This is the way the world is

This is the way the world is
This is the way it goes.
Mornings are often silent
Simple putting on of clothes.

Put miles behind you
Let the ground kiss your feet
Put miles behind you
Let your arms swing free.

I know the streets are often empty
You look for familiar faces
After wandering in the rain, turn to go,
See your own in a store window.

Put miles behind you
Let the ground kiss your feet
Put miles behind you
Let your arms swing free.

Keep walking,
Put miles behind you,
Let the rain wash you
Let your soul go.

Jeremy Geddes

I'm going to shift the focus of my blog to reviewing some of my favorite artists. The first one I'm going to look at is Jeremy Geddes. He was born in New Zealand but lives in Australia. He is a photo realistic painter, both regular artist and comic book artist. The wikipedia entry says he is also a gaming enthusiast.

The art and blog of Jeremy Geddes

I personally love his cosmonaut paintings, which depict a suited cosmonaut in different mystical settings. Often there is a bird motif associated with them, and the cosmonaut is often placed in an abstract / surreal setting, although several paintings have the cosmonaut drifting weightlessly in isolated industrial or urban settings. Pigeons, exalted, weightless mystical states, inception style "exploding" buildings, and clusters of people in fetal positions are also themes.

For me, his cosmonaut series is indicative of the modern individual who is absolutely isolated within an internalized reality, however, they are aware of freedom and ability to escape, symbolized by the birds. Also, the cosmonaut is often tumbling erratically in the paintings constructed in the urban setting, which seems to indicate erratic haphazard existence as well as lack of control.

Jeremy Geddes. Unforgettable art.

Working on project # 1

Well, jetlag is kicking my ass. I slept all day Sunday, and so I decided to stay awake Sunday night, and then wait till Monday night to go to sleep. Ugh. So I watched a couple of movies, read a little... then for the last four hours have been editing "Gravity is a Simple Messenger". My goal is to get this book submitted and the request a proof by 1 November. I hope that I can release it by Thanksgiving... My second goal is to get Plowman published in December... I have a feeling Plowman will be my first successful book, perhaps and hopefully it will take off like "The Shack". It isn't long, but such a powerful story that battles against death while offering hope for those afflicted by suffering. The nice thing is while one proof is ordering and en route, I can beat down the doors for the second. Meanwhile, "The Dialogues of Kam" is also important, especially since a vision I had in Iraq showed the front cover and wild success. Perhaps that will be the one picked up by an a publisher.

 Ugh... I feel the weight of time right now... a whole YEAR... I can't even think about it!

I was re-intrigued by my following poem...
Kind of sad, but a true warning to remember our humanity...
Joe Stack... learn from him but never be like him... 

Joe Stack... wikipedia entry

Joe Stack's Manifesto



"I saw it written once that the definition of insanity is repeating the same process over and over and expecting the outcome to suddenly be different.  I am finally ready to stop this insanity.  Well, Mr. Big Brother IRS man, let’s try something different; take my pound of flesh and sleep well."

Meet Joe Stack

Joe, Joe

What did you go and do?

Torching your house

You jumped in a plane

And acting insane

Suicide bombed the IRS man.

They said the building shook

The gasoline tank was full

There was a big fire

The sky was filled with smoke.

The Newsman said you were crazy

You didn’t make sense.

In this postmodern age

You blogged about your suicide

You left a long and rambling note.

So I opened the PDF file,

Thinking: “he must be crazy”

And read it to myself.

As I read, it seemed to me you

You were pretty much a regular guy

Who was just was really pissed off

Got to the end of his rope and then went nuts.

Sounds like you had dreams and just wanted to work

But numbers and taxes weren’t your style

So you kept getting screwed

Chomped by bureaucratic crocodiles.

It seemed like the more you flailed

The bigger the snowball grew.

I’m sorry everything went so wrong

That you made a lot of mistakes.

A lot of it was just your flawed perspective

But

I’m sorry the Flatland Grid with numbered streets

And metallic rules beat you up-

Sounds like when you needed support

You went to churches and you met some hypocrites.

Actually, if you hadn’t blown up a building

I might have said:

Buddy, you need to chill out

Go out and get a cup of coffee

Because you’ve gotten worked up

You’ve lost perspective-

Other people have rough luck sometimes too.

I’m not good with numbers

I don’t understand a lot about the IRS

My life hasn’t always turned out right-

I might say I partly empathize

That I could partly understand.

But dude, you can’t wipe out a building

In a mini 9-11!!

If you’re that badly in trouble

Call 911!

Go buy “IRS for Dummies”

Become a park ranger

Something less stressful!

Don’t nuke some other desperate fella

Hating his cubicle life as an IRS agent

Staring at the numbers on his screen

Panting with the rest of us spinning our hamster wheels

Because you kept failing at life

Never asked the right folks for help.

Joe, the reality is:

Somewhere, some other family,

Maybe some kids are mourning their dad

The owner of the other burned body found beside yours.

I agree the world is jacked up

The system is really flawed-

But, your solution is not the answer.

Your life sucked so you said F--- it,

You murdered some folks

Hurt others and added to the confusion.

So, these imperfect lines are NOT in memory of

Joe Stack

A guy who struggled at life,

Failed and committed murder and suicide.

I would like to say that the problem was much larger than Joe

And as small (but huge) as you and I.

Every morning,

When we walk out that door

We all have a choice on how to live.

Some of us are awesome

A lot of us are average

And some of us suck.

We all have abilities, and while some get ahead

A lot of us just survive and pretend we’re alright.

The world works for the organized

For those who follow the directions

While a lot of us struggle in circles

And look forward to falling asleep at night.

Regardless, we can’t throw in the towel

And we definitely shouldn’t punish others for our mistakes.

Responsibility should be our watchword,

Humility and perseverance the measure of our gait.

Yet, I will call it

Yes, most of you, I call you out!

Most of you are pretending

You just don’t let it out.

We wouldn’t get in a plane

Or a suicide car

Not anything-

We'd probably just grit our teeth and take it

And try learn from just another mistake.

Yet, most of us are fakers-

We all have cracks

But we hide those seams!

So, to all of us who pretend this life is all that matters

That we will hit “re-do” someday

All of us who stand quietly in elevators

Nod, say hello

And reply, “Oh, I’m doing great!”

People!

Please be mindful.

This is a very short life.

Sooner than we think, we will all be dead and rotting in the ground.

Show some respect.

Karma always comes around

Be kind to losers instead of smirking.

Show kindness to the f---ups

But don’t you baby them.

Because life just doesn’t “happen”

And Joe, you made your own life, one choice at a time.

But likewise,

While Joe made his life reacting

Together, our united actions create the world he lived in.

We CREATE THIS WORLD.

We balanced this implacable house of cards society.

By "WE" I don't mean some vague humanity

Found in philosophy books or referenced in poetry-

But you

You,

And You,

Facebook Friend, yes YOU!

In our everyday actions this world is created,

We create it as a quanta over a continuum

Tiny small actions times ten thousands over every minute of our life!

You and I, Joe and others,

We make "Joe Stacks".

So, to end this monolithic rant on a positive note,

I attempt to gleam something from a negative event:

It sounds kind of like a hippie love song

But I swear as a vet I feel this to be true-

It is very simple but very important.

Love God, and love others as you would be loved.

Visit the sick and the prisoners

Listen to your child talking

Feed the hungry

Let the geese cross the road and don't get mad

Give drink to the thirsty

Hold the door open for the next guy behind you

Leave your change in the soda machine

Don’t cut folks off in traffic

Be merciful when you could be cruel.

You never know,

One of those folks might be Joe Stack.

Sailing to Byzantium

Click the youtube video... listen to it for a moment, then read the poem. You can see the music in the poem... ( :

In something like a dream
But not,
I took a boat down a silver isle
Sailing to Byzantium.

Through morning air,
A woman sang
Green shores and quiet trees
White marble gleamed
The sound of water on the oars
Creaking of ropes
Straining of the sails
The morning breeze,
Water rushing against the hull.

In something like a dream
But not,
I took a boat down a silver isle
Sailing to Byzantium.

Sweet Chords

Sweet chords
Yeah, I can believe this
Nobody out there.
Yeah, that statement draws some blood.
My eyes do not deceive me.
Sweet chords, 
Chili peppers sing,
My only friends.

Took a leap through plate glass 
Fell from three stories up
Coming down, got hit by a bus.
I need a secret place under the bridge,
Maybe a hilltop closer to the sun
But, these streets know my name
They accept my feet, don't care about my shame.

Sweet chords
Yeah, I can believe this
Nobody out there.
Yeah, that statement draws some blood.
My eyes do not deceive me.
Sweet chords, 
Chili peppers sing,
My only friends. 

I listen to the midnight wind
I watch the squad car pass
Saw the cop, his partner riding shotgun.
There's no one chasing but I'm on the run
One more soul escaped from solitary 
I stand under stars in the empty yard.
Another drifter walking the center stripes
No traffic, hands in his pockets
One more ghost out walking.

Sweet chords, yeah, sweet chords.
Take me to another place
Back there, I gave my life away
Sweet chords, yeah-
Sweet chords.


I stole the mo-jo from the Chili Peps... lol. 
DAMN that is a GREAT poem...

Starbucks

When the heart fails as refuge
And crows peck out my soul's eyes
On a Sunday
I find solace in the simple things
Dining out to an Italian meal for one,
Sitting here in Starbucks
Nursing a triple shot Venti cappuccino,
Listening to music and patrons laughter
Watching a little boy with his dad
Play in city square's fountain.
I see two lovers sitting in chairs
Her hand on his shoulder,
Fingers in his hair
She looks at him while he tells her a story.

Sentado

Some evenings
When the room is dark
I sit quietly.
The building breathes
There are footsteps in the hall.
I wish these windows opened
So that I could feel a breeze.