A Debate Between Plato and Auden -- A Dramatic Essay by JD Kruger -- GLP4.

Setting:  Out of the smoke, Dr. Who’s Time machine appears at the corner of Bloor and Brunswick, in  front of Futures Bakery café, a busy intersection in present day Toronto.  As cars whisk by, the door of the booth opens, and three men bravely exit the contraption -- first the doctor, dressed in a long, blue overcoat, then Plato in his long white toga, and, finally Auden, in his contemporary dress, a nightgown or a frock.  The figures appear to stumble a bit as they light on the ground, and thus, feeling the weight of gravity and getting their bearings, they are led by the Doctor, into the restaurant.  On the stereo, “The Future“, by Leonard Cohen is playing:

"I want God, I want poetry, I want danger, I want freedom, I want goodness, I want sin." -- Aldous Huxley.

Gimme back the Berlin Wall
Gimme Stalin and St. Paul
Gimme Christ, or give me Hiroshima!
Destroy another foetus now,
We don’t like children anyhow,
I’ve seen the Future, brother, it is murder!

Some of the patrons look at the authors as they enter the restaurant.  Yet, none of those gathered, greet the doctor or the authors, as Dr. Who leads them to the counter, orders three coffees from the server, and they make their way to a table in the back of the room.

The doctor begins the discourse:

I have summoned the two of you, Plato and Auden, to present-day Toronto, Canada,
March 2014, from your sleeping graves, to answer one simple question:
What purpose governs human life, does humanity govern its own nature, or is the universe
guided by higher powers?
If you can debate this question, with efficacy and significance, I will allow the winner to be reborn in this context and environment, and never return to the world of mere mortality.  The loser, whose dialogue and debate is insignificant, and does not meet my satisfaction, will be returned to the slumbering earth, where his corporeal body will be eaten by worms, and decay into the ground.  The two authors appear stunned but they acquiesce, and acknowledging one another, prepare for a debate.

Auden:

As I know you from my studies, Plato, and you lived approximately 2400 years before my time, I will beckon you to lead the discussion.  After all, age before beauty!

Plato:

It shall be stated first, that human life is governed by philosophical discourse and its political engagement and enactment.  The quest of all philosophy, that being, the love of wisdom, is to negotiate the true, the good and the beautiful, between scholars and man; man is governed by the ideal values, which in themselves hold a higher purpose, value, and power.  Wisdom has an ethical value of discipline and justice. To know morality, epistemologically, to know justice, idealistically, makes their fulfilment and enactment fruitful and comprehensible.  To know ethics, character, brings about its activity with efficacy, through uncompromising honesty, and essential piety, which the masses are unable to determine for themselves without Socratic education.  It should be understood, foremost, that there are two realities: the realm of change and appearance, the empirical, physical world in which we live, and the realm of forms, of eternals and absolutes.  The evanescent and mundane is only a shade of the infinite; thus, the human soul has responsibility beyond his own mortality, to the infinite God.


Auden:

As we agree, it is the fundamental task of the poet to cultivate the true, the good and the beautiful, like a gardener tills the soil and cultivates goodness in the flowers of society.  The poet is the soil and the gardener -- the soil part is ignorant, while the gardener has learned the habit; one must have good soil.  The great writer is a good man  He evaluates morality and necessities of men, wrung from despair about his age, and with a Marxist value (SS 15-16).  But, beyond all my economic misfortune, I am just a humble, Anglo-Catholic poet, and poets are by nature religious men; I am dressed in rags, without any aristocratic value -- just a social democratic conviction and a firm belief in the Christian God --

Plato:

We will address this notion of “poetry,” lyrical, epic and dramatic, later, and discuss the benefits and disadvantages of the nature of poetry and the so-called poets and how they relate to the philosopher ruler.  I have also been sceptical of accepted beliefs, so, I returned to conventional morality of the ideal universal truths.  It was my duty, and task, for Ancient Greece, to inculcate these noble qualities within the philosopher king, and provide a blue-print for rulers to lead the general populace.  This heterogeneous mass that currently surrounds us, in this restaurant, indicate that this Toronto is governed by some democratic, pluralistic conviction, that is rife with disorder.  Their costumes are motley, and their hair-cuts various, some long, some short, and with colours of all sort,  and do not appear to be modeled on any given fashion.  If my countrymen could see this heterogeneous mass, they would remark at first that this is not a uniform republic with a unity of conventions, but a democratic, pluralistic one that must ultimately veer towards anarchy.

Auden:

Perhaps that is a good start to embark on our discussion.  What is the meaning of human existence, if not democracy and a pluralistic self-governance of the population?

Plato:

The Republican ideal, is ultimately what the gods convey, and the philosopher kings deem fit to be represented by society.  Determining and enacting this Republican ideal is the purpose of human life.  My countrymen, during my lifetime, veered between a democratic state and republican ideals.  Ultimately, education of the republic is the lofty ambition of the state, and should create greater homogeneity among the populous.  I would never sacrifice my independence, and ambition, for the banal pragmatism whereby the general public decides upon political justice and legislation.  As in my metaphor of the powerful animal, (p. 288), people are bad judges in political matters, matters that need to be inculcated through the Academy.  I would never let the proletariat --

Auden:
This riff-raff --

Plato:

Guide the decision-making of the country, or we’d be ruled by scoundrels, with pragmatic agendas, resulting in the betrayal of law and order, and the ideal society.  After all, it is human nature for the state to be governed by the philosopher king, whose knowledge of the ideal world of values, the eidos, or, world of forms, dictated by the gods and asserted by the ruler, establishes law, order, and justice to be attained by the republic as a whole; this is the higher power on which all society is based.  In my time, it was a challenge to inculcate a new form of idealism, as law and morality were deteriorating; therefore, human nature lay in true philosophy, where the ruler would gain political mastery and dominance in the spectrum of human affairs; the ruler’s education would be inculcated by my ideal blueprint, for the acquisition of knowledge, through the discursive, Socratic model of education, known as dialectical reasoning.   The pursuit of academic education is within human nature, and should consist of literary studies, which involve poetry and rhetoric, training in the arts of self-expression, composition, coherence and argumentation (he takes a sip from his coffee) --

Auden:

If I could interrupt here.  My place in human history is attested in the realm of poetry, not in the philosophy of man.  Every poet celebrates the ethic of his age.  If man differs from the gods, on one side, and animals on the other, he must be divine and heroic as he emancipates the heroic and immortal that is in his own age.  I come from a century, beyond the period of classical thought, where the poet is divine and heroic, where immortality is his subject nature, a century where the human, and the local, have as much to offer as the universal, godly, and transcendent.  Human nature is immortal, inasmuch as the poet depicts the burden and value of his age, and the nature of humanity changes from era to era.  Humanity is always in flux; as such, the purpose of human life, and its values, the higher powers that guide it, are always changing.  In the Romantic age, free will and existential choice, reflected man’s ability to sin against his fellow man, and God.  It is through this transgression, that Romantic arts and letters evolve, beyond the rationalism of the neo-classical age, where reason is the tribute to the true value of human nature, transcending historical and cultural parameters.  Here, the poet is victorious by his own self-consciousness, celebrating individuation and subjectivity, sometimes, accentuating the annihilation of the enunciating subject, to pursue a direct bond with the natural world.  Egoism and the consciousness of his own mortality project him further towards a need to keep a poetic record of experience.  The poet must vision the possible, beyond what actually exists for man and society, not so much the ideal realm of forms, that you deem as pre-ordained, but the possibility for creating a new human existence; man sees himself within the “other” and separate from the “other” and the natural landscape.  Furthermore, the poet conjures up passions that most men cannot feel in themselves, and thus performs an emotive function, consequently, a purgative, cathartic function, for society.

Plato:

This is certainly where we disagree!  The artist, you poets, know little or nothing about the subject you represent and the art of representation is something that has no serious value; and, this applies to all poetry -- lyrical, epic tragedy or dramatic representation.  God makes the ideal form, the craftsman, constructs with his eye on the form, and the artist or poet, copies what the craftsman, or former has made, in a secondary manner.  There are the realm of forms, the object of knowledge that of ordinary, or mundane experience, and the lower level, copies, images or ghosts constructed by the artist, like shadows on the cave walls.  The poet, like the painter, possesses a low degree of truth, and deals with a low element in the mind.

Auden:
But, it is the poet who has the loftiest of minds, and the greatest of intents to ameliorate and celebrate society!  Like your ship-captain philosopher,(p. 283) the poet is another captain of society, often undervalued in his determination to lead society, often a maligned contributor to human consciousness.

Plato:

Please, don’t interrupt.  We must refuse to admit the poet to a properly run republic, because he awakens, encourages, and fortifies, the baser elements in the psyche, to the detriment of reason.  Giving any power to the poet, would be like empowering and giving political control to the worst elements in a city-state. (p. 435)  We must not allow poetry in our ideal state, because it corrupts the spectator’s mind, who imitates the faults that the poet represents.  We must not  let ourselves be carried away by our feelings!  (Plato appears agitated), even if these feelings are, as you say, purged through the poetic representation.  Poetry is a secondary representation of the world!  The poet touches upon and indulges in the instinctive desires of humanity which we struggle to hold back in our private misfortunes; our common man, being without adequate ethical discipline, relaxes his hold over these feelings,  and recognises that it is someone else’s passions he is watching… if he lets his emotions for the suffering of others grow too bold, he is challenged to restrain his own sentiments. (pp. 436-7)   (With a harumph, Plato settles down.)

Auden:

I would agree that the poet fulfills an emotive function in society.  When I write verse, the feeling, excites the words and makes them fall into a definite group and movements, as an emotion excites a crowd and draws their collective activity.

Plato:

Well said!  For my ideal republic, only the poetry of hymns to gods and paeans in praise of ethical men should be allowed in the state, because, in recognising the value of Homer, we admit that contained in the sweet lyric or epic muse, are pleasure and pain which will rule us instead of the law and rational principles.  Poetry must be banished from the ideal state.  There is an ancient conflict between poetry and philosophy, however, if we can admit poetry for pleasurable purposes, in the ideal republic, if it has a place, we shall embrace its fascination.  For the lovers of poetry, we can question its lasting benefit to human, transcendent value, for perhaps there is a profit to its legislation.  If there is high value and truth to poetry, we shall listen to it, but otherwise, we believe it to be a childish and vulgar passion that has no serious value or claim to truth.  I would guard the listeners from its effect on the health of their psyches and inner selves. (pp. 437-439)

Auden:

Well, as for me, I will always believe in the value of good verse.  Here, the poet’s assertions and achievements, define not the author himself, but the socio-personal hero of the narrative.  I wrote in the everyday language of the common man, as opposed to the abstraction and convention which become the bane of poetry; in my poetry, reason and passion are equally celebrated, and poetic consciousness determines the value of the true, the good and the beautiful.  Poetic consciousness is measured by intensity and integrity, and allegory is a form of rhetoric, making the abstract concrete.    Poetry will always perform a vital role and function in education.

Plato:

I must concede, though we argue from competing views over the role of philosophy and poetry in human nature, I must admit, both fields deal with transcendent issues, and idealism which separates man from the beast.  Though poetry and rhetoric form an educational discipline and are the best preparation for cultivating human values, we must first examine the ideal management and government of society, and then persuade the plebians through poetic exposition and rhetorical channels, through dialogue, rational logic, and dialectical discourse.  We must find the Ideal form of rule, and then guide those with political power to find, forge, create and inculcate the philosopher statesmen.  After all, there are universal laws and values, which govern humanity.  There is an ideal, which far too often is in discrepancy with the real world (he motions to the masses dining in the restaurant) that we see around us.  Beyond this empirical reality, is the ancient world of forms, the ideal world, where the soul is immortal and perfect and cannot be destroyed by its moral wickedness.  Finally, goodness is rewarded in this life, and in the next, by the Pythagorean notion of an immortal soul!

Auden:

Yes.  If there is one thing that we can agree upon, it is that there is always a difference between the “ideal” and the “real” worlds.  It is from this discrepancy that tragedy is born.   However, I think that your conviction in the ultimate rationality of humanity differs from mine.  I believe that the irrational will often come into conflict with the rational government of the individual over himself, and others in society. Though, I am a man with little personal wealth, my conviction in the Christian godhead, governs my belief that there is universal, human value, for me, religious and poetic; and a left-wing posture that asserts that the poor will always be exploited by the rich.  In my century, where two great wars wreaked havoc upon the civilisation of humanity, and totalitarian order was eventually overruled, democratic values are once again governing civilised power.  I believe that in a pluralistic society as we see in Toronto, one governed by democratic values, and virtue of the common man, the individual attains value, in respect to his relationship with tradition.  The poet achieves immortality, through the transcendental value of his works that cross the historical bounds of time.  After all, writing is the best means of breaking bread with the dead!

Plato:

The purpose of human life is self-governance; however, the commoner is ignorant in this arena.  He acts on impulse and emotion, and therefore, democracy will never create good leadership.  The popular leader lies in order to sway the masses, and will never advocate views that challenge his authority.  He pacifies the proletariat, rather than giving them truth, appearing amiable to his constituents.  In a democracy, liberty of the individual is the central tenet, ennobling diversity and variety.  This is its beauty and attraction.  The population is antagonistic towards political and moral authority; there is greater permissiveness and freedom, and restraint of individuation is resented and deemed intolerable.  Without social cohesion, dissent and revolution is acquired, and class-war evolves in the struggle between rich and poor.    Therefore, the purpose of human life is to follow the legislation of the republic, in order to ameliorate the standards of society.  Justice and morality transcend reward and recognition of the individual, in order to create the ideal state.  Virtue itself is its own reward.  There are other merits to living a good life, for example to ensure one’s place in the afterlife, by godly reincarnation, or, simply, individual fame beyond mortality.
As you know, my teacher, Socrates, was put to death, by hemlock, in 399 B.C.  The Socratic, dialogical method of teaching, was made famous by my predecessor.  His liberal action, and his relations with the youth of Athens, forced him into an irreconcilable position with the leaders of the age.  To my chagrin, Socrates, who remained true to himself and his teachings to the end, was put to death on charges of impiety, and corruption of the youth, because of his sexual relations with the young, male students of Athens, despite being the most righteous man alive.  When he refused to arrest a fellow-citizen, and bring him by force to execution, Socrates, remained true to his teachings, and fidelity.  This, being true to the self, is a noble character, and indicates that human nature and purpose, is “to thine own self, be true.”  Regardless, eventually, Socrates was charged with impiety, condemned, and finally brought to execution.  Despite, his liberal, tragic flaw, Socrates remained true to himself to the end, and won immortality and fame, by his noble resilience.
Reason, desire and ambition are always at war between the individual and society, however, justice, itself, maintains a proper balance.  These all have a place in the good life.  Hedonistic, physical pleasures are frowned upon, as intellect and idealism are elevated.  Education is provided and defined by the state, and poetry serves a social order; it has educational value and social utility; however, creation is a form of madness and cannot be reduced to reason.  The power of art makes it dangerous and often intoxicating.  This would be divine madness.  My madness, perhaps, is the belief in a ruling class of philosopher kings, an ideal dream, in itself, perhaps poetic in its way.  It is a utopian blue-print for a society we try to attain; we must critique the real in order to create the ideal.  We must know the ideal, in order to forge the real.    However, there is also an inevitable degeneration of human society, a decline from the Golden Age, as history advances.

Auden:

Aesthetics, like politics, evolve over time.  In romanticism, we, devalued reason and elevated the emotions, and their relations to the existence of higher powers, or God; so, sin and divine redemption became the quest of the poet, in order to experience his own quest for salvation, ignoring rational models to justify the existence of God, rejecting the utility of preconceived notions of morality.   For lack of common mythology, the poet must create his own, because there is no inherent, ideal, nature to man, but what we choose and create, as I say in “New Year Letter“:

How hard it is to set aside
Terror, concupiscence and pride,
Learn who and where and how we are,
The children of a modest star,
Frail, backward, clinging to the granite
Skirts of a sensible old planet.

To thyself be enough!  I map my own destiny, with that of the Anglo-American individual, from local to universal, rather than from the ideal to the mundane.  My poems are recipes for what it means to be human.  And it is my desire to touch others through my writing, in a world where we are so cut off from one another, to live forever, through the memory of my poetry, my immortality, in a world where mortality is so brief.  But, I am reticent in my poetic composition, and terse, in everyday lines such as,“lay your sleeping head, my love, / Human on my faithless arm,” we know what it is to be human, to love and be loved.  Such commonplace language brings the local to the level of universality, and opens everyday speech to the true mysteries of language.

“If I Could Tell you”
Suppose the lions all get up and go,
And all the brooks and soldiers run away;
Will Time say nothing but I told you so?
If I could tell you I would let you know.

These lines discern the notion of my relationship between the local and the temporal, to the universal and transcendent.  Your philosophy, Plato, moves from the transcendent and ideal to the immediate and empirical, while mine moves from the local and immediate, to the transhistorical and universal.  In a way, our work covers similar territory, but moves in opposite directions.  In my despair and joy, I have contempt for conventional codes of behaviour, as you praise them in ideal.  But, poetry makes nothing happen!  There are no special privileges or indulgences granted to the poet, and all madness signifies lack of discipline.  The poet should have no illusions, accept no thought or theory that would blind him against reality.  It is the poet’s task to accept the victories and defeats of history, equating goodness and intellectual prowess with success:

History to the defeated
May say alas but cannot help nor pardon.
…..
In the nightmare of the dark
All the dogs of Europe bark…
Intellectual disgrace
Stares from every human face…

Therefore, only through verse and prayer, do I attain a purpose for human existence.  I yield to the curse of vulnerability and failure, the abeyance of desire, the infidelity of the heart, and the injustice of the world:

With the farming of a verse
Make a vineyard of the curse,
Sing of human unsuccessful
In a rapture of distress;
In the desert of the heart
Let the healing fountain start,
In the prison of his days
Teach the free man how to praise.

Plato:

You make a good defence of the poet, and validate your argument with credibility.  I am sure, for your debased period of human history, you set a good example.  Perhaps, your poetry gives lasting benefit to human society, a source of profit and pleasure.  We shall love your poetry if it has high value and truth.

Auden:

Thank-you Plato for your kind words.  We can both now agree that philosophy and poetry give true meaning, purpose and value to human existence, as these are the higher powers that transcend the tests of time.

Suddenly, Leonard Cohen’s, “Democracy is coming to the USA” is heard on the stereo.

Doctor:

We will have to cut this debate short, as the god machine has arrived.

The Deus Ex Machina appears in the form of the time machine, in front of the bakery.

As you both argued with critical insight and mastery, I have decided to transport both of you to the  Caribbean Islands, where you can enjoy your immortality soaking in the sun, and debating poetry and philosophy to the end of days.

Fade to Black.


Works Cited

Plato.  The Republic2nd Edition (Revised).  Translated with an introduction by Desmond Lee.  Penguin Books, 1974.

W.H. Auden: A Tribute edited by Stephen Spender.  New York: MacMillan Publishing Co., Inc., 1975.

The Portable Romantic Poets.  Ed. W.H. Auden and Norman Holmes Pearson.  Toronto: Penguin Books, 1978.

Forever Now, The Eternal

Forever Now, The Eternal

By JD Kruger  -- GLP4

When, occasionally, I walk alone or with a friend,

I comment on the truth, that it does bend

the time of aging when the end draws near

and I know that fleeting is the time for cheer

in Winter, when the days are short

and with the ladies, I tend warmth and court

and comfort the self that closeness is a sport

where friendship is the most expensive sort

because, within the life of every man

there is but, one or two, no more than ten

who can but know the life of such an intimate

to tell one apart from arid, or from wet,

as cancer eats into the body

I, all alone, will know the lot, He

the Lord has inflicted upon my soul

He, the Lord, whom everyone makes goal

and in the end, when ghosts do circle earth

and forever tell the spirit what it`s worth

I know that more days to walk upon this land

is not at all what mythology hath planned.

And, so I count my time within my boots

as time worth, as time worth lived

Which takes from roots to branches

what was once short-shrived, And praise

that body that hath been abused

It has its ways to still the heart, that once fused

me with each and every girl with whom I had lain

and each and every friend, with whom, I`d plain

and given o``er what no mere mortal spoke

and surrendered what only angels brokered

For what will be known of me when I am gone

Is that my charm and speech had maketh me a son,

The gift of mercury is what made me fleeting

Ne`re made me tarry, but what gave me meeting

with people whom all from walks of life

From Rich and Poor, and politician`s wife

From Artist, Musician, Journalist and Player

From Teacher, Student, Sooth and Sayer,

And, now, deserted by my auditor,

no longer holding sway, with priest or curr,

I can not help but let my ghost,

wonder, wander, and mix within the host.

Alack, it is not that every man shall hold the current

for more than four decades even on his best turrent,

And yet, I do, and gather still response,

When lost are intimates, the alchemist will mix an ounce

of herb or powder to seek his lasting flight

To seek that body which hath given might

To speak, to write, to play, to scheme,

Oh, isn`t life one lasting dream,

where a necromancer has conjured ghosts on screen

on radio, on foot, and in between,

how could it be that bodies rot,

when they last lay in their last cot,

I know my ghost will walk the earth

and disturb the summits with a birth

that will no longer incorporate

ni for love, ni for hate

but, climb eternal in the skies,

that will be sight for sore, dead eyes,

that will be hearing for dead ears,

that will be joy, for all dead cheers,

and, if you call upon my name

when I have passed seek what you claim,

my ghost will not disturb you more

than I once disturbed you with my chore.

There is no death, of soul, you see,

when you have names, that make you three

of Father, Son and Holy Ghost,

of Master, Maker, and of Host.

You know to call me, by the Christ,

If you disturb me, it``s not Rice`d

or Buddha, who has lain for not

But, mythic man eternal who has caught,

For as I lived, so did I die,

For as I strived, so did I lie,

And like the stock market, whose value is a wave

the soul does fluctuate through the act of saving, grave

the lot, stave the man, I know now,

or if it were, or if it how,

perhaps there is an eternal current

Where inner speech is heaven sent,

For inner speech rebirths my soul,

and if that value makes you whole

We work eternal in the minds of men,

And that will make you whole again.

It`s not the body which is eternal

But, soul and spirit makes us full.

And, now, you see, my body rests,

But, as you read, you dawn my vests,

So if you read me, please give inflection

and only soul hath ressurrection,

and, only inner voice gives me arousal

there is always a woman of all carousel

to take the dick, and tuck it deep, for me to tuck

it deep, for me to fuck, the soul

with luck, to tuck, to tuck, eternal tuck

hide the woman, carry the ruck,

tuck it ease, and tuck it clear,

the hear is now, forever here.

The here is now, forever now,

The here is now, forever now.

JD Kruger – GLP4.

Surfacing the Depths -- JD Kruger

The deepest fish, is but the whale,
From below great depths, it ascends its tale,
And as the pull of waves draw near,
The surest dolphins come to waters clear.
And fish that swim closer to the shore,
Are caught by fishers for their chore.
But, in my skins, and scuba suit
I move from great depths, to catch some loot.
It seems from youth, that I was deep,
Back then, it was not that I was cheap,
But, that I was sunk so deep in thought,
Nor man nor god could disturb my lot.
And, as I grow old, the diver surfaces,
And in his actions he replaces,
What once was mystical became divine communion,
And so we became superficial in our reuninion.
And, as I sickened of the shallow waters,
Where men and women playfully evict their doubters,
I become a surface dweller myself,
And now this cloying game must resurface wealth,
For what was deep, now becomes shallow,
What was full, now becomes hollow,
What was festive is now fallow,
And where winds were calm, now they bellow.
The time, is now, I wade on beach,
I roll my trousers, and beseech,
The mermaids to come from their lair,
So, I bid them to my humble care.
And, now, a shore man, with sand on feet,
It is the shallow, whom I meet,
And, no more wizened, I declare,
On beaches, and rock, this is what I swear.
No, more to swim, beneath deep ocean,
No more to bide by subconscious motion,
But, walk as man upon the earth,
No loftier plan, for what it’s worth,
I am the atlas, holding down the ground,
I try not to make an unconscious sound,
Or, image that shall drive me blind,
Or, thought that takes me in the mind,
But, if you are so there inclined,
I may leave my deep sea searches behind,
Not, to explore the collective want,
Nor, to explore the graveyard haunt,
And as superficial as the men today,
It is only competitive sport, I play,
No need but for action, in the garden,
No need for emotion, as I harden,
On the surface, I walk, on waves, as Jesus before,
Not that he saves, but, keeps above the roar,
And soon, the man is clothed again,
Soon, he plays the games of men,
For, society is of the surface, and moves at speeds,
That, is society that this man heeds, 
and goes with fashions of the day,
if it’s a mind that flows, is what wants to play,
for if I to go away, is what they want,
I will leave this necromancing haunt,
Then, I will abnegate my mission,
I will move without indecision,
And resurface, and out the thought of plenty,
Express the mind, that more than twenty
Thousand sages educated,
It was not this child that was so hated,
But, the society, that brought him back to earth,
So, now, he must show them what his teacher’s worth.
The moral is, don’t dive so deep,
Make wishes great, and hopes so steep,
But, feet pressing firmly in the sand,
A superficial life, is what is planned.
For that, you will be more than manned,
For that, I will give you just a hand.
A deep-sea diver, now a man of earth,
For now, that is all, that he is worth.

-- JD Kruger, GLP4.

Unfold Your Eyes -- JDK, GLP4

Unfold Your Eyes -- JD Kruger

Unfold your eyes (like paper dolls
Join the world with severed limbs)
Exhaust the light from mute ant halls,
Fifty feet below sleep-sickness.
Rewind the oboe and flute duet
Careful not to crease the dress
Fondle my manuscript.
Walk the line of wavering sounds
Squirm within my serpentine grip.
Divided numbers score my tongue
Odd figures leave remainders, the
Singer’s broken song.
Only one goes into all, but does not come undone.
There is nothing one must not go into,
Only one can stare straight in the sun.  I
Am not one.  I am some.
A remainder indivisible by ancestors.
Indivisible, I become.
There are no remainders in the war
When one goes into oneself
Only once one leaves this shore.
This merger bares no dividend, behind
Door number one is no Grecian Urn
For there is no eternal friend
Marking this cave of blood
Without lasting significnce.
The signs were lost for good.
There is no Hansel and Gretl retreat
When the mouth is sealed
The ground is circumscribed with feet.  A
Manhole frames the singer, bold
He blows an orange omega through wax
Fingers and eyes you unfold.

JDK, GLP4.

FEMINISM AND PORNOGRAPHY -- JD KRUGER -- GLP4

Roos Van Montford -- Miss January, Playboy

Although, various types of pornography are violent and oppress women, perpetuating patriarchal ideologies, in both blatant and subtle manners, they shouldn’t be censored because they empower women politically over the hegemony of a phallocentric, and patriarchal tradition, of stereotypical gender relations.  This uncensored discursive genre, and its economic practise, develop sexual roles which ultimately challenge the representation of femininity, through the sexual depiction of the woman as object of desire, not only for men, but also for women, and has provided a forum for the emancipation of women to control and manipulate men, and other women, through sexuality.  No longer passive in the construction of her role, because of working with male directors and producers, the female artist is now active, and free to challenge traditional female iconography, and formulate new images of female dominance, sexual, aesthetic, and political, particularly, as more women take on the actively-engaged role of camera and director, beyond simply model and actress, and determine the narrative of the discourse, and its semiotic iconography, represented through the use of costume, sexual positions, and toys.

Traditionally, the woman has been seen in a manichean role by the male gaze, the Whore-Madonna complex that is at the root iconography of the Christian male’s sexual desire -- the virgin Mary, the maternal, and holy, and the Mary Magdalene, the whore, prostitute, the lustful image that has attracted men over the ages.  By playing upon, and manipulating, this dual role in sexualising the attitude of women, we can see how the female may in fact have more power in relationship to the male, and can empower herself economically, by playing out these roles in pornographic discourse; the woman, once the sexualised object of male affection, is now the subject of discourse, whose manipulative powers trigger the spectator‘s desire, and force him, and sometimes her, into an economic relationship, where she has the power to govern discourse through the unbridled use of her sexualised body, playing roles of virgin, whore and mother, as the moment deems fit.  Ultimately, through manipulations of sexuality, the genderisation of women is no longer under the control of patriarchal ideology, but is constructed by the woman, who must create alternative sexual images that challenge the hegemony of the established patriarchal roles that women, in the past, have been forced to embody.

What is seduction and what are the images that seduce men, and women, to become enticed by pornography, and how does pornography eventually empower the feminine, in her own construction of gender roles between man and woman, woman and woman, and woman with the spectator’s gaze, in itself?  And how is the industry of pornography, a multi-billion dollar industry, able to empower women economically and politically, while enabling them to reconstruct their socially acquired images of femininity through mass media, particularly the internet?  Is it the passive female agent that attracts the spectator, both male and female, in becoming enticed by the sexual act, or is it the active, dominant role of the woman, which ultimately challenges the position of patriarchal dominance within society?  And in the end, who benefits most from the pornography itself, the actor in the film, or the consumer who indulges, or the directors and producers who distribute the spectacle, and in fact market new constructs of femininity, through scripted and improvised dramatic enactments of sexuality, in order to reconstruct our notions of the role of women in the sexual act, itself?  Finally, what kind of neo-liberalism admits this form of discourse, and allows for the pornographic, prostitution that we can witness everywhere on the world wide web?

It would appear that feminism itself is far from dead.  Rather, new vehicles and avenues for achieving sexual equality have opened up through new channels of sexual exploration and fabrication of the expression of femininity, desire and beauty, what it means to be a woman, and the gender roles that can be constructed and rearranged through multi-media discursive genres, and their ensuing power relations.  In “My Life as Decoration,” Mamie Van Doren states that,

few films of the period [the 1950’s] contain strong feminine characters because the studios -- in concert with the half-assed piety and thinly veiled hypocrisy of the censorship boys from the Johnson and Hays offices -- created images of women dreamed up by men.  There were very few women then in executive positions at the studio  There were no women as studio heads. [6]

Of course, since that decade, women have gained more power as studio executives and are now capable of forging new depictions of women, in stronger roles, in cinema and television, be it the character of “Lemon” in Thirty Rock, or Julia Robert’s character in Pretty Woman.  In Van Doren’s day,

if you were an actress called upon to portray one of those images [constructed by the male psyche of the 50‘s,] you were required to live your life in accordance with the restrictions of that image -- or else.  There was no tolerance of illegitimate children, extramarital affairs, or nude layouts in men’s magazines. [7]

Of course, by performing these roles, Van Doren did achieve a certain amount of fame and economic success, but she admires the contemporary position of women who are able to challenge the accepted notion of feminine beauty, as exhibited by mainstream photographs of famous, pregnant, cinematic icons, exhibiting the beauty of the maternal:

I did a photo layout for Playboy in 1963 that earned me the enmity of many in the Hollywood establishment. (It also earned me money.  I had a young son to support.)  Jayne Mansfield had done the same thing the year before with the identical result.  This was many years, you will remember, before nude, pregnant actresses would appear on the covers of women’s magazines.  (And more power to Demi Moore, believe me!) [7]

This type of exhibitionism was rare for the time, and stigmatised her ability to be hired for certain roles, as she explains; “the very men who would buy the magazine and gleefully jerk off to it would be damned if they would hire me for a role in a movie” [7].  However, she willingly played to the desire of the hegemonic, male public of the age, creating a new language of the Sex Symbol:

The studios packaged femininity to match what the public wanted.  What did the public want? Sex, of course.  But, after so many years of repression, we couldn’t bring ourselves to call it what it was.  We created instead a symbolic language -- a visual language written in flesh.  The metaphor we created was called the Sex Symbol [8]

This also involved the obliteration of the actress’ original identity, by taking away her name, and forging a star-system with a pseudonym:

We, the sex goddesses, became a sort of Castrati in the Movies -- a class of performers locked into our roles by our physical attributes.  Who could imagine seeing Mamie Van Doren playing a nun?  Who would want to?  No, glamour girls were born to be glamour girls.  When they could no longer be glamour girls, many found life unbearable. [10]

The woman of this age could only attempt to fulfill the male construct of feminine beauty and desire, and if she, “didn’t die trying to fulfill someone else’s idea of womanhood, [she] died when [his] idea no longer made sense in [her] life. [10]  In the ensuing decade, repression was conquered, and the media succumbed to a new kind of liberation.  Through the advent of television, “norms [were] turned upside down, bras [were] tossed away (thankfully!), and a new breed called the flower child would celebrate the body and spirit” with a hedonistic attitude [11].  Nonetheless, there is violence in the male-construction of female sexuality, be it in the repression of their intellect, or in the cosmetic surgery that they are coerced into subjecting their bodies.

Movies have always reflected the secret psyches of the audience.  Think about what a sexist idea glamour is.  Men find a woman attractive, and if she is not too smart, she is deemed glamorous.  Women may agree that she is glamorous, but that is based on her desirability to men -- a kind of acknowledgment of the competition.  Now, no one said we had to compete, but who can fight the instinctual behaviour or reproduction?  No one said that women had to have their breasts pumped full of silicone, or their lips pumped full of fat, but many a tit and lip in this town [Hollywood] has been enhanced because of the psychological pressure to compete. [11-12]

Nonetheless, within time, Hollywood has deliberately broken free from the male-dominated construction of female passivity, exemplified through the cinema of Jodi Foster, and even Thelma and Louise, as “only the strongest could break away from the hold of the male-dominated studio system” [12].  Today, mainstream cinema reflects the subtleties of woman’s rights, through stronger female protagonists, and unconventional representations of female beauty, and even same-sex relationships, exemplified by the young girls in Heavenly Creatures, or the gender-bending of the film adaptation of Virgina Woolf’s Orlando.
This male-construction of femininity is further exemplified by Kembra Pfahler, a movie star and professional dominatrix, when in, “The Turning Point” she alludes to the “artificial glamour,” as constructed by female performers, for the male spectator:
The truth is ugly, but like that old saying, it will set you free.  It is this aesthetic that I approach in my work, as a way of creating and, because my medium is public, sharing artificial glamour.  I have always felt more  like a criminal or a soldier than an artist, but this is slowly changing.  The vocabulary of images that I have developed through the band and through movies is a language that is not always spoken … [38-39]

Nonetheless, she acknowledges, that the gender construction is one of her own making, even if she is pandering to male desires, and that mainstream media is only beginning to allow the female performer to construct her own vision of sexuality, through the female-directed productions, and s/m performances:

demonstrating that I am something in between gender, elusive and fluid.   Chopsley was a character in one of my rock videos, which was banned from television because I exposed my breasts.  Assertions of female sexuality and the body usually only sneak through the mainstream if they are male-directed, as I experienced a few years ago. [39-40]

She is able to construct new visions of feminine beauty and desire, through her performance art and rock and roll performances, ultimately challenging the status-quo constructs of feminine beauty and the delicate power of the so-called second sex:
Their sense of me as a triple-x-from-another-dimension rock pervert in a scanty costume did give me the attention I demand in my outfits, but this attention was misdirected.  As a professional horror queen, I am the subject of my own in numerous visions of beauty, not an object of amusement and moronic prurience. [40]

It is apparent, that the feminist performer can create a whole new iconography of sexuality for women, attaining power through the live spectacle and sado-masochistic routines in performance art.
Although, Andrea Dworkin claims that, “lesbian porn is an expression of self-hatred,” [87] there are many lesbians who would agree that the emancipation of sexual desire between women, pornographic or otherwise, is simply another form of feminist self-liberation.  By demonstrating the sexual passion between women, the feminist can begin to appropriate her own constructions of beauty, power relations and desire.  Naomi Klein sums the argument up succinctly, while commenting on, “Not a Love Story,’ a film narrated and directed by her mother:
I also watched interviews with feminists who said that these images were acts of violence against all women, that the only response to these other women -- the strippers and porn actresses -- was outrage and resistance.  ‘To be female and conscious anywhere on the planet is to be in a constant state of rage’.  Over and over again, the feminists said there was a war going on.  A war against women.  The enemy’s tools were naked pictures. [112]

Of course, Not a Love Story attempted to distinguish between pornography and erotica [112].  In her youthful gaze, Klein demarcates that she had always been afraid of male abuses of power through sexual exploitation of women: “to my nine-year-old eyes, feminists were the gatekeepers protecting me from the world of strippers, pornos, peep shows, and naked people -- the world of sex.” [113]  This was accentuated to such a point, in her psyche, that, “sex and violence became so intertwined in these screenings that I started fearing men in my own family and our closest friends”[114].  Finally, Klein astutely relates the pornographic images to the Montreal massacre of Marc Lepine:
About a month after the massacre, I watched Not a Love Story again.  This time, it all made sense.  I saw the stock-in-trade porn images -- the back arched, the head thrown back, the throat exposed -- for what they really were: the girl in the cafeteria at the University of Montreal, shot dead for being a woman who wanted something better. [115]

Despite Klein‘s sobering feminist analysis to depictions of the female in male-engendered pornography, she seems to temper her views towards the end of the text, while discoursing on the power relations exhibited by men and women during sexual conduct:
an essay I wrote outlining my new theories on heterosexual love (it was a women’s studies course […] I argued that to make up for society’s sexism, the man should relinquish all of his power to the woman.  The only way this unfortunate hypothetical pair could have non-violent sex was if the guy was never on top.  The missionary position, after all, was the physical embodiment of patriarchy. [116-117]


Finally, she concurs, that perhaps pornography is acceptable, and even in small doses, healthy, for women:

But part of me is also attracted to these women who brag they … aren’t afraid of the dark, can handle any sexist pig who pats their ass, don’t need any special privileges to get jobs, and even enjoy a little porn in their spare time.  [118]

Klein’s critique of pornography, her evident distaste for it, and yet a gradual acceptance of its place in contemporary culture, reveals that, even in the mainstream, pornography is an acceptable form of feminist discourse.

No longer defined as having a lack of power, the woman, who has traditionally envied the phallus and its demarcation of power in a phallocentric universe, in fact, usurps the dominant position of man, by exploiting her sexuality, triggering the desire in the spectator’s ego, through seduction, and selling her sexuality, in order to market images that would ultimately challenge the patriarchal dominance that the man has controlled throughout the ages.  Although, historically, patriarchal ideology has objectified feminine sexuality, in contemporary times, it is the woman, herself, who has radically altered the power relationship between men and women, and used her sexuality, not only to dominate multi-media discourse, particularly on the internet, but to empower herself, politically, economically, and with an international and trans-cultural scope, carving new visions of aesthetic beauty, the issue of attraction and desire.

Bibliography
Mamie van Doren.  “My Life as a Decoration.”  Click: Becoming Feminists.  Ed.Lynn Toronto: Crosbie  Macfarlane Walter & Ross, 1997.
Kembra Pfahler.  “The Turning Point.”  Click: Becoming Feminists.  Ed.Lynn Toronto: Crosbie  Macfarlane Walter & Ross, 1997.
Naomi Klein.  “Coming Unclicked.”  Click: Becoming Feminists.  Ed.Lynn Toronto: Crosbie  Macfarlane Walter & Ross, 1997.

Strange Bedfellows

Strange Bedfellows… the broadside….

JD Kruger -- Smokin' Buddha

Since the dip in the Canadian dollar has triggered a grim, yet, candid, reticent response from the Canadian public, concern over tax increases in cigarettes and gasoline hikes, and incremental minimum wage re-evaluations have  returned a Liberal agenda and platform towards social equity to the provincial governmental, minority front on the Left, reawakening the middle class values, while attacking privatised transportation and mobility, versus public transit, and personal rights and freedoms, along with stabilising lower income workers against a further receding economy.  Will this re-examination of middle-class values be accentuated or further defrayed, in the on-going saga of a Canadian movement towards a bi-partisan, two-tiered economy, with an American model?
On my examination, the change in the Canadian ideology all began with a stifling, yet, strangely liberating, nose-plugging, snobby, Tory conservative, on a bucking bronco riding, Harper, and a movement towards a white-washed, slimey salesman, Hudak, claiming to create a million jobs on the right.  And so, I envision a convention where the autistic, monotheistic verklemts who have filibustered their innate liberal joie-de-vivre by an in-fighting Jew obsessed with Nazism and the Holocaust issues, in their subtleties and gross misinterpretations, played out  through the demise of a three-party system in Canada.  Certainly, the left-wing coalition between a beleaguered, NDP, Mulcair and a son-in-waiting, socialist, red, liberal, grit, is mirroring the coalition in the provincial governmental jurisdiction by the Great old Mum, Horvath, and an old, skeleton of a dyke, Wynne.  Will the middle-class be continued to be rifted down the middle, and rendered in half by these to polemically opposed forces?
Of course, it was the paradoxical desire of the inner Buddhist silence-seeking of the forceful nose pluggers, and peace-by-force psychology, that any bland, yet, strangely, corporative army, in an unassuming mild-mannered and untyrannical way, would quash any dissent against a right-wing, Christian, monopoly on the Global Canadian front.  The movement towards the assassination of the  wag, and an “atrophied” CPP system (cerebral palsy plan, for short) would out the traditional repressionists towards a KISS| kind of tribute.  Of course, the silence of the lambs, and the nostalgia towards the ghettoised Jew of the Holocaust, purgation of the poor  and unhygienic left, and cleansing of the virtues of the right, envisioned a hiding victim from an onslaught of Nazi brutality, in the modern garb of a Benedictine Harper, versus, a Justinian, or Just, Francis Gumbo.  Outing the Democrat Black president, and the tongue clave of the Musclemen, would not be an easy feat for the North American right, and so, I also factor in a drunk, mayor of Toronto, who begins the sessions by bullying his adversaries against an anti-intellectual, Miller kind of leadership, whereby, two brothers can banter around a pipe of crack cocaine, on an ignoble radio station, as a microcosm of a fascistic municipal landscape.
The poor, and their spirituatual leader, would no longer form a rank of conjoined bodies, through a liberal zeal, the red army, and become governed by a big mother, on the left, and her TTC driving men.
As I returned from Wexford, a poor immigrant enclave in an Eastern district of Toronto, towards a more decent, urban sector,  I remembered my nobility as a teacher of immigrants in the ESL system,  but, this time, focused on the treatment of germs and hygiene of the Nazis and their relations to the poor, in comparison to the diseases of immigrants in Canada, and cold, bleakness of  in our winter.  Could I be turning completely towards the corporatisation of which I had always, originally despised?
Factoring in the obsession of sexuality of a Che Gueverra-type masculinity, and, I now muse on the death of the grit and the wag, through  a jocund elongation of the tongue in cunnilingus, while a disenfranchised leftest tries to slip it in the playful hole of a sexy, corporate reception.  My quitting smoking,  is now mirrored in the suppression of discourse, both public and private, through a right-wing corporate activity, although, the de-escalating currency may trigger a rise in a bureaucratic model, and red-tape may not be banished, the black corpse of the banking system continues its activity.
A fascistic, activity on the American right, through infiltration of media and economy, a big brother approach to telepathy, and an overpowering force of the right-wing producers, versus the left wing sympathetic, hums and haws, of an old leftist, Pierre-guard, and a British welfare-system, and Stephen Harper’s quest to kiss up to the Republican Party in the States, is the future progression of North American politics.  There is now greater starvation, and poverty, homelessness, and fear.  Defraying social services, health care, a public education system ruled by a hungover, no bullshit, common sense revolution, and privatisation through the use of cell phones is now creating further alienation among the youth. If there is a Liberal ethos in the young, it is now, replaced by static images and iconography; and, the corporate right will ultimately dictate our future.  Our Canadian political ideology and economic stability is at stake.  The cards that are played now, will determine the future North American direction and evolution.

JD Kruger, GLP4.

A Ladder to the Stars

• A Ladder to the Stars – JD Kruger, GLP4.

• In the recesses of the mind, Narcissus and Echo, tell the tale,
  of the shapes of splendor solis. Epistemology and Ontology beckon
  how do we know, what we know, the being that becomes
  and enacts itself through every thieving enterprise. The common sphere
  relates the common strife, to know thyself is the greatest battle....
  That selfish activity that guides the world through thought, must
  cast out the devil before any further guidance ensues. The Greater Self,
  a collective sphere is true, good and beautiful, only when
  the forger of a stronger self is unified with Christ.   That mercurial entertainment                                                     of the Platonic mind, recalls, that first, and foremost we are thinking beings,                                                             and the thoughts that we embark on, must be transformative,                                                                                            be it through the writing process, speech, music, or, action!

• So, do thoughts shape those, that shall stand upon my shoulders,
  in a quest for future prosperous, posterity. And, time shall tell, that soon,
  one hundred thousand men and women will be perched upon my shoulders,                                                                    

  

  A Ladder to the Stars

• to reach the sun, and then beyond. But, what a weight
  of gravity, that they must burden me down, and shape my carbon body,
  to the earth one day. Those children, and their children's children,
  will, and shall, create a ladder to the stars.
  

• This, the singer's task, to enchant an audience, is merciful, in its humble offering.

What is a Man! A hand that sets to sail upon the seven seas, and in the winds and zephyrs of desire, breathes the soul through to the sails of liberation from the land to which he's bound, and

with but a voice that breathes the soul into the hearts and minds of an enchanted deck of archetypal brigands, steers the course towards a better tomorrow.

What a piece of work is man! A sailor that shall shape the knots to tie the ship upon the dock, and anchor down, upon the bobbing seas.

A Fisher, who shall tie the hearts and minds, and hoist them in like a net of mutable pisces;

a centre, without circumference, who can conduct, the instruments of an orchestra, or band of merry players in their indefatigable ways.

Or, a director, who must guide the actors through their infinite masks of emotions, speeches, and activity, lighting through the tunnels and chasms, of a collective breed.

What shall make man common? What shall set him apart?

What shall individuate his essence so that he shall stand firm with but the spine and crucifix of body.

What shall nurture his soul, so that he in the end, is separate from the beasts and animals.

Does his passion, and quest for learning, end in a vocation, a calling, that shall please the host?

That captain knows the roles his crew shall play, their strengths and weaknesses, their innate abilities, and their hindrances. He is not Faustus, but a humble player himself, who shall not, like Daedelus' Icarus, fall to the earth for his hubris, but, contrariwise, live but on the earth, a man who can only, but gaze at the stars, and name their shapes.

Perhaps, this manifest destiny, shall enable one to gain some humility and ground him on the earth, as but an electrical current, who in lightning will submit to a charge, and assume his true shape, a bolt of lightning that shall touch the zenith, if but through language, story, image, music, and activity of every specialisation. That specialisation which is for men, shall give his society a greater and vaster meaning, in multiplicity and arrangement.

And can this teacher please a class for the learned scholars, or is it all but pedantic sophistry.

Shall we walk together in the park, with our Socratic dialogues, and enquire into the states of souls,

who are forever locked in battle, through debate and discourse.

Or, shall we falter, and get blocked from advancement, through the idle bickering of the mind.

Who has claimed his place, so that with positivity we shall once again, advance, in linear fashion, one direction, to maintain that Being and Time to which we all must eventually submit. History, professor, history. And, hence, the future:

Their is no backwards gazing in his path, but a narrated existence that only the real gods can know.

The gods who look down upon us, as if from Mount Olympus, and see our toiling, like ants upon a hill.

Are we even that industrious? Working in orderly fashion, without regression, or the retrograde motion of Venus. For, if we love, and we but do, than it should be in the nurturing of the soul, where we must condition our children to first enquire, and then act with speed -- progress, and conserve.

Namely, that narrator, is far beyond this Man's path. He can know no omniscience, or everpresence.

He will know now not what his neighbour does, not to the thought, speech, or action in the privacy of his den. His public activity is but one truth. His private life must be that secret of the Christ, who permits the saviour to donn the cross itself.

He can only listen in, with quiet intent, in the shadows, across the hall, or across the globe,

and yet his guidance truly, too, has limits. Perhaps a positivity of that saving grace, to know when to hold the cards, when to gamble, and when to fold – but, I digress. Man for me is not a gambling kind, but more of a gardener who tills the earth and permits the young flowers to bloom,, who takes his chance, when to entice, and when to push another away, a woman, or a child. Our wrestling days our through! It is that young and restless spirit that can misdirect the crew. Let every man, not be an island unto himself, but let him not dig so deeply into the soul of another, for to harm him. Not every man plays Father. Not every man plays son. Not every prodigal son can return from the journey, and not every profligacy can be redeemed. But, what is done, is done, and can only be renegotiated through the discourse of man. Let not a witness harm your progress. Let not a spy invade your privacy. That likeminded home, that we share, a globe contained in a corner of the universe, represents that man is but a microcosm, to that macrocosm, and perhaps all thoughts are sifted through the minds of all men. O wise one, guard your thought, and speech, so that activity of the society can continue with the progress of the economy. Very little gives me right or reason to answer back a student, an audience member, a friend or adversary. But, I shall listen, too, and take my part; for every linguistic act is magick, and every act of magick, involves transformation of the self and other. For even if the best have come to me, the embrace of a president, the ghost of a great author, a rock star, majesty or pope, I must do my best, but to listen when he does speak, and yet to absorb what he says, so that his ghost, itself, will not forever wander the Spiritus Mundi of the planet, unfulfilled. Even Ghosts must rest.

Is this dome of stars, a collective blanket that lights the night sky so that a navigator can guide his journey by the mark of the constellations. Polaris. The Northern star , who have existed beyond that mortal life that is but sacred, if but brief. The mark upon that inordinate sky that knows no limit, and is thus named for mythological characters. A human map throughout the ages, that sets us transhistorically, and transculturally, beyond our petty, if but beautiful flesh, created in the anthropomorphic image of our Lord.

Even, at that, the 2000 year old man is quite young for his beck and calling, for his flock.

Two thousand years, is but a short time in the 15 billion years of this vast universe. And the life of one man, twenty, forty, even eighty, years, is but a speck of dust to the stars. There is nothing that Ozymandias knows eternal. Even Empires crumble to dust. Like the page, our silicon will too decay; building fall, mountains erode. There is no eternal. Even the sun shall die. Ideologies wane, and there is no statesman, whose tomb itself shall not be but the stepping stone of another birth. But, Man, the necromancer knows – the soul itself is eternal. Not that it should receive a new body, but that it shall remain in the spirit of the godliness, of the human breed. Even that old BNS blessing-curse, proves that there is eternal life. For now, it is over, there is a miracle, and I, like thou, we must go there, and humbly submit.

For this, Man must have his humility, and all arrogance is shorn off like the husk of a corn.

Yes, I love best, to write in the nude, but my denuded body, that perfection, is only replete in the making sacred of the mind. All those who listen to that subtle mind, may you listen. All those who perceive that nudity of thought, may you take pride in your forthcoming. If my clothes are easily shorn, then your clothes too shall be derobed, and all of us will prance naked. But, again, I digress.

Certainly, after the fall of Eden, Adam and Eve, did garb themselves, but in our enlightenment, we have once again, become like naked children on the earth. I fear not the naked body, nor the naked mind.

In fact, I advocate a nudist branch within that Ivory Tower. My voice, no louder, nor weaker than another, my imagism, no fonder than a dream, but the actor himself shall wear his costume and donn his mask, so that within those stages of the theatre, and that intrusive camera of the cinema, we should maintain a tragi-comic air. God shall subsume the voice, where there is faith in Christ.

God, shall manifest the many roles of man, so that we can function under that harsh glare of the sun.

In society, there are the many roles who perform the function of good trade. That driver of the bus, that teacher in the school, that bureaucrat, that cameraman; the journalist who must record the crimes to date, the ceremonies of human organisation, all the activities that make society a liveable existence. That man should draw from the flock, is but necessity; however, that man should impede the progress of his others is simply a shame. Advance, advance, and advance, again; and never retreat. For nothing stops the daily news, the toil of humanity, and even the dreamer may slow down the emancipation and liberation of diurnal events. Lest we dream, the body itself becomes fatigued. Lest we rest, the body's inertia will stand the test of physical activity. If we falter, the Lord will guard us from our fall. Rightful thought, speech, and action are man's testament to nobility. Be noble, humble, but noble, so that humanity itself can truly say that we created the gods, and they created us, and we have the right to compete with them. If nobility is the aim, and repetition is the deadener, man embarks upon a path to bear the weight of the crucifix, in congregation as in solitude, without running on a treadmill, going nowhere. Now, as in the past, we see the degradation and depravity of war in the world. War, that eternal vice of aggression, that truly has no place in a healthy globe, and yet, still we submit to its supposed necessity. Children in Syria are gassed. Inter-religious strife rips apart lives from the Middle East to the Americas. Let us now focus on issues such as health, environmental devastation, and the economy, so that the elements within human control, can positively benefit that advancement of our global world order. There is no division between war and peace, and the two terms always sit side by side. But, violence is always matched with violence, and good nature is always homeopathically met with good nature. Measure for measure, an environment is acheived whereby the soul may progress without hindrance, through the activity of man, across the planet. Today, I speak for 100,000 poets for change. The poet is the maker of man; not so much a diviner of the future, or a historian of the past, but a transformer of universal presence. If the poet is the homo loquens, than language and semiotics will shape the present, first in soul, and then in representation through activity. Man is a pentagram – be he left or right; we are individuated and autonomous. No Buddhahood, or six-pointed star, can stand for everyman. However, a man can prove a dogma through his activity. Even, that silent watch bears discipline in itself. And so, as separate entities, we continue; the mirror has been broken and we know the suffering our eternal separation. Even that man and wife, mother and child, may not correspond to that hidden word. And so, as separate fives, Man must continue on his arduous journey; for himself, as for others. Nothing is advanced by spiritual powers alone. The manifest soul of Christ respects his distance and critical detachment. And once again, Man alone, will pursue the logical end of his path, as always, for the benefit of others, actively engaged, for the Capital of Man. A man of earth, reaching for, and building a ladder to, the stars.

JDK, GLP4.