Exercise Your Right To Tune Out

Is there some statement to be made?
A statement on what, exactly?
A social statement?
An artistic statement?
A fashion statement?
Some say that what’s needed is “perspective”.
More perspective … or more perspectives?
Hmm …
Perspectives are like opinions …
and opinions are like assholes;
everyone has got one.
If you don’t like the message,
exercise your right to tune out.
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Let The Word

Cork-Board-Fiasco-90.JPG
Cork Board Fiasco (Jay Schwartz)

Let the eyes speak volumes, when the mouth bites the tongue.
Let passion be channeled, but never put on hold.
Let go, when the mind says wait.
Let the future be now and the past be the past.
Let fear fuel the frenzy … not a pregnant pause.
Let’s stop pretending.
Let … is just a word; let it be just that.
The rest is up to you.
Let’s begin.
No more words.

 

 

 

 

PSA: Differentiating murdering extremist terrorists from mindless slaves to hatred

Bleeding FingerPublic Service Announcement: How to tell if you are a murdering extremist terrorist or just a mindless slave to your hatred …

If you thoughtlessly and ignorantly allow your politics, religion or nationalism to categorize and define all ‘people’ you know by their nationality and respective governments or by their supposed political or religious affiliation, then you ARE a bigot, a slave to hatred and just as useless to a peace-loving and compassionate society as an extremist terrorist.

If you would rather post politically motivated rhetoric that promotes hate speech and bigotry THAN talk of love, compassion and tolerance, then you are a slave to hatred and just as useless to a peace-loving and compassionate society as an extremist terrorist.

If you REALLY think INTELLIGENT, EMPATHETIC and COMPASSIONATE people with a MIND OF THEIR OWN don’t recognize BIGOTRY and HATE SPEECH when they see it, then you are not only NAIVE, but also a slave to hatred and just as useless to a peace-loving and compassionate society as an extremist terrorist.

If you think it’s ‘educational’ to re-post politically produced media that spreads hatred, bigotry and intolerance for others with alternative points of views, then you are a slave to BOTH hatred and the ‘media’ … and just as useless to a peace-loving and compassionate society as an extremist terrorist.

IF YOU DO ALL OF THE ABOVE AND KILL INNOCENT PEOPLE, you are an extremist terrorist.

Note: Extremist terrorists are NOTHING without their hate, bigotry and the mindless idiots who follow them. Extremist terrorists WANT YOU TO BE SCARED AND ANGRY so that YOU spread their hatred and bigotry FOR THEM. AND, they will kill you anyway, just as easily and willfully as they sacrifice their own followers and blow up innocent by-standing children.

STOP helping terrorists sow the seeds of hate, prejudice and intolerance in the world. STOP being manipulated into being a slave to hate-filled political media. There is NO conspiracy. There is only BIGOTRY, HATRED and PARANOIA. You don’t need to kill innocent people to be an accomplice to extremism; you just have to be a slave to hatred, ignorance and political media.

A humble request: Following an international tragedy such as the attacks in Brussels If you REALLY can’t tell the difference between spreading hate-speech and truly educating people to make a positive difference in the world, then please SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU HATE-FILLED BIGOTED ASSHOLE.

Love & Peace xoxo

Vagaries Of The Moment

'Under A Dada Sun' by Jay Schwartz‘Vagaries Of The Moment’

A moment in time; a moment in the Sun; a moment with you.
Go ahead and take a moment and collect yourself.
It’s all good.

Vagaries live in the moment, along with ‘chance’. In fact, we chance upon them every now and then, but usually miss the point as we get sidetracked by the disorientating sensation.

From moment to moment, there is nothing, only transition – and transition only takes a second. You can’t live in the second, but you can live in the moment. You can ‘enjoy the moment’, but how often do we groan and grimace when told ‘it will only take a second’ or ‘I’ll be done in a second’? The ever-illusive second never comes, does it? Blink and you miss it. Living a life ‘from moment to moment’ is much more rewarding than trying to ‘hold on a for a second’.

But what of the ambitious that wait all their lives for ‘their moment’ to come?
And what of all those who find themselves ‘lost in the moment’?

Yes, yes, the vagaries of the moment; I’ll explain in a moment, it will only take a second. Well … isn’t this awkward?

Dadaism is a lot like that.

Ask A Stupid Question

DunceSarcasm: the last refuge of modest and chaste-souled people when the privacy of their soul is coarsely and intrusively invaded.
– Fyodor Dostoevsky
 
A wise man can learn more from a foolish question than a fool can learn from a wise answer.
– Bruce Lee

 

The bewildered always have questions ‘after the fact’. Such questions usually offer profound testimony to these folks’ ignorance and lack of forethought, as well as to their inattention to ‘time’. Regret is expressed for the consequences, but responsibility is rarely taken for the circumstances leading up to an event. Blame may be apportioned in some cases … but lessons are rarely learned. Life goes on … and so does denial.

Does anyone really know what time it is? Many speak of the ‘investments in time’ they make or of their skills of time management … as if time were a commodity. To these aims, clocks were invented to keep track of time. Time keeping instruments are even worn on wrists … analogous to dog collars. Clinically speaking, regardless of the number of nanoseconds there are in a moment, each minute is seen as either being “too early” or “too late”.

Our movements are synchronized to our own creations. Yes, we are slaves to time. We relinquished our ‘freedom’ to our perception of time long ago. What’s worse is that for all our attention to time, we still have no clue about it.

“What time is it?”, you ask. “You’re asking the wrong question”, I say.

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The Gist and Jest of Jazz and Death

'Summertime Jazz' by Jay Schwartz“Over all, I think the main thing a musician would like to do is give a picture to the listener of the many wonderful things that he knows of and senses in the universe.”
– John Coltrane
 
“I am not afraid of death, I just don’t want to be there when it happens.”
– Woody Allen

 

As a writer and someone who tends to ‘feel and think’ his way through life, I have certain subjects I often feel compelled to write significantly about since they intensely stir the very core of my existence. Today, I’m referring to jazz and death – the former with love, the latter with fear. Time to connect the dots.

Please note that this essay is not the big magnum opus I plan on writing one day on these topics, but merely my attempt to broach related issues of an existential nature (breathe, breathe, breathe). In fact, I’m quite aware that in all likelihood I will probably never write what I’d like to, since I’m mindful of the fact that any attempt to do so would fall short … simply because jazz and death are both larger than life. Moreover, descriptions of jazz are just as elusive as rationalizations of death. Most literature provides the gist, but misses the jest. That’s where I come in.

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Field-Notes On Nothing To Speak Of

Juan_Gris_-_Portrait_of_Pablo_Picasso_-_Google_Art_ProjectPity would be no more
If we did not make somebody Poor
And Mercy no more could be
If all were as happy as we.
– William Blake (The Human Abstract)

 

Tongue-tied and cross-fingered pretty much describes how I feel sometimes, especially when the obvious, is obviously not so obvious to the oblivious. There are some things that should just ‘go without saying’. Yet, when compelled to wag my tongue or bang out a few words on what might best described as a ‘duh’ no-brainer to me, I’m stumped and incredulously stupefied into a state of verbal impotence.

Since it’s always good advice not to ‘push too hard’ and risk a brain aneurysm, I’ve decided to share with you some simple observations I’ve made regarding the past week’s daily dander in my life. I’ll call them ‘interpersonal field notes on intrapersonal relations’. Make of them what you will and feel free to connect the dots. Associate freely at your own risk. At least they are better than droning on about ‘nothing to speak of’.

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Musically Yours

Abstract Art by Naomi JohnsonMusically Yours

There are times when there is vision in the music

… but not when the music itself presents a vision

… or is even visionary itself.

Oh say can’t you see that some chords unravel and some scales are unbalanced?

Have you ever met an arpeggio that unfolded into a non-linear arrangement of an unsequenced rhythm?

I have … and was seduced by it … willingly.

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The I In Me They Never Bothered With

The I In Me They Never Bothered With

 They see my gender.

They see my color.

They see the clothes I wear.

But …

They want to know my ‘likes’.

They want to know my contacts.

They want to know my religion.

They want to know my income.

They want to know my sexual preference.

They want to know my political affiliation.

They want to know my citizenship.

They want to know my heritage.

They want to know my family and lineage.

They want to know my genetic code.

They want my body.

They want my soul.

They want my spirit.

They want my blood.

They want my conformity.

But …

They don’t want my mind.

And they never once even ask my name.

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A Life Saver To The Poor Souls Drowning In Bile Flavored Kool-Aid

“To ‘choose’ dogma and faith over doubt and experience is to throw out the ripening vintage and to reach greedily for the Kool-Aid.” 
– Christopher Hitchens
“When we do not expect anything we can be ourselves. That is our way, to live fully in each moment of time.”
– Shunryu Suzuki

 

We often ask ourselves who we are. We search. We find. We lose grasp of ourselves … and then we look some more. We develop a sense of our identity from patches of notions steeped in whimsical memories of long ago … or in razor-edged fragments of experience we have gained over the years. We assemble ourselves and then behold our grand psyche … or our refined psychosis. We really have no clue and eventually attack ourselves for our own ignorance.

I like t think that I used to know who I was, long ago … long before I could sense others. Long before they would reach out with their claws and talons to whisk me away far from myself … far from my nature … far from my true being. Poor me. Poor poor pitiful me.

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