Repression Envies Freedom

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Repression Envies Freedom

Happiness in life comes
when you stop seeking approval
and calmly accept being a transparent failure,
while continuing with your art.

For a poet,
art comes before love,
and love comes before food.
For a mother,
food comes before love,
and loves comes before art.

Repressed people resent
those who live freely.
Happy people are untouched
by those who resent freedom.

A happy life is a free one.

17 January 2018

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When Purgatory Fails

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When Purgatory Fails

It is so sad to see karma’s futile attempts to purge some lives of their stubborn insistent ignorance, and to have your sympathetic efforts to help resented as annoying interference and hurtful contradiction, thus reducing your possibilities for compassionate action to silent compliance while absorbing repetitive litanies of self-pitying complaints. And, how enervating to remain tethered to another’s self-wounding, because of your guilt against abandoning a human bond you want to value. Many kind hearts harden over time simply from a need for self-preservation, and much love erodes over time by straining to withstand ceaseless withering rains of impervious self-defeating inertia.

17 January 2018

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Old Songs of Youth’s Promise

Anthony Tarrant reminded me of Wooden Ships by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, from long ago, and it got me thinking of the past. I shared Anthony’s post (on Facebook) because it moved me, and commented on it. So, further below are two responses in kind: music of unadorned art and sincere feeling far, far beyond the simplistic garish bombast of corporate “music” today.

Wooden Ships – Crosby Stills Nash and Young
https://youtu.be/3Q3j-i7GLr0

Takes me back to a lost world, lost dreams, and a different kind of people, both men and women. There was still the same kind of superficiality, the same kind of selfishness and venality as today, but I remember a much greater sense of optimism and even brotherhood (prompted mainly by anti-war sentiment) than I see today. Back then, it seemed evident that society would continue to improve, perhaps too slowly but inexorably. For me, that dream died on election day, 1980 (and then December 8 of that year). That’s why I had such resurrected hope in 2016 with Bernie Sanders, and was so angered by the petty and ignorant criticisms of him by idiot right-wingers and effete self-important and disconnected boutique leftists. This, and songs like this were like the aroma and pleasurable smoke on the breezes wafting a lovely girl’s hair as we looked with dancing eyes and knowing smiles out a big open window onto the springtime of our Sentimental Education (Flaubert) not knowing of dark chapters and separating currents to come far later. And here I am, marooned on a island of memories none now knows the language for understanding.

Don McLean – Vincent ( Starry, Starry Night) With Lyrics
https://youtu.be/oxHnRfhDmrk

Soldier, We Love You (Rita Martinson)
https://youtu.be/7iMusPYq83g

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Anthony Tarrant
https://anthonytarrant.wordpress.com/

Anthony also maintains a presence on Facebook.

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ADDENDUM, 15 January 2018

I just took a trip back to 1969, here it is:

Crosby, Stills, & Nash, CSN (1969 Complete 1st L.P./Classic Vinyl)
https://youtu.be/fM8hpsrmUe0

I heard this album about 10,000 times back when. The first two songs in particular are icons, hits, and paint a sound picture of some of the living in those times. Actually all of the songs on this album blend into one complete work, like the movements of a symphony. Back then you could walk past a college dorm and hear this album pouring out of one open window after another. Quite a reality.

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Trump Is America’s Child

Donald Trump is America’s child. He was nurtured insulated from the world’s potential reactions to naïve ignorance, and stupid and irresponsible behavior. In this, Trump is the icon of the kind of child so many American parents have striven and sacrificed to raise: an envelope of their combined genes isolated in a protective bubble from the realities and wide spectrum of ideas at loose in the world. Wealth is ignorance-, stupidity-, and irresponsibility insurance; the everlasting cocoon of American dreams.

Many millions will pity Trump for the cascade of ridicule falling upon him now, and love him the more for this suffering because in him they see themselves: with the same afflictions but without the same protections. They are all overaged children lost in a hostile sneering world, a world they do not understand and hatefully resent because it withholds its unquestioning approval and effusive indiscriminate love.

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You Asked

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You Asked

If I told you the truth
you would be unhappy.
If I lied
you might later find out
and then be unhappy;
or you might never find out
and then I’d be unhappy.

A child’s best gift to a father
is to accept his wisdom.
A child’s best gift to a mother
is to reassure her love.
Parents’ best gift to their children
is to let them live their lives,
and let them see you live
being happy without being afraid.

4 January 2018

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Being Alive

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Being Alive

The most important parts of my life
are my ideas and my family.

The qualities of others most important to me are:
character, compassion, honor, and intelligence.

My ideal society is one where
unforced and equitable mutual caring
has triumphed over
selfish, exclusionary and heartless grasping.

The biological purpose of living organisms is
to transmit genetic patterns through time.

The metaphysical purposes of consciousness are
to enjoy being aware of being alive,
to enjoy being aware of nature, and
to care for one another.

Happiness in life grows out of appreciation for it,
despite its many disappointments and sorrows.

Never surrender your dignity
to advance your career.

Never devalue your character
to beg for approval.

Love is the compassionate expression
of creative appreciation.

29 December 2017

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Fuck Yeah!

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Fuck Yeah!

Marijuana bong-filtered through Crème de Menthe
in a dead-of-night college dorm
and fucking to the ultimate orgasm
– a mutual orgasm, a shared high –
with a black-haired brown-eyed beauty
just as driven to the end of consciousness as me,
a writhing body-long muscle of humping lust desire
with a mouth to suck down all my knowing,
and big enfolding tits to smother love into me,
while The Doors blast “Light My Fire”
reverberating perfectly with our primordial love spasm,
the focal sourcepoint of the universe,
my soul melting through my dick in her cunt
clenched by her gut-teeth in a quivering conception
of the entire total All.
Fuck, yeah! We beat death,
however long we live after this,
even in the barren zombie America
of yesterday, today and tomorrow,
we beat death,
the death of the wasted lives you fools all live.
You can’t touch me, I’ve been there.
Love you, honey, forever,
we created the world
and none of them will ever know it.
We’ll meet again on the other side of time.

22 December 2017

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