Archive for the ‘Existential Moment’ Tag

Time   2 comments

Sunset On Blackett's RidgeTime– Image by kenne

Left behind as the sun rushes toward a destiny,

time does not flow in a continuous stream

from past into future like the position of the sun

as we begin to feel foolish waiting for it to set.

 

The present moment is part of what’s about to happen,

“now” becoming a prologue to more things to come

giving us more room to stay in the moment

and your future, a past you remember.

— kenne

 

Art Student In The Canyon   1 comment

Art In The Canyon-art-72Art Student In Sabino Canyon — Photo-Artistry by kenne

You may care not to admit it, but we all spend time thinking about our relationship to the universe, and all things that are connected. However, because of divergent forces inside each of us, we may spend time running from ourselves.

Some of the ways you are becoming focused on vicarious experiences, such as reading a mystery novel or playing computer games. We might also join a religion or political movement.

These acts involve little to no risk since there is little chance our connections with others becoming an objectification of who we really are. There is much evidence to show that running from self behavior is the result of an attitude managed by the dominant side of your brain.

You’re probably beginning to think, “. . . now we are going to get some of this right brain/left brain bull-shit!” Don’t worry, no brain theory this time.

However, call it what you may (left brain/right brain, head/heart, male/female sides, yin/yang, intellect/intuition), we all have exhibited behavior based on attitudes of self associated with the “head” — analytical, systematic, logical, objective, or intellectual. In our culture, organized groups (institutions) reinforce this behavior. We are told how “smart” we are; how “orderly” we are; how “logical” we are. We are considered well-grounded — what better for group identity!

On the other hand, if our behavior is considered coming from the “heart” — impulsive, artistic, romantic, creative, daring or intuitive — our behavior is looked upon as being unrealistic, unreliable, unstable, and unfocused. “She’s not a responsible child, but she’s happy and a lot of fun,” people would say.

The point is that an enormous number of forces exist inside of us between the head and the heart, which are struggling for control self. These forces can cause you to take the path of least resistance — allowing one side to win over the other. For instance, the dominant side will choose between opposites in a two-dimensional relationship. One can represent harmony, the other conflict, two basic forms of human interaction. Selecting between these two opposites results in zero communication and the desolation of self.

On the other hand, we can take the path least traveled — pushing the head and heart together, not allowing one side to win. The result of pushing harmony and conflict together is the creation of a third dimension, which represents autonomous and creative communication, among others, and the actual development of self. By allowing one side to win over the other, we draw a line between “what you think” and the “power to think.” The power to think only exists in this third dimension.

— kenne
______

Left Brain, Right Brain Magic:

While sitting at your desk, lift your right foot off the floor and make clockwise circles. Now, while doing this, draw the number “6” in the air with your right hand. Your foot will change direction, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Why? It’s a mystery!

“The More It Stays The Same.”   3 comments

Old Jules-artJack “Old Jules” Purcell — Photo-Artistry by kenne

In June of 2006 Old Jules wrote on his blog So Far From Heaven “The More It Stays The Same.”

I hadn’t watched Easy Rider (Peter Fonda, Dennis Hopper and Jack Nicholson, circa 1968) in three decades.

When I saw it again this past weekend I appreciated it again for the first time:

Nicholson: You know, this used to be a helluva good country. I can’t understand what’s gone wrong with it.

Hopper: Huh. Man, everybody got chicken, that’s what happened, man. Hey, we can’t even get into like, uh, second-rate hotel, I mean, a second-rate motel. You dig? They think we’re gonna cut their throat or something, man. They’re scared, man.

Nicholson: Oh, they’re not scared of you. They’re scared of what you represent to ’em.

Hopper: Hey man. All we represent to them, man, is somebody needs a haircut.

Nicholson: Oh no. What you represent to them is freedom.

Hopper: What the hell’s wrong with freedom, man? That’s what it’s all about.

Nicholson: Oh yeah, that’s right, that’s what it’s all about, all right. But talkin’ about it and bein’ it – that’s two different things.

I mean, it’s real hard to be free when you are bought and sold in the marketplace.

‘Course, don’t ever tell anybody that they’re not free ’cause then they’re gonna get real busy killin’ and maimin’ to prove to you that they are.

Oh yeah, they’re gonna talk to you, and talk to you, and talk to you about individual freedom, but they see a free individual, it’s gonna scare ’em.

Hopper: Mmmm, well, that don’t make ’em runnin’ scared.

Nicholson: No, it makes ’em dangerous.

Three young men searching for America who found it wasn’t what they bargained for.

Jack

The Poet Is Sighing   1 comment

Jackson Square N.O. Dec 2014-2-Art-72A Jackson Square Morning — Photo-Artistry by kenne

The fog begins to lift
cobblestones still wet
from a passing shower —
the poet is sighing.

Cathedral bells ring
pigeons flying off
leaving their home —
the poet is sighing.

I can lose myself
in the French Quarter
in its endless embrace —
the poet is sighing.

Deep shadows in
alleys behind iron gates
guarding tropical courtyards —
the poet is sighing.

A lone musician
plays a jazz tune
not seen, but heard —
the poet is sighing.

Artists make their way
down to the square where
they hang their painting —
the poet is signing.

Morning life in the square
repeats again and again
the movement of generations —
the poet is signing.

A child of the mist
catches my attention
in my camera’s eye —
the poet is signing.

We bookmark each moment
looking at you again,
Renaissance and me —
the poet is signing.

— kenne

To Lean Back Into It   Leave a comment

Director-Edit-1-art-72Photo-Artistry by kenne

to lean back into it

like in a chair the color of the sun
as you listen to lazy piano music
and the aircraft overhead are not
at war.
where the last drink is as good as
the first
and you realize that the promises
you made yourself were
kept.
that’s plenty.
that last: about the promises:
what’s not so good is that the few
friends you had are
dead and they seem
irreplacable.
as for women, you didn’t know enough
early enough
and you knew enough
too late.
and if more self-analysis is allowed: it’s
nice that you turned out well-
honed,
that you arrived late
and remained generally
capable.
outside of that, not much to say
except you can leave without
regret.
until then, a bit more amusement,
a bit more endurance,
leaning back
into it.
like the dog who got across
the busy street:
not all of it was good
luck.

– Charles Bukowski

Coronavirus Time   3 comments

Kenne Self-protrate art blog IIIImage by kenne

I am an old man
Each day sheltering in place
The damage is done.

Early morning walks
Many new walkers pass by
No stopping to talk.

Coronavirus
Still on a stubborn plateau
We fight off the stress.

In a new normal
Public places restricted
Times are abnormal.

Zoom and Facetime
The way we stay connected
Your time is my time.

— kenne

A Pandemic Picture   3 comments

See ItImage by kenne

see this picture

a pandemic picture

not really

it’s not clear

so little information

not able to reason

observation void

or is it

some will reason

based on blind faith

indifferent to the truth

yet people believe

it is the truth

rather than asking

is it the truth

coronavirus exist

fed on indifference

to the truth

prompt with careless moods

minus the circumstances

left to question

only at death

a pandemic where

warriors stand

and truth died in

presidential updates

no longer accepting

only asking

is it the truth

— kenne

Dark In The Sunlight   1 comment

Maiden Pools Hike“Dark In The Sunlight” — Photo-Artistry by kenne

A late afternoon breeze

sunlight shines through

in the shadow

of the olive tree

telling me of the

dark in the sunlight

as the music plays

I watch you from afar

dancing on this spring day

the things I’ve held close

have moved on

as I circle

trying to get my being

out of the experience

into the movement of change

becoming dimly aware

of the moment —

whatever will be,

will be.

— kenne

 

 

 

Know When To Fold’em   2 comments

Fishing with Walker-72“Know When To Fold’em” — Source: Pinterest

“You’ve got to know when to hold ’em
Know when to fold ’em
Know when to walk away
And know when to run
You never count your money
When you’re sittin’ at the table
There’ll be time enough for countin’
When the dealin’s done”

— Kenny Rogers

Twilight On The Mountain   Leave a comment

Mt Lemmon Cabins (1 of 1)-3-Edit-4-art-72Mountain Cabin — Photo-Artistry by kenne

Night, and I travelling.
An open door by the wayside,
Throwing out a shaft of warm yellow light.
A whiff of peat-smoke;
A gleam of delf on the dresser within;
A woman’s voice crooning, as if to a child.
I pass on into the darkness.

— Joseph Campbell

24 to Harwood and Cropsy: No Road Back Home — #1   Leave a comment

Lummi & MCLACThomas R. Turner (May 23, 1942–November 13, 2014) — Photo-Artistry by kenne

This posting is the first of several I will be sharing from a long poem written by Tom
sometime around 1980 after his wife left him. Today is the fifth anniversary of his death.

24 to Harwood and Cropsy: No Road Back Home
(Taken from a Brooklyn Bus Route and the Title of a Blues Album.)

Standing above me in Smith's room 
Awkwardly looking down through a clipped hesitancy 
Our lives came together. 
TURNER 
With all the ambiguity that last name usage implies 
Was what she called me. 
Mannerisms of ingenuousness and a tendency toward the atypical 
Bespoke your ambiance  
                                     (Ineffably I wanted Her) 

That voice - 
Falsetto 
Laced in bursts of Peter's guffaws 
Seemed contrived with a dreamed-of authenticity.  

                                      (Your mouth, my love,the
                                       thistle in the kiss?) 

From within mutually cancelling 
Vignettes of naturalness and gender-cliche' 
She kissed through closed lips of 
Pristine openness. 
Innocently I loved. 

Through summer notes of vulnerability 
Together we embraced an entangled growth of uncertainty  

                                       (Our fictions were tempered in
                                        a painful and inward time) 

Desperate needs equivocated against ordained directions and 
Dead-end holdings of night-bakery-work. 
Even then yours wasn't other-directed but 
A need to keep the Self-absorption of your Ann Arbor soul on a 
Pedastal of conforming difference. 
Eliptically we lived in the interstices 
Between an illusion of  
Fulfillment and letters etched with 
"Know what?"

 

Tom Would Have Been 74 Today   3 comments

Tom Turner (1 of 1) art blogTom Turner in an Existential Moment — Image by kenne

“If thought corrupts language,
language can also corrupt thought.”

— George Orwell

He gazes through the 
rained soaked window
into his confused mind.

Lonely in the moment
turning his head away
from my open hand.

He was not prepared
to be rejected and
broken up by life.

— kenne

 

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