Thoughts on Freedom, Art, Rebellion and Watching the Flies Do It.

Hope my fellow bloggers will enjoy this abundance of aphorisms I’ve concocted this morning!


Two flies landed on the page I was reading in my book and began to fuck. The sight was not as boring as I’d thought it would be.


Introverts are not necessarily anti-social. It is only that whenever people are around there is bound to be very little peace and quiet. If people brought with them peace and quiet reflection wherever they went, introverts would be crowd lovers.

Perhaps it is the extroverts whom are, in reality, anti-social; always shaking people from their thoughts and pushing them to go out and do things like dancing, drinking, conversing, etc. is perhaps not such a social temperament at all.


The greatest worldly value of the artist is that he or she presents not only visions of another way of thinking and perceiving: he or she presents new visions of being. The artist, whether he is aware of the fact or not, is often a creator of possible solutions.


Artists are the manufacturers of ideas and dreams merged with knowledge.

The Artist’s Equation is:

Ideas + Dreams + Knowledge x Action²  = Revolution


It occurs to me that nearly all of my creative and most daring endeavors in this life emerges out of a rebellion against futility. Futility is a haunting specter and a perpetual threat, like an axe on a hair trigger, rigged over every doorway.

I am a man of constant rebellion.


I write just to steady myself sometimes. Just writing down in my journal where I am and whom I’m with provides me with some illusion of stability; a feeling of comfort, at least. Like a sea sick sailor upon a storm-blown deck, grabbing hold of the cold iron railing. Life is like that: an always unsteady, at times raging sea. We feel we must all grab hold of something, for fear we may lose ourselves overboard…


The reason for my love and championship of art is because art means freedom. In putting words to paper, I am free to create whatever world I choose. My only limit is myself. In my world, I am God tending to his creations. I am free.

The artist is a practitioner of freedom. All his liberties are conditions set by his/her imagination.


Soldiers are human beings whom sacrifice their freedom in order that they may “fight for freedom”. Yet isn’t the best way to “fight for freedom” to remain free? To exemplify freedom by means of the choices one makes in one’s life? Giving the military ownership over one’s own mind and body seems outright anti-freedom to me. Fascist, even!

Having said that, I can feel that bloody, war-torn eagle screaming down at me, ravenous with pulsing talons itching to sink into my flesh, all the while screaming, “Freedom is not free!


America is a nightmare,

smothered with crosses like kisses &

soaked with proud stupidities

as if they were our children’s wishes.

Groupthink just as plentiful

as my kitchen’s dirty dishes.


Life, ultimately, has the quality of being forgettable. Humans become so caught up, so distracted by their day-to-day routines that they forget their primary preoccupation: that they exist at all.


“A rejections of seriousness” is something I consider to be simultaneously wise and foolish. Whether it is truly one or the other depends on the relative perception of the person rejecting seriousness. One is the cowardly fool, the philistine whom rejects serious matters and earnest discussion because he or she is simply too ignorant or stupid to comprehend – and cowardly in that he will not even attempt at comprehension.

The other is the wise, for he or she is knowledgeable of the fact that in this world “seriousness” accounts for little except a deduction of time and emotional energy. For all is truly absurd and impermanent, and if armed with this knowledge, how seriously can we take ourselves?


His ex-wife was a hair-stylist, and that was the last time he ever got his hair cut…

Musings of a Decadent Romantic

The Decadent Romantic

As a consistent writer and performer of love songs and poetry, I happen to have a somewhat experienced understanding of them. Love songs/poems are conglomerates of a singular type of emotion. They are monopolies on love. Powerful concentrations of affection. This vein of art is akin to Cupid drawing back his bow and attacking you with ruthless precision and without mercy — arrow after bloody arrow. The final breath you release into the world is the song or poem. You see I am what some may call, a decadent romantic.

A Regretful Rebellion

One of my biggest regrets is not breaking enough rules as a growing young person. For an intelligent youth, an act of rebellion is a way of ‘coming into your own’, of asserting one’s personal character, and of setting boundaries for one’s sense of dignity and self respect. The ability to say, “No. I am not going to do this because I do not agree with it,” is a vital and all-important one that should later be utilized in adult life. Authority is in fact arbitrary and subjective and ought to always be open to questioning. The earlier a person recognizes this, the far better for their sense of will! Rebellion is our salvation in a world of oppression — and a reluctant obedience is repression. 

Horror Films as Motivation for Life

The best time to watch a horror film is not late at night with all the lights put out. It is best in the early morning, preferably when the birds are tweeting and twittering sweetly and the sun is just on the rise. Before you have gone out of the house to see your day’s errands through, put in a good scary movie. Any old classic will do. John Carpenter’s Halloween, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, A Nightmare on Elm Street, etc. take your pick. This way, once you’ve been witness to the extreme horror of all sorts of murder and monstrosity, the rest of your day is bound to be far easier to endure — you’ve witnessed the worst already. You are alive, and the people in the film you’ve just watcher are not. Now you may let out a sigh of relief, smile, relax, and go on with your day is a peaceable and free manner.

Such as it is observing young people coming out of the cinema after watching a bloody slasher film. Horror is a roller coaster ride– full of thrills and chills. An excitable mixture of danger and security. As they come out of the movie, notice how they are not afraid or terrified so much as they are joyful and relieved. They are smiling, laughing even. Walking out of a comedy film is bound to be more so disappointing. How can life ever be as hilarious as the hour and a half non-stop joke fest they’ve just put themselves through?

A Soundtrack for Daily Life

If I happened to find myself in the predicament of being in an elected position of power, my first move would be to mandate that the soundtrack to the 1956 film, “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” be played on loudspeakers in the streets for the duration of at least one hour during each and every day. This perhaps seems like a strange and arbitrary idea, but I assure you it isn’t unjustified…

My fellow citizens ought to be more aware of the inherent strangeness and absurdity that is parcel to our everyday humanly existence! So, as our fellow men run their business errands and pretend to enjoy the largely unconscious insect activity that their day jobs have prescribed them, upon hearing the ominous music to Invasion of the Body Snatchers, they will have an immediate notion that reality is in fact, a surreality. Life is such an absurd phantasmagoria, and how few are those moments wherein we clearly understand it as such! Now, go and cash that check, do your shopping, gather your week’s worth of groceries, fill up your gas tank, and get back to work!…And the music plays on.