Roger. I'm going to explain this with kindness, but I think you simply don't
grasp nuance, subtle ironies, etc.
Alice was being quite sarcastic in her original response.
This is not your fault. This medium is difficult. But, it does go to the core,
in my opinion of your responses to art.
Regardless, if I do what you suggest then what in effect you are doing is like
asking a person to explain in some sort of long form narrative a good joke.
When that is done the joke is ruined.
I distilled the intense, and often conflicted times and emotions; indeed quite
personal conflicts with the use of symbolism, metaphor, and other tools.
I expressed angst and internal conflicts.
Rene's eyes symbolized those issues with their very color and the tension
between black and white in the notion of gray.
There was also a hidden conflict amonst others here. For Rene was very, very
beautiful, physically. People didn't take her seriously often because of this,
and inspite of her idealism. I didn't precisely point that out.
But, conversely I did point out this hidden insecurity within myself, basiclly
"Just who was I to deserve this young lady."
So we both went back and forth over our personal wants and our social-political
explorations.
And, ironically much of that was to impress the other. Though this was
sub-conscious. "I always threw rocks at Goliath. And like warriers of old I
brought his head to her as a trophy. Now, I didn't literally slay Goliath. I
took on the establishment with anti-war, and other activities. It is the use of
metaphor and symbolism to compress the concepts and to express, vividly the
tensions.
But, now I've explained this joke and, thus I've ruined it.
That makes me somewhat sad. Not for me btw. But, regardless I didn't write it
for you or anyone in particular either.
I wrote it for myself and, perhaps for Rene, as I still do hold her in my heart
after all of these years and I wish for her to know that.
I also shared it for my comrades freely. They can chose to like it or not, to
gain insight, or not.
Perhaps others share such things. I mean we were all teens once upon a time and
most of us grew up with these sorts of conflicts.
By the way the last time I saw Rene she dyed her hair black. She thought her
blond hair was why guyes always both hit on her and didn't take her seriously
(she did have quite an education by the way). I said, "Shit Rene, the reason
guys hit on you all the time is because you are so fucking beautiful."
We made love one last time.
Then we simply drifted apart for a variety of reasons.
I, honestly don't know if she has any regrets about that. But, I do.
Again, I just ruined the joke here.
----- Original Message -----
From: Roger Loran Bailey (Redacted sender "rogerbailey81" for DMARC)
To: blind-democracy@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Sent: Monday, January 11, 2016 9:39 PM
Subject: [blind-democracy] Re: i think this isart
Now that does make some sense. But, Joe, when you put it in that poetic form
I really did not understand it to mean what you just now said. It just did not
get through. The question is, did you want to create a piece of art with words?
If that is the case then you succeeded. I could detect the patterns that make
up a poem. It was very recognizable as such. Or did you want to communicate
what you had to say in your prose version? If that was the case then you
failed. You only communicated it when you did translate it into prose.
On 1/11/2016 2:53 PM, joe harcz Comcast wrote:
Ok, I'll try. When I was quite young I fell in love and lust with a really
pretty girl. I mean she was really pretty and she really liked me too. But, I
was pretty insecure. Then we did the belly bump.
And all mixed up with all of that goofy and sensuous stuff the times were
really pretty troubled to. You know Vietnam, assisinations and that sort of
stuff.
I got caught up in that shit and really did become a real radical.
And with regret Rene and I drifted aapart.
But, in spite of that she still lingers in my memories.
Oh, yes, and might I add that youth is wasted on the young.
Oh, did I mention the sex was really good, though surely it is only some
sort of bio-chemical reaction.
How, did I do?
P.. She really did look like Barbie. And some shit one just can't make up.
----- Original Message -----
From: Alice Dampman Humel
To: blind-democracy@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Sent: Monday, January 11, 2016 2:45 PM
Subject: [blind-democracy] Re: i think this isart
Joe,
Could you please distill all this imagery, all these vivid pictures, the
rhythms and ebb and flow of your so-called flowery words and all this so-called
"emotional claptrap" into a couple of really boring declarative sentences?
Could you please suck all the life out of your story?
Could you please remove all aesthetic pleasure, all imagination, all
fantasy, all creativity from your post?
Could you please make what you are saying direct, fact-based and empty?
Could you please delete all those descriptive adjectives, take all the
color out and leave the drab scaffolding of the facts?
Thank you.
Alice
On Jan 11, 2016, at 2:22 PM, joe harcz Comcast <joeharcz@xxxxxxxxxxx>
wrote:
Renee- Guerrilla lovers in sterling gray
Joe Harcz
October 4, 1999 variation
Buicks rumble down
the line in the distance
adding to the city din.
Sounds moving in a trance
Full of war across the pacific
Fueling our indignant insolence.
Though we're not apathetic
to the haunting echoes,
so gruesome and pathetic
of the blood flowing out
of televisions .
Sowing seeds of lament and doubt
white noise blaring from
apartment windows .
News of kingdom come
Melting in the summer heat.
With Children lost in the dark
mixing with the rhythm and beat
of a bustling city park.
We have to take a break
From wars raging without
And from battles looming within.
You lie in my arms on the hill
under the shimmering summer sky.
Time stood still and
cacophony ceased.
I forgot for a moment to ask why.
But the world silenced as
you were spacing on the skies.
And we were released
as I was swimming in your eyes.
I was your first love.
And looking through the distance
you still remember that fondly.
At first glance
you think i've forgotten you.
Addressing the image boldly
fighting both smiles and tears
clawing out from under
the avalanche of years
focusing sharply
on a town that ran on wheels
kielbasa
shop rats
hot brats
and beer.
And in a time that lingers
in nam
in kent
in flint
in fear.
We were fresh you and i.
You worshipped me and that was your mistake.
We were slices of american pie.
What was my big mistake?
I never told you I loved you lady.
…That you were my earthquake
But you told me
you worshipped me
perhaps a little too desperately.
Truth be told my beauty
-and revealing insecurity
I felt a bit unworthy.
Though i was a bomb throwing hippie
taking on the beast.
I was a solitary guerilla lover
And phantom at the feast.
Clad in blue bell-bottoms
with an amerikan flag sewed onits ass
a profane uniform
in an insane clash
looking for windmills and dragons
-fighting a battle within a storm-
to rumble
and tumble
and fumble with.
I stumbled across you on the path
In a world at war with me.
You loved watching me throw rocks at goliath
-battling the enemy.
I always brought his head to you
-A grotesque trophy-
A vicarious gift for you
In the sparkling kaleidoscope,
Flashing psychedelic
World of fantasy and hope…
Versus the Planet of misery, mystery and panic.
It was A World turned on its head
By me.
I tried to raise the dead
In you and me.
Arise lazarus!
I was restless reckless and dangerous.
You wanted me that way-
-to flee the loneliness
-to escape from the city
-to fill the emptiness
-to fight inevitability…
-to spring from the trap
the toys
the crap
the haze
the noise
the daze.
Without a doubt
we took all that we could take.
I know what you thought.
I read minds in the wake.
Now you think i've forgotten you?
it just isn't true.
Damn darling you were so bodaciously beautiful.
Barbie doll body
so lean and mean and sensual.
Blushing femininity
clashing with burgeoning feminism. So unusual.
Blistering blush of lust firing
through each human mechanism. So sensational.
Rapacious raw hormonal rushes desiring
passion that was something truly cosmic
riveting you, me into us
-a blurring whirring paradox fantastic.
So bright
and yet so naïve.
So privileged.
so impoverished .
Sso cynical yet
desperately wanting to believe.
So altruistic.
So selfish.
There are so many things that i remember
like blind lust in the woods.
A rock concert screaming with thousands.
Of Tie-dyed freaks in frozen childhood.
We battling the bands
oblivious to the fact that we were
wrapped so tightly into each other
feet from a cheering throng
it didn't seem to matter.
We just wanted to belong.
Our intimacy deafened us .
We heard nothing but each other
With our desires crashing through us
and clapping our applause for one an other.
We were guerilla lovers
-Che Guerva and Guinavere-
Beyond the chill that hovers
above those days of flesh and fear.
Love tempting the fates
In the land of the bountiful
storming the gates
open youthful
exhibitionist passion
it was both raging and beautiful
soulful innocent and brazen
damn it was an in your face
kind of love
a love that never fades
a love that never quits
a love that mans the barricades
i loved it
and i loved you
but mostly i remember
those soft gray eyes of yours
smoldering in the embers
of charred memories
living on the edge
teetering precariously
tilting rocking lilting
and looming dangerously
between black and white
in the shades of gray
between the dark and light
of those dazzling but dismal days
well you wore them well
they trapped me in your cult
and they cast their spell
but it is so damned difficult
to describe how beautiful your eyes were
to find words to paint the thought
the rare image hard to measure
i mean gray doesn't do them justice
they were soft lipid wistful inviting eyes
not the steely gray of the buicks
rolling down the line of nearby fisher body
metal monsters of the midway
off to peddlers a cure for every malady
not the gloomy gray of foreboding michigan june clouds
filled with treacherous thunderstorms
and tornadoes looming fear and doubt
in skies whistling winds that mourn throughout
not the murky gray existence
the muddled alienation
of shop rats and white sock indifference
to our rising indignation
They were sparkling gray eyes
with sterling sapphire flecks
mirrors of great lakes and midwestern skies
full of the sizzling innocence and
the humble arrogance of youth
they expressed the seeming contradictions
the mystery of sinner and saint
of you and me the times and revolutions
far better than these pathetic words can paint
But when we both said no to our daddies
And when martin and bobby died in our arms
And bullets raced by us in rice paddies
And streets erupted in flames
And when gladiators were lost in war games
I was invulnerable from harm
Protected from all bullet proof
Standing defiant proud aloof.
Immortal invincible untroubled
Yet possessed, taken and beguiled
Wrapped in the warmth of your summer skies
A -Madonna held battered child-
In your loving hypnotic eyes
Looking back deeply into those eyes
I see bare heaving breasts
Greeting the sunrise
Daring a sleepy factory town to come from rest
To come alive to arise
From sleeping stupor
Wake up flint!
Move fast before it's over
Wake up amerika!
Don't let the moment pass
Take each breath for the last
And I see quivering hips
And long young silky legs
Perfectly poignant unpainted lips
Hard hats and hippies
Flowing flaxen hair
Rock bands and groupies
Snowflakes in the air
Peace signs and swastikas
Us walking on the moon
With No stop signs or replicas
In a magic night in june
Spying the blue emerald rise of earth
With hopeful unanswered questions
A child coming to birth
In the season
Of flaming Buddhist monks
Bouncing braless mamas
Attacking Fighter planes and tanks
Amid Fallen corpses in black pajamas
Taunting Walking dead men leaving factories
Watching Black lights and psychedelic tracers
Illuminate Fragile tangled fantasies
And Grey eyes with hints of azure
Defining A stoic fallen virgin amidst
The mean the unclean the pure
Bold attempts to resist
Men standing tall to secure
Amid the untold panic attacks
Succor from your soft allure
And billowing smokestacks
Producing Perfectly
brilliant tangerine sunrises
a beautiful malignancy
Bursting through industrial haze
Celebrating enigmaticly
Your loving gaze
I smell
The scent of ivory soap
And perfume of patchouli
Feint hints of hazy dope
In the sultry air of july
Wafting Tear gas
Stale beer and popcorn at county fairs
The bizarre clash
Of Burning napalm, skin and hemp
Mixed with Apple blossoms in your hair
Mingling with Odor of the urban U.N.-kempt
Arousing Smell of arrogance
And the hypocrisy of lent
as strong as sacramental incense
and Honest AutoWorkers sweat
In the Oils of street artist galleries
And The hard to forget
Frying onions At kewpies
Acrid steel slag and bewitching hex
Of A Scent that blends with fantasies
In The intoxicating aroma of raw young sex
mingling with Smoldering leaves of autumn
And Sweet fresh flesh
lying On dew drenched grass
in freedom
I can't believe
beneath me
I hear
Trains, cars and belching Factories
Swirling echoing loops
With Electric guitars
Blaring through the coups
And dropping heavy metal from the stars
To marching troops
Echoing You're beating heart
Pacing Barking groups
Crying babies
Laughing children
Howling crazies
Singing Songs of freedom
To Angry mobs
Shouting Righteous speeches
bellowing from bullhorns
a sound that reaches
and mourns
in Quiet sobs
with soft whispers
of want righteousness and alienation
from the vespers
chant of stagnation
and sensuously cooing moans
sighing low mourns
for a bleeding nation
in your Subtle squeals
and sexual groans
soothing Cries of wounded souls
in battle hospitals
A loud prayer that heals
In Pulsing temples
And soldier's tombs
A sound that kneels
To Exploding bombs
Pouring your Hot breath into my ear
Echoes from the womb
Melding victory with fear
Merging discontent
With contentment
in the landscape
-betwixt beauty and bedevilment-
in my mind
Spying opaque silver gray eyes
A bubbling spa
Under frozen blue winter skies
In your surreal scandinavian snowscape
Ice etched imagery
Serenely contrasting
with pale lonesome beauty
and The boiling distractions
of angst revolt and duty bold
misspent actions
Of youth rushing wildly to grow old
now even through the milky distance
of the years
painted memory dances
in a mind so clear
and I see those eyes so luminescent
In The wispy translucent
Clouds of an early autumn
Twilight in michigan
Revealing sterling gray
Flecks of sparkling blue sky
And the last call-
The fading sigh
Whispered before the fall
Of the proud retiring orange sun
Glimmering so majestically
torching the fading horizon
through silver clouds fighting defiantly
before Sad descent
into defused twinkling sparkles magically
Engulfed by the advent
Of darkness and night
An image stolen by moon and stars to lament
But still held hard and tight
Yet through the gloom of distance
the passage of time and the pall
I wear for all the lost innocence
And Though I see the sunnset and fall
Of youth, and a country
Beset with regret
I will always realize
Your eyes illuminate all. Of it
And You are still mine
you are Unmarred by fading memory
for all time
And you think I've forgotten you??
Pjh, sig, 10-04-99-030-
