The Glow.

“Come into the light. Come see me, feel me, touch me.” The voices seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. The voices came from my own head. I looked into the room where they tried to keep me for so many years. I was too stifled there to breathe. I was being told exactly what to feel and how to think. The presents of that glowing tube was always there. Though not always on, it never seemed to be off. Every image was there; but it always moved. It told a story, or it “informed”. Why do we have this glowing box in our home?

It feels just like when we have certain books around ourselves, at all times, but they are never read. I have known several people who carry one specific book all the time; but they know almost nothing of what is written inside. It is just like carrying a brief case that only comic books are kept.

An ideology stands. There they put a famous man, said to have conquered death. But all the things he claimed to have said… They act in an exact opposite manor. “To offer the other cheek” of yourself has turned to “Blow their mother-fucking face OFF!”

Even the view of “God and Country” is blasphemous. He stated to “Give unto Caesar what is Caesar’s” to keep him out of harm, and to tell his followers to only do only what is absolutely needed for the government you are under. Pay you “debt” to society but to never forget what is most needed and asked for.




How can it so easily be misconstrued?

Where did the great writers go?

        What do I find to love?  To fill my time with? Books, my wife, a few people, and my thoughts, are my most pleasurable things. Each day comes and goes. But when I look back on my day, and find myself the happiest, it is when I have sat and read, talked with my wife for hours, and got to spend my time thinking over what I read, and where those thoughts lead me for the day.

       It is rare to find me reading the work of a writer that is alive today. So few current writers have found anything new to write about, and their style does not touch what was done over one hundred years ago. Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Crowley, Nietzsche, and Heidegger changed literature as it was known. They took the narrative and found new ways to express it and bestow information upon us that enlightened us.


       Tolstoy told history like no other thought it could be done. Dostoevsky finally got one deeply into the mind of his characters. One knew just what they were thinking without needing to be told. In The Idiot we could see and feel the interactions of the characters, not just from what actually took place in his words, but from what they were thinking and feeling. We knew the emotions and internal conflicts more than any other part of this amazing novel. We almost didn’t care about the action until it finally exploded, and forced us take account of its happenings.

       Crowley and Nietzsche made us question the world and all our former religious beliefs. No longer did we just go into our religious congregations and simply follow what we were being told for face value any more. Both were deemed the Anti-Christ for looking into what was actually there, deeply and philosophically. No longer would the interpretations of the pulpit be solely satisfactory. They refused to simply believe what was told to them, and  taking the Buddha’s advice, questioned everything. And if that was not shocking enough; their use of language put them far above any other writer during their time. Reading their work has a flow that did not come out of any other writer. Even the headiest concepts of Nietzsche just flowed without hesitation. While any other writer would have stumbled to find the right words (and how to connect these ideas onto a page with cohesion)  this man knew just how to write so one is not only drawn into beautiful and poignant ideas, but it awed by its flow and perfect decorum of word usage. One’s only regret of reading him will be that there is not enough! The heart aches for more but there is none!

       Heidegger took the ideas of all the great thinkers before him. He gathered all of them together and created a new frame work of use; a new and useful system that awed and transfixed its readers. And if the ideas and intermingling of these thoughts and practices were not enough, he changed German word usage to what it is today. These changes not only affected the readers of his country, and his time, but changed language around the world. “Nesses” added to the end of a word would not impact us as it does today if were not for his writings; and that is only one example. Even translations of books, in other languages, are now translated with the current way of word usage brought about by Heidegger’s sentence and word structure. Even those who were too simpleminded to understand his theories benefited by this man’s ability to write and express himself in printed word.



Will literature one day return to these great minds and writers? Or will we suffer to be spoon fed by simpletons and baboons of the human languages forever? I only hope we return to seeing what the greatest did, and learn.

Simone de Beauvoir & me.

Of late I have been reading the works of Simone de Beauvoir and can not help but almost feel as if I am in love. To give you a little bit of her back ground, if you are unfamiliar with her, she was the woman that spent much of her life being Jean-Paul Sartre's main love. Each of them had many lovers other than each other but found that they spent most of their time and works with each other. They would have been married but Sartre belived that that was much too bourgeois and they never did.

I have been reading one volume of her autobiography entitled Force of Circumstance II. In it she speaks out against the country around her. They are engaged in a war with Algeria and the French army is torturing, raping, and slaughtering people of a poor and underindustrialized nation. She speaks out very venhemently against these atrocities and is found to be Un-French by her fellow countrymen. She goes as far as to denounce her home counrty and leaves it all the while doing her journalism for her and Sartre's paper fueled with articles about the horrors taking place in the hands of the French military.

I could not help feeling just what she is writing about in connection with the current war in Iraq. Our soldiers are doing just what we were told we would be liberating the Iraqi people from. We are only liberating them from their lives; if they are lucky. And one should know that I feel that life in the only thing that should never be sacrificed. It only comes about one time and living it is everything that you ever do.

Simone also speaks of an account she had with her brother-in-law who was trying the rationalize what was being done durring this war. He tried to say that the torture was only in issolated instances and that the military was only acting in ways that it needs to to combat a savage land and equally savage people. I heard these same things told to me durring my political ravings of administrations past and wars current. When she descibes what she was feeling physically durring, and right after, those conversations with her brother-in-law I could not help but know in absolute detail exactly what she was feeling.

I would suggest her writings to any one with any sort of leftist inclinations, even a slight acknowlegment of woman's equal rights, enjoys great women writers, or is one who takes interest in existentialistc philosophy and its application to real life situations. She is an amazing writer and to know that she wrote these works long before it was en vouge to do so by a woman makes these writings that much more powerful and impressive.