Ffolkes,
It probably seems unfair to blame it all on Murphy. Statistics alone says that not everything can be traced back to his malign influence on events… but you know what? Statistics can be made to lie at the slightest manipulation, and will believe whatever they’re told to believe, just as they can be made to show whatever one wishes. And it is hard to deny Murphy’s presence when his hand prints are all over the events in question…..
“There are two kinds of statistics, the kind you look up and the kind you make up.” — Rex Stout, mystery writer
Rather than go into a litany of how the interfering butt head has messed with me today, I’m going to try to sublimate my anger at him and his machinations into writing…. anything. If it takes my mind off how seriously f__ed I am due to his efforts, then it will do for my purposes. Trouble is, when I am awakened at ONE AM to deal with the crap he saddled me with, my creative senses tend to be a bit dull, and subject matter is shall we say, not jumping up, waving its hand, and yelling “Me, Me! Write about me!” More’s the pity….
I suppose the best idea is to go diving for pearls…. the search itself can be soothing, as long as the pearls aren’t playing hide and seek with me…. ah well, everything’s a risk, isn’t it? Shall we Pearl?…..
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“If one is master of one thing and understands one thing well, one has at the same time, insight into and understanding of many things.” — Vincent Van Gogh
Kung Fu…. The Chinese words are believed by most Westerners to refer to martial arts, and they do. The words, however, are applicable to much more than merely martial arts; they refer to the mastering of any art or skill. A master chef has, or shows, or is, kung fu when they engage in the production of beautiful delicious meals. A master painter has kung fu when he puts his paints to canvas, as does a master pianist, or violinist when they allow the music to soar. The words describe the state of excellence that is achieved by hard work over a long time; it cannot be learned in a day, or a week, or even a year. Basic skills must be learned by rote until they are habit; these build upon each other to become mastery.
Vincent Van Gogh had strong kung fu as a painter; I’ve seen the exhibit of his work that sometimes travels from its home at the Louvre in Paris. It was displayed in San Francisco in 1968 at the De Young Museum, and I was fortunate enough to be able to see it while it was there. It is difficult to describe the effect his paintings had on me; I had never before seen any of the classical genius’ works, and it was very enlightening.
His technique, of using thick paints and bold hard strokes, had to be viewed at the correct distance, but when it was, the visions he created were astounding, almost alive in their intensity and connection with reality. One of his self-portraits, painted from looking in a mirror on a small canvass, had the most piercing blue eyes I’ve ever seen, eyes that were alive, and stared right into the soul of the observer…..
Herr Van Gogh must also have been a very deep thinker, as this is not a common insight; it is a very subtle point, and often overlooked by Western philosophers, at least to my knowledge. It is nice to know that excellence in one area does not limit one to showing such talent in only that area.
It gives me a little hope for the continued existence of mankind, even if that is not rational; but hope springs eternal, and if East and West can combine their understanding of reality enough to become commonly accepted, then we may yet find our way back to a path that won’t end up killing us…. Chances are slim, but not zero….
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Boy, now, there’s some good advice from Dr. Freud, which can’t always be said with any degree of truth. The good doctor was an intelligent man, no doubt, but had his head pretty far up his ass on a lot of fronts. This, however, hits the nail right on the head, and is something I find it useful to say to myself each morning before reading the news, just in case that Westbrook Baptist church or Mitt Romney have released some statement that sets a new standard of ignorance to affront the rest of us. It helps to keep it in perspective…. and keeps me personally from biting the first real person with whom I come into contact, just to release the pressure that reading that stuff can create….
It’s gotten so I have to literally walk away from some articles, to keep from banging my fists and/or forehead against the keyboard, which, though cathartic, tends to be hard on the keys. Even music doesn’t help, when I read some of the stuff that the minister and congregation of the Westbrook church put on their signs all over the country where they travel to spread their hatred and bigotry. Not even Mozart, and he can usually cut through almost any negativity….. And now that Mitt is the official Republican Main Squeeze, I keep expecting new clueless statements to be coming out any time…. Something to look forward to, in a perverted sort of way….
Quem metuunt, oderunt. (They hate whom they fear.) — Ennius (239-169 BC)
Ah well, after over 55 years of reading, and/or listening to, and watching, the stuff that goes into American newspapers and programs, I should know better than to get too emotionally involved in it all. I distinctly remember, at the age of about four or five, or so, lying on a couch somewhere, watching the Republican National Convention on TV, (I LIKE IKE!), and thinking to myself, “Boy this is really stupid and boring….”. That should have been a warning of what was to come in the future…..
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Her Reply
IF all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd’s tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy Love.
But Time drives flocks from field to fold;
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb;
The rest complains of cares to come.
The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward Winter reckoning yields:
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy’s spring, but sorrow’s fall.
Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Soon break, soon wither–soon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.
Thy belt of straw and ivy-buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs,–
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee and be thy Love.
But could youth last, and love still breed,
Had joys no date, nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy Love.
Sir Walter Raleigh
Okay, so I’m a romantic… so sue me…. 🙂 Enjoy!
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Murphy seems to be laying low for a little while, so I’m going to take advantage of that, and go get some stuff done out in the Big Blue Room…. Y’all take care out there, and May the Metaphorse be with you….
Sometimes I sits and thinks,
and sometimes
I just sits.
gigoid
Kowabunga!
gigoid 