Legends have perspective of the desert towns, one of a million Podunk small town one drives into -and for one particular purpose, message of the universe or other esoteric meanings, or otherwise- one cannot drive out of.
Consult your local metaphysician for the subject of vortex, positive, negative and neutral meanings- Consult a scientist in to the meaning of black holes and other such phenomenon. Take stock of ones self if anything like this happens to you.
Some people may see the metaphor of towns marked on the map that sport signs along the highway that say: Welcome to "Small Town" capital of culture, home of the largest square, and the biggest rabbit all to capture a side-glance of interest to support what would otherwise be a ghost town One stop along the highway and one stops for a Pepsi and hot dog, and the children run wild, all to capture in one instance the aspect of some revenue for local business.
I can think of one attraction along 1-10 going south along the southern tier of Arizona Along the highway is offered "The Thing" with a giant question mark As a child I used to take this route every summer wondering exactly what "The Thing" was and badgering my parents to take us there They introduced to me the concept of a "tourist trap" which, quite frankly is geared to those small boring stretches in the road, "The Thing" was one of them.
Finally after many years I traveled that stretch again and finally did make a stop at the attraction, given an inclination of trying to sooth some childish curiosity, and the reason why my parents never stopped in such places. Where was the "Thing", and what exactly was the question mark? It was quite immediately that I realized that my bank roll was a little bit lighter weight, buying a 5 dollar curio for a friend that ended up being a piece of colored glass. I did spare the rubber tomahawk!
Gold Field Nevada
(The tale of an Artist associate remembered from Taos who had such an incident)
How many places were along the endless highways that i did remember being a somewhat similar occasion to buy expensive gas, and extra set of rocks with Arizona, New Mexico or California (wherever) printed on them..and actually lose weight, in change of course...paying extra for gas somewhere along the line.
And then there is the record (in a journal) of going to California via Nevada on one such venture and ending up seeing the word 'exhibition' written in hand script as well as a name I knew from Taos New Mexico of an artist who I had met at one time during my travels.
It was in a small town barely on the map, but I had remembered it from times previous. There are many such towns scattered from here to there on long and less traveled roads. The trip was between Phoenix Arizona and San Francisco California taking the route through Las Vegas and then up to Reno-Across to Sacramento. That was always a hard stretch of two lane road. One had to remain focused as well as plan ahead for the next gas station on this road could be 30 miles distant. Memories of at least a dozen trips across this expanse probably detail each town with some remark from Tonopah to the ghost town of Ryolite (I do remember being caught in that town during the most celebrated storm of the area for two days of thunder, lightening and rain. There was no message of spirituality to be had during that brief interlude...considering it to be a ghost town)
Along the way there were landmarks I still remember to this day. I believe the town was named Goldfield, a town that had grown and shrunk during its life having a remarkable old landmark hotel in its center.
It was said that there were boom times during the gold rush, but it is evident that it had all closed up to the times of long ago. That hotel, the Goldfield Hotel is still the largest landmark there and can be seen from miles away as the last standing monument of better times.
True it is that the Goldfield Hotel still stands abandoned and ghost filled. (I think that the ghost hunters channel has covered this) alternatively from a closer perspective I have seen it over the years, on many trips across, walked up to it, tapped on the front door, attempted to get a room,and waited only to see an old grand piano in the front lobby covered with dust bringing a testament and reminder of better times seen here in the gold rush days.
Come to think of it, the hotel itself was not that old (built in 1908- One thinks of haunted old derelict hotels as being well at least as old as ones grandmother'smother. Perhaps its the style of the period that is so "haunted" looking-somewhat logical )
On a trip through long time ago I wandered through at this hotel when they had the doors open... Yes this was a "long" while back perhaps before the current owners memories. I was a child or teenager at the time. I remember playing the piano and the keys seemed glued to the baseboard (even then nothing could be done with that instrument-more styled junk than instrument covered with loose plaster and dust, around it the weathered and uncomfortable overstuffed leather chairs and dark stained carpet..I did not see any ghosts however, but I might have a surcharge applied if I did)
It is still there after all these years and thank goodness they didnt tear the giant hotel down as in most cities buildings, hotels etc in this condition would have meet with the wrecking ball.
This time it was closed up and abandoned, but this was not the feature focus of my interest rather a stick and plaster Mailbox etc which supported an 'exhibition' by my associate.
Now there is a great deal that constitute and exhibition.
First and formost the works have to be on the walls neatly adorned with frames in a particular way that 'honours' the work...but some may sympathize with the other example of exhibition which is trying to sell out the work--on tables, easles or flat against a table. (Rough times sometimes inspire rough exhibitions...and I suppose even the great Degas might have seen these, although he surely would have scoffed at the proper placement of artwork. Im sure each artist gets his/her chance at the show where one kind of winces at the circumstance, similar in fact to the musician who has a concert on a piano only to arrive at some piano that has never been tuned and is in a dillapidated condition being played on the 32 day of each month on the eve of the blue moon. Some might say: "Im not exhibiting!" or "Im not playing...look at the instrument!!"...then in fact, there comes a point which one can have to accept where ones instrument or ones work in another place altogether, dreaming the circumstance to correct itself in future venues...this is the element that may surprise an artist especially when he/she is left in a "particular" condition which I mention later. In such a case one plays the instrument and doesnt remark to the style, tone or upkeep, the same with an exhibit one...has gotten themselves into.
He had works packed in there and a table set up clear to the back of the store. No other people seemed to present, and there he was all worn out and steeped by the heat, the coolers running full blast making a stir of air through the unit, half dedicated to a multi function room with signs of various organizations who met there at monthly meetings. But this time it was an exhibition, and my associate leaped to his feet at the sight of me somehow remembering me.
Well, the story was clear. Somewhere along the line his 'rig' had broken down along this stretch of craggy and unkept highway. He had been forced to live there for now 6 months, his rig being parked with its hood upwaiting for repairs. I just imagined his domain was his rig, for he looked weathered and somehow beaten to a pulp by some misery...restraining from the pride that is an artist under diress of some kind of sales for survival purposes. (I cried to myself and in his behalf a prayer) Somehow he had been offered the place to exhibit his work and seemed very steady at his occupation of minding the shop in lieu of some gad-zooks rental-sales possibility to make an exhibit, and hopefully sell off some works for auto repairs.
Our conversation went on. It was one of the loneliest conversations I had ever witnessed, he was almost in tears and asked me to help him out with fear in his eyes that I would leave him stranded too.
I gave him 20 but couldnt afford more, and in return he gave me some prints made on an offset photocopy as renumeration for my donation. "For heavens sake! Take it..sell the prints!" I said. I felt guilty for not spotting him a hudred on general principles (but I must admit, during that time I never carried more than 60 dollars on me at any given time..and scarcely had enough travel money of my own)
Of course he was older than I and I remembered his particular story, etched into the back of the prints he gave me. This fellow had a background that was in many ways phenominal, but the love of art and creation that made him a 'lifer" as an artist.
We must have talked an hour and he left me with a final warning, his eyes heavy from the circumstance he had witnessed. We talked about two hours, I bought him coffee and finally left trying to make afternoon light last for the road before darkness.
He joked that he was staying at the Goldfield Hotel...
I asked if they had Sunday dance parties, and he laughed..expressing that the Barber was indeed too wicked with his razor straps.
Of course I have no idea whatever happened to him. I thought I saw a bill of his in Taos on my last trip, but was not sure as I was running on a thin limit of time.
I could not have imagined at that time what he had felt, or have gone through...except to give me personal warning of the hazards of the road, namely solo exhibitions in Ghost Towns. (The last time I was in Goldfield it was windswept, hot and dry and nearly that ghost town that I had envisioned...it was on a return trip, but most of the signs were dangling and the place where he had his marquee was no longer there) There was a sign that said "boot hill" to the right and I often wondered if in that particular circumstance what one would see. I didnt allow my mind to travel to this incursion of the Twilight Zone, for all in all, there have been other such things I have witnessed to make the best of what mans desires in art, shirk to comparison of grandure in particular circumstances. I have my own stories about Debracen Hungary on the Russian border, or other small towns in Europe..doing exhibits or appearances that were pre-arranged...but always I had back-up...but there were some scary town like Usti Nad Labem in Northern Czech Republic where one might find running better than walking, and the next stop being a miracle!
One can say: The focus and stature of the heart in the art has to be withstanding the notion that somehow "All is quiet on the Western Front" in such a circumstance.
This brings us back to the present, and the wild, hot and arid southwest desert, the perspectives that are here, and those perspectives that give us hindsight as well as forsight.
Some say that having occurances such as these build character, and certainly they do. In some towns it is said, a lesson is supposed to come forth out of the dreamy ether. Such Metaphysicians can come out of the woodwork to convince you of this.
Towns like Goldfield, Debrchen Hungary and Usti Nad Labem never did have a metaphysical quality but were just towns. In each circumstance on my foreign travels I found these towns a stones through from places like Budapest (several hours) in the case of Debrachen, and Usti Nad Labem Czech, a stones throw to Prague (a true cultural capital of Europe) Of course there never could be a comparison to small desert towns however they guise themselves as so-called oasis
Unfortunately in the case of Usti Nad Labem it was a dark city, windows open and people meandering around. But there was a legend of Usti Nad Labem of being a wealthy spa town during the times of the former German Reich--Times do change!
Bringing us back to center stage of the two,four and six lane roads that do cut straight though, there is always the side-show in the inevitable podunk, or the cross-cultural, elevated and media established villiage...made just for the perspective of farming money, fostering investment (in sometimes what may be otherwise ghost-towns...and making hypnosis optional for a fiberboard mansion and 2K guilded life readily available!
Now in the desert southwest there are not old and established cultural centers, but sporaticly developed "ad sense" operations. One can quite reasonably say that these centers will have to look for a couple of hundred years development to say they are established...or immediately write on a sign "Established"!
For the most part, were looking at places in relationship to other places (some far away) I dont think there was anything metaphysical about many towns I had visited outside either Prague or Torino--The two "Golden Section" Mystical cities of Europe. As we might see, there are contenders for the title of Spiritual places and spiritual cities laid far and wide, as we travel on this can be an interesting situation!
Always keep gas in your car, new tires too! Rule #1 when following the open roads and expanses throughout the desert southwest!
Travelers be aware! Running out of gas, or similar situations can be a ticket nowhere for a while! Carry extra water and a pocket full of bucks!
When one gets stuck (by however reason) in such a town one has to either have several interwoven meanings attached to such things:
Occums Razor may have various applications here.
It is either:
1) Divine Providence- Left to the esoteric and etherial meanings of clinging to the vacuous, vaporous, reasons beyond reasons. (Please consult local Tarot, Metaphysical Earth-walkers, and Spirtualists for this take on the situation)
2) Logical- That one is merely stuck by mechanical problems suited to this situation.
Occums Razor may provide a close shave to the circumstance in this situation, trying to minimalize cause and effect to simple deductive reason (which may apply)
3) Eccentric-One is kidnapped by flying saucers, the esoteric, which leads to meaning beyond meanings and contentions beyond contentions in some sort of abstraction that would mesmerize Einstein and defoliate the gardens of any kind of logic (but there is meaning to some in this approach)
One at his or her best would say its: Logical-Nearly Logical or a foot over foot incident to find oneself in something known as a prediciment- But others may disagree and say its a Metaphysical or ordained experience (Trust me, good "Spirits", however eccentric they may be, don't want unfortunate situations to happen. Bad Spirits on the other hand (from a totally Metaphysical framework will promote: Sadness, disorientation, dizziness, dismay, lunacy etc. Believe in Jesus as you must!
In this particular case, being logically inclined it was #2. But ask some and it would be possibilities on the list above of #1 or #3 depending on how one is inclined to believe!
Small desert towns. There are billions of them that line the highways an lattices of America, each one sporting a different "Welcome" sign. Some for example say:
Welcome to City of Industry
Welcome to the City of Friendship
"You better get some gas and ride on!"
Still others may entice one to have meaning written within the rusted and fading signs:
Welcome Spend your life and earnings here...
(City of mystery and imagination-Prices are through the roof!-Wooden tomahawks 50% off at the gas station/ mail room/motel and restaurant (closed due to health conditions)
A certain town once along the road, in Kansas (I believe) said
Dance Hall, Brew Lovers and Bikers Welcome! A named Jake has to be appeased, the county marshall (All others stay out!)
Now, usually these towns we stay away from if we know 'whats good for ya', a simple gas and go may be a perspective in these towns.
Now there are those towns that sport 'Art Center Here'- 'Cultural Center' over there, and given specific purposes to advertise this way do! Profit from tourism, the rubber tomahawks and silver plated steel necklaces may be a dead giveaway. A map will take you here, to find your way in a 1/2 mile radius on your long journey trying to find a restaurant 4 miles distant-a cab sufficing for a ten spot plus gratuity (one never feels like walking that lone road for a simple dinner here which cost a fourty and a ten for two, a room two an one half bills with a croissant and coffee in the morning, Yuban and crusty rolls.
Another Place... Missouri
One can find an art Gallery, two or three (maybe a dozen-no specifics here, the latest local talent showcased at front fees) ,
A Dance Hall where one can find the latest in danceable CD's Banjo or Guitar playing, made to order...and a dilapidated piano, where someone might play on a blue moon, the seventh Sunday in every month (the eighth Sunday of every fourteenth month they tune it)
Well one might not want to visit here but set a spell, have a brew and 'mozy' on along. After 8 pm everything closes and one might find a circle of bikers camping.
Of course one may find diversity everywhere that everyone looks, as well as talent! This is a very special thing! It is strange that there is somewhat phenominal talent in the most uncommon places.
Unfortunately if one runs out of gas, or case fact one has expensive repairs, or are ditched, in such a village one might as well hang up ones towel in the culture to the here-and-now and pray to God almighty for help.
"Your a stanger in the town...you will always be a stranger"
Now, I streamed down the road and wandered back finding interesting cross roads in Arizona. One such crossing was Highway 89 deep in the red rocks of northern Arizona in a place called Sedona. Quite frankly a remarkable place, where one can remark on the many splendors of tourism, and the tenacity of salesmanship, bead-work and pleather western gear.
And 'these here' parts of the Desert...
The road ended here...so it seemed! Whatever I have done with my life to this point seemed less likely to continue... in fact more appropriate to a Twilight Zone episode than Close Encounters..if one knows what I mean (usually many have not encountered this-many have unwillingly become abductions of sorts...and abductions with a purpose...artist of all sorts wondering where their next meal or sustainence is coming from) I can say and joke moderately and even fiercely... but how can I conjecture that some things may be true and intimidating!
For the Goal Oriented Person (who I have endeavored to be) was just then set to the limits of my comprehension and understanding.
Its been a oil slick, a greased pole five feet from the top- absolutely everything that I thought would be a reasonable sustainence has ended up a wash in a metaphoric vortex of belief or disbelief, as different from 'easy' as one could possibly imagine.
It is a 'normal' town that blesses and demands its "normalism" (money spent, some money earned, a large payout for little payback, job-existence and finality, without a word spoken inbetween) but embraces a spiritual existence that permeates the need for an eccentric scapegoat-where normalism is, and accepted and fixed. I remember many a dream of living here come and go, each step from the people that had this 'dream' was foiled by the dream itself, lofty goals and spiraling extablishments (finally most give up, realizing that even Sedona is the most normal of all normal town and one must understand this from about the box, inside and outside the container...that the magic seems to be there but is a fabricated illusion that includes a medicine man, a Shaman, and crystal healings in order to understand the basic premise of a side-show attraction, scheme upon which it is all based. Perhaps it is the "Thing" that one travels many miles to see, and from this we access a rubber tomahawk as a present, or permit ourselves a tarot reading, a specialty sweat lodge or clearing of our own conciousness to attain a never had sense of security that everything is alright on the better side of our astral body. Just thinking pragmaticaly is a step in the wrong direction. Each of my pragmatic steps have just about sustained me, and this is the likes of it among the red rocks that speak allot in silent voices, those so subtle that they have a reference to near nothing in the final analysis but an inner beauty that no one can behold unless sensitive enough (and that unfortunately left to pretty glossy postcards as memories, or long expensive drives by jeep to try to explain the unexplainable..about this beauty that really shouldnt be talked about only seen, on the other side of tourism)
Effectually my travel here has been one of the most difficult passages and times in my life. There is positively no reason for it to be this way...but it has been.
As I think back upon the years from which I built up what I am, it is absolutely unconciousible to assume there is any real meaning or 'right' take upon what I have seen and experienced in Sedona.
On a positive aspect, it has tested every framework of my existence in a way that the Soviet Union hadnt, or my experiences in Czech Republic or around the world unleashed (viewing all now in hindsight) as it is evident--a person is not allowed to be, but as they would have it, they would understand it, or those who maybe have a little experience might accept.
I still try to make a positve experience of every insight, but have come to a point where I cannot credibly accept the place as either spiritual or enlightened, for if this were the case--in evidence I would have clearly seen it---and I would, as a balance have been allowed to present myself. (absolutely as a fair testement)
But unfortunately this is not the case in a place of 'truth', that neither presents truth, but the failures of the premise in which to rely as truth as being a problematic statement in itself---
I have never seen more problems and difficulties from the aspect of the way I have seen people other than myself treated, to those closer at hand, in all a place to find and cure problems, with vague and esoteric aspects, vortexes and subtle inuendos of end times coming and no provision for any sort of thoughtful and deliverable gain being given, selfishness itself being driven as applauding. I ask, is it just the economy as I see such a draft of people coming and going, coming in, going out. Is it a protectionist area, where the arts are vehimately discouraged, a plot counter-plot of usury (art for free) a premptive meaning, of double-speak where hugs and spurious but curious light workers-in fact -do as much damage as good to the prospective clientel which they are sworn by divine justice to protect, forgetting the Pax Humanis and focusing on gold and green as the most admirable things.
I can make no judgement. These are just observations.
Yes, I am focusing on myself as being one who may just get a 20/20 assessment of what I have seen, witnessed and lived.
In any situation there are true angels, as rare as they are!
But I have seen as much brilliant light as consuming darkness as well as lack of soul in many self-centerd ajudications of others here.
There is a big healing to be made, within myself still as with others-
Let there be this healing.
As there is a healing things true and just will have an impasse!
It cannot be true
Everyone is right simultaneously-nor wrong simultaneously (for in every occurance it is neutrally satisfying and contempt for both right and worng, this proves an immutable axiom of double speak. A sense of insurmountable and insular arrogance and superstition guide what could be a mind-trap suspect from the very onslaught of purity in the spiritual delivery-
Personal goals overlapped by other peoples takes on the subject matter have a wealth of too many cooks in the kitchen, a vortex that starts and ends in the same place, an acromatic union that neither has color or form-that can neither be attained or celebrated as cancelation of personal and reasonable goals or a good sense ambition (a point-counterpoint of what I have witnessed this portion of my life has been since I entered Sedona) Unfortunately the place has an unreasonable temperature, prognosis of real sustainability as rational as a walk in the Sahara on a hot summers day without water or food--It is a desert town of thrifty content and high ambitions to the etherical and unobtainable.
Where not to go in a dream:
What is not the ideal artist setting, nor the place where one could find heaven but the contrary is a place where disneyland high-priced tourism is mixed into the truely artistic element-where an artist, for whatever reason is bottle-necked, unable to work at his lifes study, and is driven to obscurity for the undermining of others who have a gridlock on everything from living conditions to eating...where the Starving Artist is the Phd, and one can literally prospect little or no hope beyond the current circumstance of being laid to rest by the mechanics of politics and distress. Such is not a Pagan condition to be admired, nor a Christian condition but constitutes a referenced to what one saw and felt during the distress of Eastern European olegarchy and does exist today in some sectors of the world in the tiny towns, the mini-olegarchies and the corporate subtrafuge of the greedy and non-sharing communities. This an aboration of Christiandom and any sound monarchy or Spirituality would be the concrete bunker of Terezin Belson or Buchenwald, those places unsurvivable in any condition where little conciousness is normal and subtrafuge of mind-control is constant through conditioned response, sonic wave handling, mind control and the aborant things that should be destroyed and not leading in to the creative Soviet style setting of uniformity, conformity-and olegarchy. So be the 'freedoms' when there suppressed to silence.
And then there is the possibility of finding oneself in a town where a person is neither accepted because of ones color, creed, establisment of faith and introjection into the substantiative freedoms that he or she posess.
This is not a town where one want to ever travel to but from.
Sedona Arizona, "A Mythical town, where the street beat says stay for your "karma", and others say: "A place where everybody wants to go but not one should experience..or a town that will give you whats good for ya!."
Some even say of Sedona: A analogy of a graveyard, a place where confused spirits dwell, Ananochi, Aliens, Attachments, and even the "Bogie Man" dwells. Im always optomistic there are good people whereve I have gone, but I do admit some places I have seen I would'nt go if paid...some places like Gary Indiana, the South Bronx, and Hades...others one can, if one wishes carry a cross, a burden and hope one gets though!
An analogy of taking ones fine silk and delicate laundry to the local cleaners may be a touch of reference to life in Sedona..only one might find they have never experienced fine silk here, or delicate cloth but the store-bought variety, simple has can be had at the local thread shop.
One has to be careful when one has fine variety of clothes to clean...and that the shop, or cleaner knows the difference between "fine" silk and durable tent canvas. Well it is a metaphor that can be said that one gets the garments clean (an analogy to the kind of spiritualism and heady religious crystal vortex drama) but how they look at the end can be something of an upset...just as if one took their fine linens and put them in gasoline for cleaning, the results may be startling as the sirens roar past for the result.
"Who shrunk the linen" is an analogy of a Sedona experience on spirituality.
One reaches the altruistic metaphore of anti-person, patron...method of conformity, hardening a Citizen assumed "abridged" to the object of said citizen, to life and liberty, persuit of happiness in the final destination as a target of a mystical conciousness, nonsensical and vaccuous..being played at such reference to a general feeling of urban non belonging-referenced statelessness among my own, hardened by the burden of economic strife---
What references an artists status in wherever-there- Arizona or another place (being among the silenced status quo- objectors to art and speech freedoms, as well as fair existence if one is not among the ecelon that is pre-conceived by the upper people, assumed nobles, despotic hands, within and without, corporate regulations in such superior minds it makes old the old german cross seem to fail--riteous democracy or the Christian lable (Would prefer, true Christianity as it has been practiced historically-
A place where one lands is always a guarded place of staying-
Dreams of good and healthful settings where one can live and work, and one can settle would be fortunate-
Where people are free to talk, discuss and not interupt- where a life of good has benefit and not complaint, where any degree of established education or notion thereof is a benefit to the culture and not laid out to rot, in the words 'everyone has a degree' (and that spurious notion) or that propeller of falsity (where achievement has no account nor weight, all feathers defrocked from the metaphoric Eagle that is the pride, set down for the least amount of courtesy, and not the better judgement.
Art may be laid here against such tangable objects, riteous to their own patterning, a small crew of people set in their Presidencies to protect their own investment and insure that no one can get ahead of them in any way shape or form. We can now view the despotic tangent of a protectorate of the words of art (but not necessarily art) for everything is 'pay for play', least said by the festivals that go on, are advertised, set, and launched for the greater captive tourist who believes in the ad and finds himself painting 'plein air' in the street for a licence that cost him a bundle, and a parchment that said he did it (of course, experience is greater than words-one must see this to believe, and then knock ones self on the head to witness that they experienced the sensation)
A fifty-third degree nightmare of small towns, or recommended settings for the elite with a pocket full of cash, one can that put greed ahead of restful things like ones conditions in life, cranking out things like ego, money, being sent to monuments where even the gods could not go, and people being distressed, held in bondage at the lowest possible denominator and the lowest common factor, leaning to the lowest possible energy, and disembodied energy which one proposes as a 'high energy' or spiritual energy where the paths are made clear for no-mans land to be, and wreckless tourists and residents are captured by rocketing prices, not humble means...ending up in forclosure after forclosure where people are living in their vans, where the old are left to their cars, woman and children set out to fend for themselves in a jobless, usuary marketplace- One could never think of that nightmare, less it happens that these thing do exist as For Sale after For Sale signs line the streets, and message parlors begin to offer that happy ending unlabled on the menu as scorpions and spiders graft the cracks between extreme societal wrongs and hard spiritual rights. Thus is a place of nighmares of emptiness and sterile artisan values--thus can't exist, as feathered words lead to more crystaline definitions, a vortex that puts out instead of drains the best of ones being. The nightmare of these small towns no one should ever have-
Crystals, vortexes, and minor gods along the road...
Whatever is in Sedona, as they say... stays in Sedona--the magic, the rich, epitome of a Kuiper Belt of Hollywood stars gone carbon lacking their glistening, crystal mongering and gazing speaks of other worldlyness, New Age mysticism...strange living for those who dare to encounter the Orion council, the celestrial magistrate on their own terms! ( A little joke that Sedona is really an extraterrestrial martian colony with a 95 dollar surcharge for a massage..if one can find that work, the rest living in their vans, highly underpaid and poorly fed, (but at least leading to the stern set of values of non-complaint, bringing ones self up by their own boot-straps, and taking things how they are-in a Kaiserly sense, genuinely American leanings, for in an abstract sense not one person would tend to care about these or other individuals outside the parameter of getting work done at a reduced price, or in fact for 'free'-imposing some karmic purpose and or guilt that was written in the effervecent sense of truth not pertaining, but generally given as a matrix of loopholes that would be viewed in any depression scenario as a given-but leaning toward the artistic for a sense of worth on another level totally abstract and having to do with a sense of Right of the rich-Master and Overlord-and examples of those subserviants that try, attempt or are lesser people than those who have, that power of economic 'godship'? No they dont, an never did. Only if 'they allowed it" and only if we stood for the behavior as a sense of right instead of definate wrong against the base of what is America. Thus leads us to a dream of the perfect harmony for which we strive and the perfect nature of mankind towards man, in balanced capitalism that works and overlords and would be despots step aside, for this will not, and forever shall not be a vision that anyone should ever embrace in our land, my land...as I watch the squelch of freedom begin to harness a grip-vise, all too sad.
It is said by Gogol, the great Russian author:... That one can bind ones hands and ones legs and still know freedom, but to harness and constrict ones mind...one has no option and knows were the actual shackles lay-
Of course our story 'could'nt be true', (weknow this according to common sense..) but one can never quite tell, for in the age of these particular times one can find the truth in many strange stories on the inbound to be particular to our times!
The great statement is "It is what it is" is a statement that can help one in such situations.
The arts, a sacred thing to me was challenged the first major time in my 45 year history as an artist. The thing is...in the greater framework, whether one is an artist, musician, sculptor or business or plainsman, nothing can be held sacred when one is perpetually put on hold, and challenged to this matter as if one never had began anything in that discourse of time spent.
Challenges of this magnitude can be difficult, but there is a sense that one has to rise to the occasion in the many ways possible as almost feeling a foreigner in ones own land, knowing ones territory but being kept from ones 'purpose', because in this case, so many are holding their own in the ways of ego establishment, keeping others away so the few may survive.
In many ways it feels like an American story, that full blooded survival epic where one fights for their own existence and freedom and has others controlling the circumstances behind ones back. It is a story of self-evolution, remembering ones origin, and allow for the sustainence of that which had its years...and in the right case will have greater tomorrows elsewhere.
There are good people anywhere, sometimes few and far between...and one runs into these people from time to time. However it may be said of some places that the outstanding egoism that one may see overshadows all, controls all, and ones only plan is made to exit this situation at all costs...and even walking if this is what it takes.
One reads my own story, but there were many many more, that
The next two years was a phantasm of the strange and bizarre..as well as several long stories of 190- 200 pages which are currently being written and published for a book ( being prepared in Europe)