Thursday, December 31, 2015

The article in which I get a little religiousy

At night when you call out alone, are satisfied with any single answer?  Because there are many who will respond.  I was told that I was an idiot for waiting until I was 24 before I had sex, on my wedding night, because of my Christian faith.  I waited, fitfully, I BURNED, and not perfectly.  I was no saint, not untempted.  I didn't carry my books in front of my zipper in high school and university because I enjoyed the odd look it caused in others,  it was to hide the 98 million boners a day.

If you turn to whoever answers your cries, and assume they are their to help you without being careful, you can be drawn in, even used, because of your weakness.  And it does not matter your views.  You can fall, like a house of poor construction, despite the highest of good intentions.  I was lucky in some respects, I had an enormous sex drive but, my mother raised me to believe that premarital sex was really worse than other sins.  I cannot say that I fully believed that, but every time I grew close to a person that I didn't believe I'd marry, my mother's voice would remind me, tsk tsk tsk, you are being naughty, a bad bad boy.

As I was married to a beautiful redhead I've never thought anything but that I was lucky.  She is my heart's desire.  I deeply and abidingly love her.  Whatever the problems come, being married is not easy, I am always in love with her, whatever the dialogue going on.  But there have been two times when we were separated by great distances for long periods of time, and despite being married, I had to be chaste.  I was.  I've never cheated, and that was not difficult.  But, the going without, in itself is very hard, and require firm resolve. 

The point here is, if you are broken by loneliness, you can be torn away from your deeply held beliefs.  You can lose yourself because of the sorrows of your heart. 

If you listen to the tiny voice of your conscience, you might remember your values, but it isn't fair, is it?  Those people who fuck anything that move get it all the time!  But life is more than that.

Listen to your soul's values and beliefs, not your fears.  Fear is a liar.  It will lie and tell you to accept less every single time.  Tell fear to go away.  Trust the things that you know are true.

Wednesday, December 30, 2015

Floating in the stream

People who read my work are usually aware of the fact that I have a single child that I parent along with my wife.  He is my glory.  I've never felt anything similar towards any other human.  Since I was adopted, he is the only human I've met who shares DNA with me.  I do not suggest anything about fate or destiny, only that I blessed beyond measure that God gave me this child.  My heart has been bruised and broken by life, and mercifully, my son renews my soul. 

“Growing up is losing some illusions, in order to acquire others.”― Virginia Woolf

I am dealing with the impermanence of life.  My son Jonathan is now one year short of eighteen.  I am not suggesting that life can't continue and be great, that we won't change and adjust.  The direct pain though comes in the flow of memories.  His 7 year old self running out to hug me when I picked him up at school from 2nd grade.  Driving up to Duluth after 3rd Grade was over on the first day school was over.  Eating at Denny's to celebrate the last day of school.  He was beautiful, loving, intelligent, kind, and joyful.  He was overwhelmed by happiness when we adopted two cats (as I was too).

My heart is swelled with pride over him.  He is a beautiful human, filled with genius, talent, love.  He is handsome, and witty.

“He was painfully shy, which, as is often the manner of the painfully shy, he overcompensated for by being too loud at the wrong times.”― Neil Gaiman

The truth of the matter is, he and I are very much alike.  But we have had very different events that have formed who we are. We are both INFJ on the MBTI personality exam.

“To experience commitment as the loss of options, a type of death, the death of childhood's limitless possibility, of the flattery of choice without duress-this will happen, mark me. Childhood's end.” 

David Foster Wallace

But now I enter the final year of his time at home and high school.  I am feeling crushed.  I am an adult with a life, but the upcoming change will change my life again.  And I resist change.

Thursday, December 24, 2015

So I am me, and some dislike that.

The Banner is Raised

“Dance, when you're broken open. Dance, if you've torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of the fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance when you're perfectly free.”     RUMI

In the world we live in, I am expected to accept certain things.  And I do not.  What that does is leaves me in pain, in disharmony with others, and outcast.  So I exist.  And to some people, the people who tell me I suck, I serve as a form of pest, or something that causes stress.  It isn't my fault, but to them, my very existence challenges their notions of fairness.

I am not a person of great wealth, nor am I a person of great ambition in that regard.  I write, and the works I complete are works of love, and to create a legacy for my son.  If they ever are noticed, I hope they are, he will reap the benefit.  It would never be me.  I am not a person of great popularity, nor do I cultivate such dreams.  To do so would stroke my ego, and as a Christian who pursues his faith nearly as a Buddhist or Daoist, attempting to kill my ego to know God more, I do not find that I am constructed of the proper materials to become popular, nor am I inclined to do so.

But this is not all to say woe is me.  I realize it can be perceived as such.  I just realize that I am a square peg in a world of round holes, and no matter how hard the hammer might smash, I don't fit.  God made me in a way to realize how different I am, and in the last 5 days I've been made aware of the many times my life was saved, when I could easily have died.  I've been told by four doctors in the last 12 years that I should have been dead four times.  Adding to that the virtual death sentence that was my inception and birth in 1963 of rape, the knowledge that in the present the biological mother information makes it very clear that I would have been aborted.  This is all to say, I have a purpose.  I am meant to exist.  Even if I am not certain yet why.

I know, I know, why not.  Why not exist?  Well that isn't the point.  I have a beautiful wife, God truly blessed me with her.  My son is a reminder of how very good God is.  And honestly, my two cats are gifts from God.  They show me love, and give affection every single day.  So, I am not shitting on the gifts of love I've received.  The gifts of life too, I do not despise or spat upon.

But, here I am.

I exist now quite soberly not trying to escape purpose.  I've lived trying to bear the banner of Christ.  I've tried to live as a knight of Christ in the modern world.  All I am, all I can ever be, is found in the fact that my word is my bond.  My sword is my mind, and I've educated it well.  My heart is moral.  I do not cheat or lie.  And I do forgive others.

I am a failure to some because I do not make money, or, rather, enough money.  But I believe that is as much an indictment of modern capitalist society as it is anything else.  I fail.  I rise.  I am here.  Now is the time for me to move forward, and I am.

Happy 2016.  Happy Festive holidays, whatever you celebrate.  God bless you.

Sunday, December 20, 2015

How I went from being afraid to share my views to being a loose cannon

There are a number of factors that went into my slowly going from guy in the corner observing the people at the party, to talking to people at the party.  The same goes for speaking in public.

I was afraid to share my views in the past because people are usually unkind when others express their views.  But I have to do it.  Regardless of fear, regardless of rejection I am outspoken regarding what I think.  It isn't because think others need to know what I think, it is because I do not want to be painted with the same brush as anyone else.  On some issues it is more important than others to separate myself.

I make no attempt at convincing others, but if I am called strident, cynical or indignant, it truly makes me angry.  I never try to destroy another person's motives, or character.  I simply look at what was said or done.  Usually, actions will speak volumes about the motives.

I get asked a number of questions for a number of reasons.  I write fiction, but some people assume that because I do, I have an interest in any of the subjects I've written about, and perhaps I do.  However, since I've written about such a wide variety of subjects from Jack the Ripper to Bigfoot to Samurai to Jesus, the readers of my work have a lot to ask about, and assume about.

But what was the trigger for the change?  I had no choice.  In order to graduate from college I had to take a course for my minor degree wherein I had to give two 10 minute speeches in the class.  While the class was fun, interesting and I learned a lot, what I truly learned was, no one in a class wants you to fail, they are all, just like you, wanting you to succeed because a 10 minute speech can truly break you as a person, as the speaker, and as a member of the audience 10 minutes of a stammering, slow, pointless, horrible speech can feel like 100 minutes.  So, the course showed me that the fear of judgment by others towards me was baloney.  And at some point the classroom, at 8:45 pm, in July, was so dark I couldn't read my notes, so I thought, wait, if I can't read my notes, they can't see my face.  So the nervous factor just disappeared.  I got a B+ in the class, and both speeches got A's.  Who knew?

And now, I have decided to write here, for the future, about my world, political, religious, and philosophical views. I might not be entirely popular, or even, at all popular.  But my work of writing is who I am, and my poems tell my story.  I've survived my loss of my mother, my good friend Cathy, and now, I do not want to go forward investigating my depression, but rather, expressing my views, and catching some hope.

Sunday, December 13, 2015

When the environment/climate is an actor in the story


The world has one temperature... fucking cold.


There are few better comics than this, and few more savage environments than unrelenting cold.


The desert has many mysteries hidden, but you must survive the desert first, in order to discover the mysteries.  DUNE presents a complete universe, and a world where the environment dictates how the human culture evolved and the power structures formed.




In the world of Wasteland, there is a complete mythology and legend of an event called "The Big Wet" and what that was, or is, is not yet known.  But the people left behind struggle in a world of decay, disaster and despair.


Not every environmental story involves disaster.  These two are both about jungles and I love both. 


The world is a multi layered jungle, with layers after layers of life.  Different kinds of life contribute differently to the world. But each communicates and has different contributions.

                   MIDWORLD                                                            THE COLOR OF DISTANCE

Thursday, December 10, 2015

Hunger and Death

Give to others this Holiday season.  I am not suggesting I know better than others.  Just suggesting that the season could be even better helping those who are without hope.

Wednesday, December 9, 2015

We forget, so we tell small lies to remember

My Amazon page

Along with writing all the time I am trained as a historian.  In the US there is very little respect for most higher education, and the least respect is reserved for academic work that doesn't result directly in high paying labor.  I was/am a believer in the education of the universal being, and so, my work was meant to educate my mind, stimulate my creative soul, and perhaps lead me to a career.  I did attempt to work in various jobs, finding enjoyment in perhaps one.  But, when I was a stay at home father, I had time and a computer, and the internet which allowed me the opportunity to write, for print and for my own development.  At first I thought I would be a restaurant and movie reviewer, but, I found out that honest reviews of restaurants get you fired from reviewing, and your archive deleted.  Then came the realization that movie reviews never work unless you matter to people, since with the internet there are now millions, not exaggerating, millions of reviewers.  And whatever I wrote got lost in the miasma of the internet.  Then I began to formulate a plan, to write for businesses, regarding the products they sell.  This worked, somewhat.  It also led me to write for more venues.  I mention all of this not to make anything I've done more important or better than it is, just to point out, that my path to being a poet/historian has been long, and arduous.

I have come to believe in a number of theories of time, and human development that cannot be proven, and have very little evidence for their existence.  While I live in a world that is rapidly losing its mind, it seems, there are two different groups informing us how we should think.  Those who trust only in logic and evidence, and those who believe in what might be known as faith, and mythology.  What I am about to say will not satisfy either group, because their is no established story wherein the myth will jump out and demand to be told.  But what I will say will have no evidence to prove that it has happened or could have been the path that history followed.

I believe that humans have been intelligent and lived within "cities" or "villages" and farmed for far longer than the last 5-10 thousand years.  I believe that humans have been intelligent for nearly the length of their existence, having various peaks of culture, and disasters and wars wiping out the evidence of their high points.  The loss of evidence is not through secret conspiracies, but rather, catastrophes that wipe out all evidence of existence. 

But something does remain in the few survivors.  The legends of the great warriors, the epic events, the facts of the important cultural collisions, are kept alive in stories.  In the Bible the story of the Nephilim seems out of place, but it is a memory of a past age of men.  Humanity is far more ancient than can be proven, and the various myths that are shared in each culture are evidence of memories of the past, and not a recent past.

Yes, there is no evidence of this.  But I believe this is how we create our stories of myth.  And in those myths we can see some very interesting things.  Some point to pyramids in Asia, Africa and Central America proving some connection of cultures.  Perhaps it does.  I am not suggesting such.  All I am saying is that legends of giants, of monsters, of great warriors and their feats, are all explained when you place them in a context of million years of shared stories.

The stories of King Arthur capture something similar.  When Rome left the British isles a Roman trained Briton rose up, at first he was simply a war king, but he ascended to King of all the Britons.  The presence of Gwynifer, Lancelot, and so many other portions of the legend came so much later, that the story is not one that has been cast in solid metal.  It is flexible, because of the manner in which it was first compiled, and then added unto.  Legends are like that.

LANCELOT by Geoff Evrard and myself took two looks at the character Lancelot, from different angles.  I included the betrayal of Arthur by wife/queen Gwynifer and Lancelot but not the later portions of the Malory legends of Lancelot fighting against Arthur.  I didn't find it persuasive in the original, and less so if you include Lancelot, as he was, in the Grail quest.  I very much enjoyed writing my portions, and dealing with both sides of the book.  The publisher was not much to behold, but I am happy to have done the work I did, with the people associated with the book.

“Somewhere in the world there is a defeat for everyone. Some are destroyed by defeat, and some made small and mean by victory. Greatness lives in one who triumphs equally over defeat and victory.”  ― John Steinbeck, The Acts of King Arthur and His Noble Knights

Arthur, Rex Eternus was a work to consider the many legends of the king. The Britons had been abandoned by the Romans, and the Saxons were crowding their lands.  One king stood up and led the remnants of the Roman Britain and reforged Britain, as Camelot, under the rule of Arthur and Excaliber.

On a lonely sword leaned he,
Like Arthur on Excalibur
In the battle by the sea.

G. K. Chesterton in The Ballad of the White Horse (1911)

The Quest of Arthur: The Holy Chalice is a book about love, and the quest for the Grail, which was a symbol of two things, the presence of Christ in us, and between two people, a bond of communion.  It is blessed by a beautiful cover by Jason Moser.

Why is all around us here
As if some lesser god had made the world,
But had not force to shape it as he would,
Till the High God behold it from beyond,
And enter it, and make it beautiful?
--Arthur, in The Passing of Arthur by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

King of Ages is an Anthology that follows a theme: If Merlyn and Arthur are eternal, and never die, what can you imagine outside of Arthurian times, where they might appear.

"At that time, the Saxons grew strong by virtue of their large number and increased in power in Britain. Hengist having died, however, his son Octha crossed from the northern part of Britain to the kingdom of Kent and from him are descended the kings of Kent. Then Arthur along with the kings of Britain fought against them in those days, but Arthur himself was the military commander [dux bellorum]. His first battle was at the mouth of the river which is called Glein. His second, third, fourth, and fifth battles were above another river which is called Dubglas and is in the region of Linnuis. The sixth battle was above the river which is called Bassas. The seventh battle was in the forest of Celidon, that is Cat Coit Celidon. The eighth battle was at the fortress of Guinnion, in which Arthur carried the image of holy Mary ever virgin on his shoulders; and the pagans were put to flight on that day. And through the power of our Lord Jesus Christ and through the power of the blessed Virgin Mary his mother there was great slaughter among them. The ninth battle was waged in the City of the Legion. The tenth battle was waged on the banks of a river which is called Tribruit. The eleventh battle was fought on the mountain which is called Agnet. The twelfth battle was on Mount Badon in which there fell in one day 960 men from one charge by Arthur; and no one struck them down except Arthur himself, and in all the wars he emerged as victor. "

Anonymous author 
First historical mention of Arthur
From the  Historia Brittonum

Sunday, December 6, 2015

My quest is ended, but not my life, my life is my quest now.

Click to enlarge

My quest began more than 4 decades ago.  I was called to go, and I did.

The way I chose was arduous and bloody.  I faced enemies, personal crisis, and betrayal.  I did not expect most of the obstacles, but I did persevere 

I am here.  I have arrived in the promised land.  What should I do?

I don't have the usual trappings of a tourist.
I don't have the baggage of a guest visiting family.

I was a pilgrim making a journey.  Along the way I chose to give everything to the quest.  I have nothing left.

Except, that is, for my soul.

Click to enlarge

"You will never be happy if you continue to search for what happiness consists of. You will never live if you are looking for the meaning of life." Albert Camus

Saturday, December 5, 2015

My Christianity, Planned Parenthood, Abortion with Caveats, and being the child of Rape

Continuing my commentary about Christianity in my world.

As a child of rape I am well aware that being adopted in 1963 might mean aborted in 1973.  My life, like many others in my situation were only allowed because of a blockage of all abortions.  When Roe v Wade happened, the gates opened for most abortions.   People speak about their views about rights to abortions, and rights of the unborn.  I am one person who considers the burden my existence placed upon my birth mother, and I realize it was a merciful act that she allowed me to live.  I am anti-abortion, but more pro-choice than pro-life in politics because I think when government makes moral decisions for people, people will choose to take underground their moral choices, and feel vindicated, however vulgar an act.  Allowing such an act gives credit for the moral development of the mother, and also, gives people the freedom to be confronted with their act.  I am not, however, a one issue voter, nor am I political about this issue.  The reason for that is I am aware of the choice, and if I had not existed, would anyone be the less?

Having said all that, I've seen hyperbole regarding Abortion center shootings and bombings.  People seek to call it terrorism, or Christian Terrorism.  Well, let me address that, because it is false.  The great majority of Christians I've spoken with, read the views of, watched, been aware of, consider abortion to kill life.  Therefore, if you allow abortion you are killing children.  So if you wish to call Abortion center bombings or shootings Terrorism, go ahead.  Abortion centers and Roe V Wade then is responsible for 54 million dead babies.  If you wish to go hard, you need to see both sides have a view.  No one is bombing the f'ing planned parenthood clinics because they get a boner from it.  Some are insane.  But many are morally troubled by a country allowing the murder and possible harvest of the unborn.

So for those who are able to understand my point, I offer a hyperbole poem, responding to being labeled with the Terrorism title, because I am a Christian.  No, I've not bombed, shot or even entered a Planned Parenthood office.  I've not had sex before marriage or outside of it.  I never had any sort of STD and I've had a single partner, my wife.  But, by virtue of the desire of some, I am painted with their wide paint brush and am included in their brush stroke saying White Christian Terrorist.

I am a Christian.  I believe in allowing people to choose.  Because I believe that making choices for people is a worse sin, than allowing people to make the wrong choice.  I believe that one does not cause people to live morally by legislating the choices people get to make.  Let me be crystal clear:  I believe the world would be better off without my having existed.  If you are reading this, and thinking this guy is nucking futz, I am not.  I wish so many things were different. But my words, ideas, and hope will change not one thing.  I resist the flow, and the tide is sweeping in wiping the land clean of all standing objects.  I won't be standing long.

Sunday, November 22, 2015

JAMIE DELANO Master of Horror, the original Hellblazer

The best writer of a long running series Hellblazer was Jamie Delano.  There were a list of great writers upon the series, and to name a single one as best would seem foolhardy, especially since I find many of the people to be favorites in other areas, or at least all around great writers.  But Jamie is better as a writer of this kind of darkness, and he does so without any sort of apology.  He is unashamed, brash, and able to speak the language of vulgar without accent.  I have pointed to his work elsewhere, but do so again with this work specifically because it shows the truth of my comments.

Warren Ellis, Grant Morrison, Garth Ennis, Paul Jenkins, Brian Azzarello, and Mike Carey all kick my ass with awesome, but Jamie runs circles around the bunch.  I like the entire series, mind you, but in a way since Jamie was the first, it was a bit of catch up after he left.  The reason I am doing this now, regarding Hellblazer is that there have been two attempts to make Hellblazer/John Constantine appeal for Film and TV.  It is important to read the best works of the series and realize, John Constantine isn't pretty, he doesn't have proper teeth, he isn't gentle, he isn't well groomed.  He is a survivor, he has been a warrior who walks the razor's edge of sanity.  And neither the Keanu Reeves of film nor Matt Ryan of television work.  Both are too pretty.

Anyhow, read any of the Hellblazer runs, and as with most literary vs. movie comparisons, the depth of the written will destroy the visual and simple of the film.

Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Nope I am not, but just in case you need it to be more clear

I am not going to kill myself.

"Life is only a long and bitter suicide, and faith alone can transform this suicide into a sacrifice."  Franz Liszt


Need help? United States:
1 (800) 273-8255

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
Hours: 24 hours, 7 days a week
Languages: English, Spanish

Inevitably people ask if I am alright if I refer to suicide in anything I write.  I get emails and messages from concerned people, and from the occasional asshole telling me how to do it best.  I explain that I am using the term figuratively.  But I have struggled with the suicidal thoughts and am depressed often.  But I am not about to kill myself.

I realize some people cannot even begin to imagine suicide.  To them it is a sin or would rob them of so many things.  To others it is a last resort, and they haven't come anywhere close to that in their existence.  In my world, I guess I just have never felt as though I belonged here, so suicide might answer that and relieve my pain and remove the world's pain of me.  However, I am aware now, and wasn't then, that I have people who love me, and some who actually need me.  So I am not going to do anything.

Thursday, November 12, 2015

Life goes on, sort of

I lost my mother in 2012.  She had had alzheimer's disease.  It was a malicious disease and the watch and wait robbed me of joy for many years prior, and obviously since. 

In 2013 I was diagnosed with cancer, lymphoma.  During the chemo I was afflicted with an intravenous staph infection that nearly killed me, and phlebitis.  I was hospitalized and had two surgeries that weren't, altogether, successful.  My wife saved my life during this event.  The staph came very close to killing me, and she believed I was more sick than just chemo aftermath sick.

In 2014 I beat cancer.  It was odd though, my flesh was exhausted, and my outlook, which had been warrior-like, didn't change upon beating the cancer.  In May I was finished with the treatments.  But in August I learned that a person I love deeply committed suicide.   Along with a number of people who chose to attack me now that I was "healed" or safe to fight with, I went into a deep deep depression that was perhaps the worst I ever experienced. 

2015 is almost over.  I just came out of a year long depression.  People who supported me in my cancer treatment are still here, and there are a vast number of people who were called friends, who really were not.  I guess it is good to arrive through to the other end of the tunnel of naivety.  I thought that being generous and forgiving would make friends last forever.  But as I've arrived at this older and wiser state I've found that many people are self interested, self centered, and lack depth.  Don't think this is an indictment on humanity.  I received kind gifts of money, food, and support across the web, and this came from many sources, including people I had never met.  When friends of 30 years or more can't be bothered to check in on you, but strangers can, that tells you something real.

Now, I am NOT talking about family.  I was in a state, for example, in hospital, where I did not want and nor could I have visitors.  Mine would have showed up without a moment pause.  But, truly, the staph infection made me miserable and visitors were limited due to my being vulnerable to infection.

I was trapped by illness.  I was scourged by sorrow.  I was wounded by life.  I was limited by fear. But now, the gate is open, and I've escaped.    And no one is taking me back in.

Who am I now?  One month from 2016?  I don't altogether know.  I know who I won't work with, that list has one person on it.  I know I need to finish 4 big projects soon, despite distant deadlines, the co-creatives are all handing in their work.  I hate being the slacker.  My writing is improving, I promise.  Writing is my love, along with family, friends and my beloved cats, Sophia and the brilliant ninja cat Katya.

Wednesday, November 11, 2015

When Darkness Breaks

In the middle of chaos steel and blood met.  The battle of Towton was said by some to be decisive because the king was changed by the result.  But the War of the Roses went on, a dozen more battles took place before a final accounting was to be final.

That is my life and depression.    I've found that no matter how good and happy I manage to achieve in my mood, my world finds some way to crush my spirit.  Every day good is balanced by frustration or sorrow.  But, the darkness has broken, my year long depression does seem to have broken.

Some of this is because I am able to understand that false attacks by people who didn't do their part in a partnership means the attacks are meaningless.  I know the truth, so whatever the other says is false and I can go on.  I can move on in life in the area of hope.  I have hope for the world in which I live because instead of seeing only death and misery, I can try to do my part, encourage others to help, and at least do something rather than be frozen in place and be paralyzed by the horrors of modernity's plunge into the sucking of a whirlpool into the abyss.  I can rise up from my place of hiding in the corner, because there are people who believe my work is good.  When you tend to get only hate mail, you do not have a perspective that is healthy.  I lost one friend I loved to suicide, and lost another who was toxic and I am better for his leaving.  I mourned long enough the first, and I am moving on from the other.

The future is beautiful.  It has not been written.  It has not been promised to anyone.  So it is there for me to claim.  My son is soon entering college.  I am soon going to announce some very big news of some creative projects that will introduce my work to many new audiences. My wife and son and I will be moving to another home sometime too.  Changes approach, and I approach these changes with a new heart.  I refuse to be crushed by the past.

Life isn't easy, it is a battle, and battles leave casualties.  But as long as I survive, I intend to be a victor in the battle.  I bear the banner of my king, and there is only my king.

Sunday, November 8, 2015

The Perfect Warrior Achilles

When he was born Achilles was foretold by seers and prophets to die young.  To prevent this his mother dipped him in the river Styx holding him by the ankle. The areas of his body, were nearly all covered, but for his ankle. In combat he was considered invulnerable, many then thought that his mother's act had made him invulnerable.

But in combat, Achilles had become prideful. He took risks that some thought seemed suicidal. Or that, instead, he believed that he was immortal, a god acting among men. But the brother of his most talented adversary, hardly an apt warrior, fired an arrow that went errant and struck Achilles in the vulnerable heel and ankle. At first Achilles was shocked that anyone would deign to strike him.  Then he became horrified, that he felt pain for the very first time in his life. He eventually pulled the arrow out, poison now running through his body, Achilles knew he was neither god, nor immortal.

“Achilles glared at him and answered, "Fool, prate not to me about covenants. There can be no covenants between men and lions, wolves and lambs can never be of one mind, but hate each other out and out an through. Therefore there can be no understanding between you and me, nor may there be any covenants between us, till one or other shall fall”  Homer

His inability to be hurt, led him to be rash in his actions, unwilling to believe in the fragility of his own flesh.

"Fear, O Achilles, the wrath of heaven; think on your own father and have compassion on me, who am the more."  Homer

Iliad-- Homer

 “And overpowered by memory
Both men gave way to grief. Priam wept freely
For man - killing Hector, throbbing, crouching
Before Achilles' feet as Achilles wept himself,
Now for his father, now for Patroclus once again
And their sobbing rose and fell throughout the house.”

“It is always as it was between Achilles and Homer: one person has the experience, the sensation, the other describes it."   Friedrich Nietzsche

Saturday, November 7, 2015

A Look back at a magnificent artist


Yes you read that name right.  And I am not
going to try to dance around any facts about
my friend Jeffrey Catherine Jones.  I knew her
as Catherine.  But she was born Jeffrey.

Artist Jeffrey Catherine Jones was a kind, gentle soul.  I interviewed her after a year of exchanging emails, and while the answers given to my question were rather evasive, and not particularly clear, they were by far more than I should have expected.  Life had in many ways hurt her.  She'd grown up as a male, and while always attracted to women, did not feel like her body reflected her thoughts, and her vision of her gender.

At a later age in life she had surgery, and hormone therapy.  And she went through a number of issues dealing with stress, depression and other issues I wasn't aware of and do not know now.   But, as I was beginning my public career as a creative person, she was beginning to end her own.  She wasn't planning an end, but rather, the cigarettes and various other momentary forms of distraction, had in fact ruined her lungs.  She died of pneumonia and other issues, with many great works still ready to birth.  I wasn't a close friend, but rather, someone who admired her courage, was awed by her talents, and found some great encouragement from her words.  And I miss her.   She was among the best artists of modern times.  And she is remembered for her skills and talents as a painter.

Her paintings  all rights copyright JCJones estate

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