Holy hey diddle diddle

Holy hey diddle diddle (didl didl in cut spelng for those curious explorer types), I've been working at Greenpeace for an effing month! So weird, it seems to me, that I do what I do.

Often in life, I've felt like some space alien who crashlanded on th wrongest planet possible. I have never bought others' reality, never excelled at assimilation, never found myself easily grokked by th people around me. Chicago has seemed like just another miserable city on th planet of th squares slash ueber hip slash conformists slash nonconformistconformists. As always, I can find no culture, no subculture, of Andrews.

But since I stumbled into Greenpeace, I very recently realized that I have things that I can fairly & proudly call friends. We're th office of th misfits, & I effing love it.

I have stumbled upon friends in th past of course. It happens thru avenues of theatre, music, clay, & chaos - thru art - transcendent, chaotic, divine, explosively rich & challenging art. Thinking of this, I reach a realization that we Greenpeacers do art.

It goes like this:

Every day, I go to some given streetcorner in Chicago, approach hundreds of absolute strangers - each in their own reality tunnels trying to get thru th hectic day without losing their minds - & start conversations:

How are you today, sir? How do you feel about Global Warming? - Ma'am, you wanna help save a Polar Bear today, right? - This guy looks like an environmentalist! Have you heard about Greenpeace, man? - Come talk to me about saving our Mother Earth!

I find it utterly fascinating how absolutely th same everyone seems & how absolutely unique at th same time. I never have th same conversation twice. Never! (But th goal remains th same, more or less: convince th mark that Greenpeace is worth donating to & get em to fill out my form & give me eir credit card number.)

In conclusion, we do art:

.th art of conversation
.th art of manipulation slash persuasion
.th art of selling (a reality-tunnel, an organization, a future)
.th art of rhetoric
.th art of canvassing (as this activity gets officially called)

No one does this job th same. No one paints th same painting (slash reality-tunnel slash conversation etc). We do art - transcendent, chaotic, divine, explosively rich & challenging art.

((((( So it feels on a "good day." )))))

RAW on Artistic Revolutionaries

Yo! Robert Anton Wilson has some inspired comments about art & artists. I paste an essay from his website below:

30 Apollo 78 p.s.U.

"There are only two kinds of artists: the plagiarists and the revolutionaries."
-- Paul Gauguin


I love this quote because it sums up my own philosophy of art so neatly.

To say it in my own jargon, Gauguin's "plagiarists" consist of those who do relatively good or relatively bad work within "the style of the period"-- the dominant paradigm or current reality-tunnel-- and the "revolutionaries" create an entirely new style, i.e a new reality-tunnel (or, in the case of Picasso, a new reality-labyrinth.)

These "plagiarists" (remember: this pejorative term comes from Gauguin, not from me) may provide light entertainment but they have low information in the sense of Shannon's "Mathematical Theory of Communication." (where information = the negative of the probability that you can predict the "signal" in advance. If you can always predict it, it ain't information.)

In general, dogma always produces low information; see, the Fundamentalists (Xtian, Judaic, Moslem etc.), Marxists, Objectivists, Aryan Nation, CSICOP etc.) You always know what such True Believers will say even before they say it, and they all say it in the same words as their Fuhrer. In art, the "style of the period" = an equivalent of (perceptual/conceptual.) dogma, a rigid and familiar reality-tunnel This kind of art reaches a large public immediately, because the mass consists mostly of (in Houseman's phrase) "fellows whom it hurts to think." People in general love the familiar and predictable and have "crawly" sensations at the unfamiliar and unpredictable.

The "revolutionaries" contain high information and a whole new "style" of reality-tunnel (high unpredictability) and annoy or infuriate the general public. Later, with time, they get consigned to "starters of crazes" or elevated to Masters (those who really did enrich our experience of Universe.)

In my opinion, the primary "revolutionary" Masters of our past century include Picasso, Klee, Pound, Joyce, Faukner Ginsberg, Frank Lloyd Wright, D.W. Griffith, Chaplin, Welles, Clint Eastwood,, Stravinsky, Gershwin, Epstein, Brancusi, Carlin : the man or woman who doesn't know their work deeply and richly still lives in the 19th Century as the rest of us prepare to enter the 21st. The artists on that list haven't become familiar enough to stop surprising us. We still need to interpret our interpreters, as Ellman said of Joyce.

The "plagiarists" appear on popular magazine covers and the NY Times best-seller lists. God bless them, they live happily and sincerely in the same world as the mass audience.

More RAW essays here.

ON AN OILY MOON

I stopped by Mercury Cafe last night for th poetry open mic, & found out that I'd have a much larger & more attentive audience at this place if I were a poet & not a songwriter. Th whole scene amused me, & I'd consider returning. I read a thing I put together a few months back called ON AN OILY MOON. Of course, as at music open mics, I represented th only person doing something different from your typical American freeverse cliche. Which isn't to say that their stuff was "bad" & mine was "good," just that I didn't fit in.




ON AN OILY MOON

1

Stalk with orgasmic futility skies on an oily moon. Shrink skies, stalk butterflies! Butter stalk, shrink butterflies; skies, butter with orgasmic futility. Shrink butter on an oily moon! Butterflies (with orgasmic futility on an oily moon) stalk.

2

Pomegranate seeds, in the way of seeing the bandits hidden, seeing: wearing chain mail in the way of the bandits wearing chain mail. Pistols hidden, wearing chain mail, pomegranate seeds. The bandits' pistols, seeing pomegranate seeds, pistols in the way of hidden pomegranate seeds.

3

Sleeping through Sunday, a blind horse scatterings. Kimberly touches, sleeping through Sunday, thinks about a blind horse. Kimberly sleeping through Sunday scatterings, the sound of new hay. Kimberly thinks about the sound of new hay, touches scatterings, thinks about touches. A blind horse, the sound of new hay, sleeping through Sunday.

4

A panda exquisitely flees with rice. The president's imaginary daughter exquisitely with rice confuses, flees. A panda in Mexico confuses exquisitely in Mexico; the president's imaginary daughter flees! In Mexico, with rice, a panda confuses the president's imaginary daughter. A panda?

5

Butterflies: skies shrink, stalk on an oily moon butterflies with orgasmic futility. Skies stalk butter, shrink butterflies. Butter with orgasmic futility: shrink on an oily moon skies. Butter on an oily moon with orgasmic futility: stalk butterflies.

6

Scatterings: a blind horse sleeping through Sunday touches scatterings sleeping through Sunday. Thinks about, touches a blind horse, Kimberly, scatterings, the sound of new hay. Kimberly touches the sound of new hay, thinks about a blind horse. The sound of new hay sleeping through Sunday; Kimberly thinks about scatterings.

7

And fishes explosive, bent! And fishes in time cut Charlotte's legs! A lapel button and fishes, Charlotte's legs, explosive! A lapel button bent Charlotte's legs in time! Explosive cut, a lapel button in time, bent, cut, and fishes!

8

Exquisitely, with rice, confuses in Mexico, flees, confuses the president's imaginary daughter. In Mexico, a panda (the president's imaginary daughter), with rice (in Mexico exquisitely) - a panda confuses, exquisitely flees. A panda (with rice) flees the presdent's imaginary daughter, exquisitely.

9

The bandits seeing in the way of wearing chain mail? Hidden pomegranate seeds, pistols wearing chain mail seeing pomegranate seeds wearing chain mail? The bandits' pistols, in the way of hidden, seeing pistols hidden? The bandits in the way of pomegranate seeds? The bandits?

10

Bent and fishes, a lapel button explosive, cut in time explosive! Bent, cut, Charlotte's legs and fishes, in time bent a lapel button! Charlotte's legs, explosive and fishes, cut a lapel button! In time, Charlotte's legs bent!

11

On an oily moon, butter: shrink skies with orgasmic futility. Butter, butterflies stalk. Shrink with orgasmic futility on an oily moon, shrink, butterflies, on an oily moon. Skies stalk with orgasmic futility butterflies. Skies butter, stalk on an oily moon.