at some point
don’t you wake up
NOT TO BE EVIL
or do you
look in the
artwork by robert montgomery at robertmontgomery.org
at some point
don’t you wake up
NOT TO BE EVIL
or do you
look in the
artwork by robert montgomery at robertmontgomery.org
Epic poetry – Poet laureate – as if maya Angelou read the song of myself But As everyone together imagine-
Music – Lyric poetry – voice of angels
Healing arts – dynamic exchange, science quantum physics
All-encompassing species survival
Painting – Sculpture – Film and Photography
Performance Dance theater installation
Storytelling – cave painting – chronicles of humanity
public architecture – collective space
Tragedy and Comedy actors writers giving experience meaning
muse of collaboration directors and conductors 🙌🏼 Those who fuse the ones who lead living energy
creativity as not just talent or none At all
the muse of alchemy
in 9 sec
anesthetize don’t agonize
III – THE end painting “OBEY”
Gaslighting is a form of psychological abuse used by narcissists in order to instill in their victim’s an extreme sense of anxiety and confusion to the point where they no longer trust their own memory, perception or judgment. The techniques used in “Gaslighting” by the narcissist are similar to those used in brainwashing, interrogation, and torture that have been used in psychological warfare by intelligence operative, law enforcement and other forces for decades.
just got back from California
said she couldn’t stand the weather
Theolonius smiled. He didn’t need weather.
Who’s dressed in pink and leather
He’s just here from Alabama
He wants to know a way to earn a dollar
So they hit THE ROAD, not in any Kerouac kind of way, they had no ride-the-rails illusions and the gas shortage meant they’d have to improvise.
Ah, you shouldn’t do that
And by the way you’ve got a dollar
See both of them said at the same time, not much has really changed. They’re still killing off little old ladies who were on the grassy knoll when Kennedy was killed, they’re still working the slaves to death, throwing them in jail for disagreeing, sedate the masses with promises of dreams no one will ever see, because they are fairy tales meant to coerce you into believing they are the one who will protect you because you belong to the nation of your birth. The nation that your ancestors came to, exploited, innovated, re-fashioned into a place where, in theory, we hold these truths to be self-evident.
What is evident is much of what the founders of this country warned us about is already happening.
We are, however, a nation of arguing points of view (the federalist v the agrarian states debates involved loaded weapons back in the day of our supposedly “perfect” founding fathers, who were so making money off whiskey distilling that farmers lead an armed rebellion against George Washington and his white horse) and ultimately, sworn to uphold the principles of tolerance for others’ beliefs, due process before the law (aka not condemning an entire “class,” “ethnicity,” “sexual orientation” to a blanket allegation based on rage.
A rage that has been festering since we realized we were the first generation to definitely be worse off than our parents.
The baby boomers consumed everything, gave us crack, suburban sprawl and a well-designed system of selling off America while those who hold the noose laugh all the way to the bank that will be bailed out by the same guy (Greenspan? What a joke! His name tells us greed span as he also orchestrated the financial structure of the 2008 housing crisis). “No one doesn’t pay their mortgage.” Well, now most of us can’t even afford to buy a house on the average median working schmuck wage.
Factor in the COLA (cost of living), a magical supply and demand of oil (but not much of a savings passed onto you because our economy demands big corporations gouge you whenever possible) and interest rates dispensed by royal decree of the green man behind the curtain.
There are always other options. They won’t tell you on the news and half “the internet of things” is a bot marketing clusterfuck. The deep web is a labyrinth of obsessive rules, who needs to get in trouble with some reddit moderator on a subject that they feel is theirs alone. Or the dark web which I imagine is a constant loop of anonymous hacking the military industrial complex that supplies the fanatics with the weapons of genocide. That and people getting off on hurting others, and generally all the things that make you hang your head in shame as a living human being.
I don’t even think, “Aren’t we better than this?” as I might twenty-five years ago.
Do I think we are worse than before? In some ways, most definitely, we’ve regressed. But for the most part I think it’s up to us to stay focused on a people that is this country, a better way to fix things than turning in on ourselves. We are going to need to be united to deal with the future. Iran, N. Korea, Putin, ISIS, your friendly neighborhood cartel and citizen serial killer.
The dangers are always there. There’s always a new plague, a crisis in Africa & the Middle East (by design & set in motion many years before we were born), gang vengeance, conquerors and bullies.
There also appear to have always been caregivers, healers, growers of food, teachers, storytellers, inventors, hunters, warriors, shamans and enough people to carry forth knowledge that helps us, humans, the ones who live on this planet we treat like a sewer, around fellow humans we treat like somehow not as good as we are – not as hard working, honest, deserving, and worthy as my kind.
Tribal Cro-Magnon rock paintings is about all we have to show for this anomaly of a species: the cocky, not very bright, petty, self-destructive, devious, gluttonous, short-sighted excuse for a species.
Imagine how far we could have evolved without the oppression of 99% of our man-made religious institutions (if they’d let Galileo be the genius he was instead of keeping him under house arrest because THE CHURCH said the earth was flat).
I doubt a chimpanzee would ignore that kind of leap in information that can help advance your collective group (Noah’s Arc for those who still can’t reconcile scientific thought, math, survival skills and spiritual wonder). Bed bugs, cockroaches, rats and fleas have adapted quite brilliantly, yet they are “vile creatures.”
These are the best of times
These are the worst of times
Just like sister Ray said
you’re never there
I need you
“No bones. Not even a knee cap.”
As if knee caps are a different currency altogether, and, if that were the case, I should have a buried treasure full of gold somewhere, risk-free, in the desert.
I’ve been watching Breaking Bad in consecutive order, an anomoly for me other than “Lost,” “Deadwood” and
to gorge on one season a while back; I saw a middle episode of Breaking Bad (the one in season 3 where the twins are buying body armor from a semi-fucktard redneck in semi-trailer, but I knew everything (pretty much) that I needed to know. I think I watched that in a motel in the midwest or was is South somewhere on location and half asleep, and I can’t remember when that was exactly, but now I have made it to the gun pulled on protege and sensei, student and teacher, grasshopper and master, season 4 episode 12 or 11 or something, but either way, it’s been a bad season for Walt.
feel as obsessed as I did
when I dreamt I was in Deadwood (because I woke up bleeding
Then, there’s Mad Men, which I watched on Netflix from the beginning and that show holds up but can be watched as a one-off, and you get the story of the man, in a Greek tragedy kind of way. Breaking Bad kind of unfolds. More disturbingly, Breaking Bad kind of unfolds in a strange parallel universe I like to call the entertainment industry which is in fact owned by the German Multinational that, on paper, owns the Laundry/Meth Lab and Chicken/Chile HQ, based on conference calls privy to, dimensions of difficulty it takes to function in the ‘real’ world, whatever that is, I still am not sure and all the signs are telling me I should be.
Yet, this I know, I know how to tell a story. The math of story is a graph that must move downward spiral to be ripped usunder to go where no man has thought to plunder to be redeemed and taken to the place unimagined, beyond and beholden, all the nipping at the heels of and chasing with shadows has stopped, but the signs point nowhere, are quite deceptively evoking payment of some kind and this should be no bones, not even knee caps, but something else entirely.
We talk too much, Miranda, her feverish sister Sasha said, in her low voice, no secrets come out without silence.
I do. Somehow I’ve come to believe that the last thing a writer or any artist thinks about is to make himself comfortable while he’s working. Perhaps the discomfort is a bit of an aid or stimulus. Men who can afford to work under better conditions often choose to work under miserable conditions.
He had cited his favorite writer, well at least for now, Sampson was irresistible and he knew it and felt guilty and ashamed of his unabashed pheremones and good breeding (his mother was an angel with a pixie wit and his father was some sort of apostle hero who was actually his uncle because his father turns out was some sort of wandering bipolar didn’t know it cad…and hence, this is how I revisit Perseus, Medusa (the new Molly) and the myths of a new generation based on the hidden meanings in the ancient revolving door myths:
In 1939 he went to Greece to visit Lawrence Durrell; his sojourn there provides the narrative basis of The Colossus of Maroussi. Cut off by the war and forced to return to America, he made the yearlong odyssey recorded in The Air-Conditioned Nightmare. Then in 1944 he settled on a magnificent empty stretch of California coast, leading the life described in Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch.Now that his name has made Big Sur a center for pilgrimage, he has been driven out and is once again on the move.
I think these questions are meaningless. What does it matter how long it takes to write a book?
From the meaningless questions to the imagination of the future:
Imagine if sixty years ago, at the start of my writing career, I had thought to write a story about a woman who swallowed a pill and destroyed the Catholic Church, causing the advent of women’s liberation. That story probably would have been laughed at, but it was within the realm of the possible and would have made great science fiction. If I’d lived in the late eighteen hundreds I might have written a story predicting that strange vehicles would soon move across the landscape of the United States and would kill two million people in a period of seventy years. Science fiction is not just the art of the possible, but of the obvious. Once the automobile appeared you could have predicted that it would destroy as many people as it did.
I read everything by Robert Heinlein and Arthur Clarke, and the early writings of Theodore Sturgeon and Van Vogt—all the people who appeared inAstounding Science Fiction—but my big science-fiction influences are H. G. Wells and Jules Verne. I’ve found that I’m a lot like Verne—a writer of moral fables, an instructor in the humanities. He believes the human being is in a strange situation in a very strange world, and he believes that we can triumph by behaving morally. His hero Nemo—who in a way is the flip side of Melville’s madman, Ahab—goes about the world taking weapons away from people to instruct them toward peace.
I often use the metaphor of Perseus and the head of Medusa when I speak of science fiction. Instead of looking into the face of truth, you look over your shoulder into the bronze surface of a reflecting shield. Then you reach back with your sword and cut off the head of Medusa. Science fiction pretends to look into the future but it’s really looking at a reflection of what is already in front of us. So you have a ricochet vision, a ricochet that enables you to have fun with it, instead of being self-conscious and superintellectual.
The experience of great loss appears frequently in his work.
He recently told me he still lives by his lifelong credo, “Jump off the cliff and build your wings on the way down.”