Stolen

 On August 3, 2013  my computer was stolen as I was working in the local University Library.
 This was an act of planned intent,  the reason was pure and simple, to take advantage of my
 creative work, to steal my work, to stop my work.  I am still working, still online working as
 an activists and researcher. The Artist continues on --- more to come

The Night Angles

The Night Angels are standing like solitary mountains, as hard forms transplanted during the day. They are vanished like dreams, lost within degrees of bias.

The one shipped principles of Angles, like all visions is as Hurried Principles; The thoughts swept like sand in white foam, for our final words are measured in space.

Only the whip-lash of days end, this bring the Dark Angles to the night, to put back the broken pieces that have fell on the grounds of our longings, our possessions, our life.

Thoughts silvery,  shower of hail, words of images seemed to brood in the air,  benevolence of a myriad child, slowly stood in darkness, fish with hook, hook with fish-measured.

Music of our days, frightful as the serpents touch unheeded, faded in the sunset,  watcher of the skies. Theories sprouted in daylight die merged, conquered in bent positions.

Sunshine deep falls from the heart, as butterflies might rest, the Sun's snowdrift starts than ends as the world wavers, the circle of dreams-measured.

The Night Angles seemed like a thing of stone, the bitter tears flows like streams of blood,  tolling of bells upon indefinite stacks of souls.

Fate, the voice rings night as a bugle call, pierced the uproar like arrows,  reflection of a our vile future is now promised vision, carries passengers-measured.

The sun writes in red-gold, as blue blackness lies in our white moon. The terrible past day is afar, our dream gliding behind us as freight.

Ideas as project tattered books, breaks like colorful birds to  air,  strange night skies, as luminary silver pages of a thousand tears, falls to earth as others inspirations.

In Time Night Angels brilliancy harden, as the sky gleamed  stars, than fade to mist, solid air around me, roaring ocean of day is here, on board I have traveled.

The Night Angles crush by the earth into a million pieces, in the silvery morning of broken glass,  sheeted phantoms of day are now being measured.

Dashiell Hammet

Looking over the Subject of interest for the week,  reading some Dashiell Hammett.

 What can one say about the writings of Samuel Dashiell Hammet, The Sam Spade detective novelist, screenwriter and much more?.  Hammet was born and died, like most 
people of course, the interesting parts fall between the two points. The interesting parts in ones life are sometimes what we have left behind. Dashiell Hammet left behind more than
a few interesting stories and within them character. Nick and Nora his Thin Man characters living in a world of crime, guns, dark corners and foggy nights. A writing style of American language made of tough talking detectives who believes it' bad business to let a partner's killer go free. Hammett studies the character, gives them realistic words coming out of there cigaret hanging mouths, that breathed life exiling out.

 He had style, mean streets with realism and authenticity. The odd assortment of character, based on people whom he met.  He wrote such classic lines as:

" He felt like somebody had taken the lid off life and let him see the works."

"My way of learning is to heave a wild and unpredictable monkey wrench into the machinery."

 “Who shot him?” I asked. The grey man scratched the back of his neck and said, “Somebody with a gun.”

 In the end we all want to escape to a some other place, a world of both realism and unreal events. The mixture of facts and detection all within the dreamworld, Hammett's world

The Red Channels

Welcome, this is my first post under my Twitter "Subject of interest" for the weekend:
 The Red Channels-

 Often overlooked, the graylist, like the  Blacklist of the Hollywood community  became targets as their jobs and outlooks, because of national politics.

The HUAC (House Un-American Activities Committee) Other than the Targeted Hollywood industry professionals, named as communist before this Committee, there was the unnamed. The graylist contained names, as screenwriter Howard Koch, actor Marsha Hunt and musician Pete Seeger.

 As the Blacklist was created in 1947, and the Hollywood 10 cited for contempt,  the Motion Picture Association, give a statement. MPA- forthwith will dichage or suspend with out compensation and not re-employ any of the ten, until acquitted, and declared under oath not to be a Communist.
 The greater role of the MPA and affiliates is not to knowing employ a Communist or party member, or likewise group member.
 The blacklist was only the 10, initially in 1950 this list had grown to people who appeared before the the Committee and did not cooperate and those that were now identified by others, by people who now refused to "name names".

 The graylist became loss of employment because of political affiliation.
Red Channels was one  that singled out elements in Hollywood, often with little real
incriminating evidence, published their names than circulate. Their names on this smear publication made one effectively graylisted.

Like the Hollywood 10, the graylisted could appear before the Committee to clear their name from affiliation with the 10.

 Maybe the real representational change becomes more the vilified as the Communist threat and the view of art and the artist over politics.
A persons reputation is that persons view created by media and politics.
 Pete Seeger is, after all is said and has been done to his reputation is nothing less than a cultural icon. Being a cultural icon does cast a view on the subject of reputation.
The graylist with the name  Marsha Virginia Hunt, asked to denounce her activities by the Committee,  refused.  Nothing more than her support for liberal ideals and her name in the publication of Red Channels, afterwards work became not so easy to come by.

The processes of stereotyping and labeling a person, adversely affected consequences
  do spread through simple association. The Panic moving in a community goes beyond consequence.  As a Gay spots figure could have consequences, that of sponsorship and advertisers who pull sponsorship.  Activist can not control widespread indiscriminate stigma. Association do cause individuals to be punished by affiliation, under suspicion.
Once a person is labeled others see them as dangerous as abnormal and try not to be labeled or named themselves.
 To be stigmatized by moral panic, targeted for discrimination and for public deliberation by pure association, even casual association has a experience social divide.
 As norms and conformity is maintained by stigma and that association, by otherwise law-abiding citizens who are now characterized as "devils" and evil deviants.

 The norms is sustained when the high becomes the low, the pubic acclaim is stricken from the records, enforcing social norms on people with subversive ideologies.
 The witches of Salem and the Red Scare, form the conservative politicians who created the stereotyped communist as un-patriotic and danger to  the dominant groups.
The Witch hunts and blacklist that created the stigma to enforce the norm, became the danger to American society.

To create public fear, by moral panics with intent to damaged employment prospects, as mechanism for punishment, this affects us all.

 Reference:  Red Channels List
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hollywood_blacklist#The_Red_Channels_list

Abstraction

The night of apocalyptic vision, arrested development for a aspiring genius just to ascribed productiveness, long assembled arguments

Life is one awkward dilemma at best, this axiomatic truth, battered witticism, bravely vanquished in the dark of night, a brooding peace

A cataclysmic element ceaselessly remarked, as ghostly apparitions, gladiatorial exercises that give citation and allusion for night

rippled and maimed, crises and struggles a critical crime and misdemeanor to be crowned and sceptered as in life deep and subtle conduct

One momentous pause moody silence no multitudinous mundane importance. Lost in murky recesses hands in a neighboring mists nerveless hands

this a numbed stillness lost in makeshift occasional flights of olive grayness oratorical displays. With painstaking paroxysmal outburst

I feel sometimes like all meda is no more than predatory writers just a pregnant hint.  Preliminary assumption are prepossessing appearance

The mind is like a lonely wild summer sky with incessant play of fireworks as thin faint songs when the wind wearily sighs a clap of thunder

Today like an angel's wings opened into a furnace, motionless and fierce as fires to collapse as if by enchantment perfume and pure as prayer

Moving more like some great express train, roaring, flashing, on a track of pure and endless light, only to be a knight worn by conflict

Daisies rest in hamlets as if jeweled objects, high and radiant an oceans with dark gentle sounds of stillness landscaped

Today like an angel's wings opened into a furnace,  motionless fierce fires to collapse as if by enchantment and pure as prayer

What seraphic shadowy abstraction resting on a shore-less sea,solid knowledge knows no substance, solemn soulless mechanism.

"Magic Barriers"

Magic goes straight to the area of truth, with a sense of sullen grimness, half choked, flushed red face of morning

Talk to me Rain-glowing without life, scattered impulses gather me, passionate  acts, our traditions rise

Friends are open  green hills, simple grace of importance, a friend with shoulders this rose morning

Half choked friends suffocated in convictions, hardened resolves friends are the recesses of memories hills

The past, shifted friends on adroit grounds, accosted  ideals, lampooned with cherished prejudices in bowed submissions

My  haunted mind friends, unearthly burden; a place for chill trepidation,  drank colorless care friend

 Desperate resolve of spirit friend, we conversed in fluency and nothing passed, only desperation

The walls have resolve , the universe- to a fundamental nothingness, as some human defect detected in some hollow moons rings

 Ironic words, flung-flushed out to some intolerably wind, the silence becomes given stare of difference rebounds

Looking at day-dreams, how I give my eyes to the demons of false glory and simple success, the same demon who rules too often

 Eyes with the gift of deep dark silences, eagle in his tracks trade eyes, acted in honors delicacy, sudden dreams we give

 Admiring visions dark silence comes, as friend loathsome listened in gazed intent, protestations held and than replies went

 Magics argumentative vague acceptance, only a smile only a smile, a smile into silence

Dribbling Words

Words dribbling down dissolve into nothingness or into a death; dragged by the pursuit of servitude , so electrifying...

I wonder at this elevated precedent, what will fade into insignificance or flower? forced into action, for there is insight into truth

For me,  I have never been addicted to flattery and keep to the adherence of this principle that is, to aspire to life or attempt to believe in life
Than the question of what is blind to demonstrations?  proof of the process or  argument for the proposition: show me how it works

What is the contribution to knowledge? The constrained oblivion we all have in common to humanity? our claim to perpetuity, than ?

I must state that being devoted to ideals have driven me to despair and seems at times to be doomed to a destruction

Life is an empowered act or more that some platitude given in extravagance. I have seen the intolerable truth of society, as invocation...

One can be oblivious to criticism or reason and still be opposed to innovation, that is to pander to prejudice and scorn

So-- I am left to conjecture obedience to conscience; this is my recourse to falsehood and repugnant to what will pass as justice to eternity

My life is a danger of deliberation allied with economy also some degree of exactness to be blinded with tears or teargas than burned with indignation

Compatible with freedom is not a consistent tradition of sorrow--for
Art is sometimes inconsistent with beauty more often kindle with enthusiasm than mingled with curious intoxicated processes

Willing Wings To Cherish

                                             Willing Wings To Cherish

Apocalyptic tales- our stories like a beast it bites,  benignant eyes of flickering candles in gray minds kisses the heart and dies-

The job of anyone, the burnt out, like clouds in the silent heaven, the chains lengthens behind it drags-on, life is the substance of children at play

The trees that are stag's antlers, the same that fixed the stars and altered there values to silver and dust, as to truths so perfect

The souls of men like the walls of great seas live there life like creatures in walls of pain they up cast wings of the souls of light uplifting to stony peaks

The souls startled into astonishment deprive themselves forever and forever are assumed to last as our illustrations,  proof so briefly

We who are assembly have sentiments, for the rest not the foregoing of the wall of time now constituted memory to compare the moments

There was a wall of digression; one of the outcast, the outset of time to state our inquiry  of that moment or notion so solemn assured within us

In the walls we are not deceived, our interest are things- our moments bearing and attempting to the point of question of being

Opinions like hunger being persuaded by special matters, speaking to our minds holding  hands, no one can say speaking but invocations bidden

Walls openings and possibilities deserves, stones for admitting and here arise no further- wings emotions pass over head

The words willing come form the walls from my own experiences, I can at least say, the willing wings to cherish the hope and promise



by Timothy Dougherty