwise I simply demonstrate that which I demand that they do. That which is played, of course, is the pianoforte.
There are at this point three students under my wise and sagacious pedagogy and pleonasms. I rather enjoy the company of the number three, as it is the number in the Holy Trinity.* Also, I quite enjoy the company of children, as they often put a smile on my face, especially when they are masquerading as the elderly. I rather enjoy the company of the elderly, as they often put a smile on my face, especially when they are masquerading as the young. Also, I rather enjoy the company of animals, particularly domestic animals and harmless wild animals, as they put a smile on my face, especially when they are masquerading as human, or perhaps not that last bit. I do not particularly enjoy the company of humans (or at least frightening ones with three rows of teeth), as they often reveal themselves to be savage beasts.
Thus I meet with three certain youths each week, one of which is a bit too large and aged to call "child" (He is taller than me, I think. I do not like that.), and I have come across a certain pedagogic virtue, largely based on the influence of certain persons around me whom I admire greatly. This is the virtue of teaching without shoes. (Perhaps this is what made that youth taller than me...he had shoes...) Now, it is a usual practice of mine not to wear shoes around the home, as I believe is the practice of most of my fellow human beings. I myself would not know... Granted that I engage in this pedagogy from within the confines of my home, I do not feel inclined to put on shoes for the occasion, and frequently I altogether neglect socks, as well. In fact, this has become my standard practice. I am altogether convinced that I am more effective for doing so. Also, it helps to upset The Man just a tiny bit more.
Next maybe I will stop shaving and getting my hairs cut and washing. I could be a Bohemian! I could buy a long frock coat, a damaged top hat, and dirty pants, which I would not wash either. Then I could spend my days making art** and disappointing my loved ones, who would continually give me small allowances of money so that I could eat and not find myself homeless, which I would quickly squander on the many useless possessions that I would run across in the shops of my Bohemian world. It would be great fun, don't you think?***
The muses be with you.****
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*There are some mystics who refer to the Blessed Virgin as the third person of the Holy Trinity. Beware of these, for they are followers of Isis.
**The shortest distance from Point A to Point B is Fish Heads and Rice.
***I do not think so, either.
****I do not believe in the muses. Neither should you.
There are at this point three students under my wise and sagacious pedagogy and pleonasms. I rather enjoy the company of the number three, as it is the number in the Holy Trinity.* Also, I quite enjoy the company of children, as they often put a smile on my face, especially when they are masquerading as the elderly. I rather enjoy the company of the elderly, as they often put a smile on my face, especially when they are masquerading as the young. Also, I rather enjoy the company of animals, particularly domestic animals and harmless wild animals, as they put a smile on my face, especially when they are masquerading as human, or perhaps not that last bit. I do not particularly enjoy the company of humans (or at least frightening ones with three rows of teeth), as they often reveal themselves to be savage beasts.
Thus I meet with three certain youths each week, one of which is a bit too large and aged to call "child" (He is taller than me, I think. I do not like that.), and I have come across a certain pedagogic virtue, largely based on the influence of certain persons around me whom I admire greatly. This is the virtue of teaching without shoes. (Perhaps this is what made that youth taller than me...he had shoes...) Now, it is a usual practice of mine not to wear shoes around the home, as I believe is the practice of most of my fellow human beings. I myself would not know... Granted that I engage in this pedagogy from within the confines of my home, I do not feel inclined to put on shoes for the occasion, and frequently I altogether neglect socks, as well. In fact, this has become my standard practice. I am altogether convinced that I am more effective for doing so. Also, it helps to upset The Man just a tiny bit more.
Next maybe I will stop shaving and getting my hairs cut and washing. I could be a Bohemian! I could buy a long frock coat, a damaged top hat, and dirty pants, which I would not wash either. Then I could spend my days making art** and disappointing my loved ones, who would continually give me small allowances of money so that I could eat and not find myself homeless, which I would quickly squander on the many useless possessions that I would run across in the shops of my Bohemian world. It would be great fun, don't you think?***
The muses be with you.****
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*There are some mystics who refer to the Blessed Virgin as the third person of the Holy Trinity. Beware of these, for they are followers of Isis.
**The shortest distance from Point A to Point B is Fish Heads and Rice.
***I do not think so, either.
****I do not believe in the muses. Neither should you.
22 September 2007
Lamentations
I weep bitterly, O friends. I have rent my clothing and covered myself in dust.
My friend the gourd is passing away. I went out to meet him this morning, only to discover his leaves utterly wilted or otherwise dead, his vines altogether shriveled, and a terrible white growth covering his remaining leaves. It is a terribly tragic sight. May your prayers be with him. The gourds themselves seem to be alive, though. There is hope.
This line exists for symmetrical purposes.
My friend the gourd is passing away. I went out to meet him this morning, only to discover his leaves utterly wilted or otherwise dead, his vines altogether shriveled, and a terrible white growth covering his remaining leaves. It is a terribly tragic sight. May your prayers be with him. The gourds themselves seem to be alive, though. There is hope.
This line exists for symmetrical purposes.
19 September 2007
For Fear of Soap
"No one ever saw [Satie] wash - he had a horror of soap." -Igor Stravinsky
Indeed, fear of soap is a serious issue, and it is one that ought to be more widespread, simply because it is a rational fear, like the Fear of God. Now, so that Prodicus does not burst into my room in the wee hours of the night to beat my head in with a dictionary, let me clarify. The first two times I spoke of fear, I meant it in the sense of caution. The third time I meant it in the sense of reverence, so a rational fear is not like the Fear of God at all. If you believed me, I fooled you! I knew it all along!
Now, on the subject of the fear of soap, which is still entirely rational, I must admit that I have developed just such a fear over the last two weeks. In my devotion to Hygiene, the vulgarities and poisons of Common Soap have impurified my precious flesh. I am now afraid of this soap, and I refuse to use it in the washing of my hands, because it makes my poor flesh dry and red and unpleasant to the touch. This will not do. Being the wise and resourceful individual that I am, though, a solution came to me in a dream, specifically a daydream. Now I carry my own soap in my pocket, and all my problems are solved. With the occasional use of Norwegian hand lotion, all shall be well again very soon!
Indeed, fear of soap is a serious issue, and it is one that ought to be more widespread, simply because it is a rational fear, like the Fear of God. Now, so that Prodicus does not burst into my room in the wee hours of the night to beat my head in with a dictionary, let me clarify. The first two times I spoke of fear, I meant it in the sense of caution. The third time I meant it in the sense of reverence, so a rational fear is not like the Fear of God at all. If you believed me, I fooled you! I knew it all along!
Now, on the subject of the fear of soap, which is still entirely rational, I must admit that I have developed just such a fear over the last two weeks. In my devotion to Hygiene, the vulgarities and poisons of Common Soap have impurified my precious flesh. I am now afraid of this soap, and I refuse to use it in the washing of my hands, because it makes my poor flesh dry and red and unpleasant to the touch. This will not do. Being the wise and resourceful individual that I am, though, a solution came to me in a dream, specifically a daydream. Now I carry my own soap in my pocket, and all my problems are solved. With the occasional use of Norwegian hand lotion, all shall be well again very soon!
16 September 2007
To My Disciples
Some days ago I spake unto my disciples thus:
"O my disciples! Wherefore followest thou me, for my Master is far greater, and He wisheth not that thou followest me, for I am not worthy of being followed. Prithee, disciples, follow my Master, for He will show thee truth, and I have naught but shadows cast in His light!"
But woe! My disciples were not with me when I spake it, and they heard not any of my teaching, and thus they remain mine unwanted followers, and they shall find many new teachings of no value, lest I give ones of value. Wherefore hang they weight upon my words and my doings? If they beheld all my doings, they perhaps would not use their weights on me, but instead place them on my Master, who beareth all weight.
"O my disciples!" I speak, "Renounce me and take up the cross, for it is a noble burden to bear, and it is a necessary burden to bear, lest ye wish to bear the burden of iniquity, which is left behind when thou takest up the cross. For behold! My Master hath taken it all upon his own cross, where he did die, taking with him all thine iniquities, if thou but followest him! 'Repent and be baptized,' saith the Apostle! For my Master hath defeated iniquity in resurrection!"
Alas, but I cry into thin air, which suffocateth me in isolation. Mine heart bursteth with great longing for my Lord and King, and I force its blood to bleed into naught but space! O thinnest of air, which surroundeth a man when he lieth alone, thou art awash with the blood of the Afeared! Thou art bitter with the taste and smell of wasted life and energies ill-spent. Depart, O bitter air, which hath no sweetness, depart and return no more, for then I must seek the breath of Life, lest I perish. For I say unto thee, blood-washed cries into the air stifle life, but spreading the blood createth life anew.
"O disciples! None of thee art here, and thus I myself yet drown alone! I hath mentioned unto thee my Master before, and thou did dismiss Him favoring myself! Woe to my self, the evil villain, the scheming Old Man! Wither doest thou this, and wither saltest thou my wounds? It is like unto salting the earth, for no life may flow from salted earth! Wherefore becomest thou not the salt of this world, rather than the salt of my wounds? Stifle the growth of this world, for it is futile, and allow the growth of the Kingdom of my Lord and King, which endureth for ever. What is this? Laughter in the air, here to suffocate me further? Wherefore laughest thou at my Master? Wherefore followest thou His servant, but ridiculest He? How can this be, lest I be a wicked servant? O my disciples, ye wicked disciples, I did truly ask for thee, but I have failed to instruct thee! For surely thou wouldst not have heeded my words, but yet, thou hast ears, and thou canst hear. But what hath I spaken for thee to hear? If thou hast naught to hear, what hast thou to heed?"
How I suffer for them, but I speak naught, and for this I suffer only for me. How do I draw such pain but from mine own failures? For the disciples do indeed speak, but I speak not, but jest with them. To this end, no truth floweth, but only laughter, which fluttereth away as quickly as it cometh. Though laughter is right and good, it is not the whole, and it maketh whole no man. Wherefore can I marvel and wonder, then, when my disciples remain as they are? For if the servant doth naught, how then shall the Master reap his harvest? He hath condemned he who burieth His treasure when he commandeth wise investment. He hath condemned the tree which beareth no fruit. And woe! I am like unto both of these!
"O disciples!" I cry once again into the vacuum, "How I love you! How I suffer for you! How I fear you! How I betray you with each passing meeting!"
"O my disciples! Wherefore followest thou me, for my Master is far greater, and He wisheth not that thou followest me, for I am not worthy of being followed. Prithee, disciples, follow my Master, for He will show thee truth, and I have naught but shadows cast in His light!"
But woe! My disciples were not with me when I spake it, and they heard not any of my teaching, and thus they remain mine unwanted followers, and they shall find many new teachings of no value, lest I give ones of value. Wherefore hang they weight upon my words and my doings? If they beheld all my doings, they perhaps would not use their weights on me, but instead place them on my Master, who beareth all weight.
"O my disciples!" I speak, "Renounce me and take up the cross, for it is a noble burden to bear, and it is a necessary burden to bear, lest ye wish to bear the burden of iniquity, which is left behind when thou takest up the cross. For behold! My Master hath taken it all upon his own cross, where he did die, taking with him all thine iniquities, if thou but followest him! 'Repent and be baptized,' saith the Apostle! For my Master hath defeated iniquity in resurrection!"
Alas, but I cry into thin air, which suffocateth me in isolation. Mine heart bursteth with great longing for my Lord and King, and I force its blood to bleed into naught but space! O thinnest of air, which surroundeth a man when he lieth alone, thou art awash with the blood of the Afeared! Thou art bitter with the taste and smell of wasted life and energies ill-spent. Depart, O bitter air, which hath no sweetness, depart and return no more, for then I must seek the breath of Life, lest I perish. For I say unto thee, blood-washed cries into the air stifle life, but spreading the blood createth life anew.
"O disciples! None of thee art here, and thus I myself yet drown alone! I hath mentioned unto thee my Master before, and thou did dismiss Him favoring myself! Woe to my self, the evil villain, the scheming Old Man! Wither doest thou this, and wither saltest thou my wounds? It is like unto salting the earth, for no life may flow from salted earth! Wherefore becomest thou not the salt of this world, rather than the salt of my wounds? Stifle the growth of this world, for it is futile, and allow the growth of the Kingdom of my Lord and King, which endureth for ever. What is this? Laughter in the air, here to suffocate me further? Wherefore laughest thou at my Master? Wherefore followest thou His servant, but ridiculest He? How can this be, lest I be a wicked servant? O my disciples, ye wicked disciples, I did truly ask for thee, but I have failed to instruct thee! For surely thou wouldst not have heeded my words, but yet, thou hast ears, and thou canst hear. But what hath I spaken for thee to hear? If thou hast naught to hear, what hast thou to heed?"
How I suffer for them, but I speak naught, and for this I suffer only for me. How do I draw such pain but from mine own failures? For the disciples do indeed speak, but I speak not, but jest with them. To this end, no truth floweth, but only laughter, which fluttereth away as quickly as it cometh. Though laughter is right and good, it is not the whole, and it maketh whole no man. Wherefore can I marvel and wonder, then, when my disciples remain as they are? For if the servant doth naught, how then shall the Master reap his harvest? He hath condemned he who burieth His treasure when he commandeth wise investment. He hath condemned the tree which beareth no fruit. And woe! I am like unto both of these!
"O disciples!" I cry once again into the vacuum, "How I love you! How I suffer for you! How I fear you! How I betray you with each passing meeting!"
13 September 2007
International Talk Like A Pirate Day
As you should be aware, 19 September is International Talk Like A Pirate Day, ITLAPD or TLAPD for short. This, of course, is one of the most important holy days of the year, just behind Christmas and Easter, not necessarily in that order. That, is, I am inclined to believe that Easter commemorates a slightly more significant occurrence, so I may as well say in the opposite order, except that ITLAPD is still behind them both. It is not to be understood, though that ITLAPD is not important, indeed, it is indeed, as stated, one of the most important holy days of the year, and its patron saint is none other than St. Robert Newton.
Thus this is my annual reminder to the masses, only six days remain from today, the dreaded Thursday the Thirteenth of September, until ITLAPD begins. If anyone would like to join my crew, please sign up by way of comment. In so doing, you sign yourselves over to me for any piratical purposes (plank-walking, plundering and pillaging, etc.) surrounding ITLAPD, and during those times you are to refer to me as The Dread Lord Admiral Edward Gregg, Scourge of the Spanish Main, Swashbuckler Extraordinaire. September 19 and the following weekend shall mark the celebration. We are allowed to use whatever dates we like because we are pirates, and we like to spit in the direction of authority and conformity.
All necessary information is available at the following address:
http://www.talklikeapirate.com
Oh, and by the way, Bartholomew "Black Bart" Roberts is the greatest pirate of all time. This is not a common opinion among the laypeople. That is, the average person might say, "Blackbeard! He was tall!" but this person, being average, is a fool. Being tall and placing slowmatches under one's hat does not make an excellent pirate. Neither does having one's decapitated body swim around Maynard's ship three times before sinking count one as an excellent pirate. An excellent pirate dresses well, captures hundreds of ships, does accountable economic damage to the world, legendarily does not drink alcohol, hosts Sunday church services on one's ship, and is blown to pieces by a cannonball off the Gold Coast of Africa while staring down a British Man'O'War. Bartholomew Roberts did these things! And on the subject of dressing well, the Gentleman Pirate is superior in every way to the filthy, flea-ridden, scurvy sea-dog. Calico Jack Rackham, for example, dressed so well, that he came to be known by the name of his clothes--Calico. Do you not wish to be known by the name of your clothes?
Thus this is my annual reminder to the masses, only six days remain from today, the dreaded Thursday the Thirteenth of September, until ITLAPD begins. If anyone would like to join my crew, please sign up by way of comment. In so doing, you sign yourselves over to me for any piratical purposes (plank-walking, plundering and pillaging, etc.) surrounding ITLAPD, and during those times you are to refer to me as The Dread Lord Admiral Edward Gregg, Scourge of the Spanish Main, Swashbuckler Extraordinaire. September 19 and the following weekend shall mark the celebration. We are allowed to use whatever dates we like because we are pirates, and we like to spit in the direction of authority and conformity.
All necessary information is available at the following address:
http://www.talklikeapirate.com
Oh, and by the way, Bartholomew "Black Bart" Roberts is the greatest pirate of all time. This is not a common opinion among the laypeople. That is, the average person might say, "Blackbeard! He was tall!" but this person, being average, is a fool. Being tall and placing slowmatches under one's hat does not make an excellent pirate. Neither does having one's decapitated body swim around Maynard's ship three times before sinking count one as an excellent pirate. An excellent pirate dresses well, captures hundreds of ships, does accountable economic damage to the world, legendarily does not drink alcohol, hosts Sunday church services on one's ship, and is blown to pieces by a cannonball off the Gold Coast of Africa while staring down a British Man'O'War. Bartholomew Roberts did these things! And on the subject of dressing well, the Gentleman Pirate is superior in every way to the filthy, flea-ridden, scurvy sea-dog. Calico Jack Rackham, for example, dressed so well, that he came to be known by the name of his clothes--Calico. Do you not wish to be known by the name of your clothes?
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