Wednesday, October 31, 2012

All Souls Eve


For the last couple of Halloweens we’ve chosen to pass on participating, in particular the ‘trick-or-treat’ portion.  We didn’t decorate, and we left the porch light off and sat in the back of the house watching TV; it is, the accepted form of opting out.  The neighborhood has outgrown the need, all the kids have grown up, and moved out onto other parts of the country working in the fields they chose.
  For some inexplicable reason the other day my wife popped out with
“let’s decorate for Halloween this year.” 
I pointed out that doing so would advertise we’re part of the concept and that we’d be obligated to play our part of trick-or-treat.  She agreed that it was reasonable to assume that, so we went to the local Walmart and purchased bags of candy; I made it a point to only get candy I would not mind eating after the event.
  If my son were still here we’d have schemed up ways of shooting Nerf projectiles at the little ghost and goblins once they scored their booty; my boy is thirty years old but still possesses a huge quantity of mischief, so all I can say is that it’s best he’s in Boston~ or there could be arrest warrants sworn out on the both of us. 
   Now I, as a child, loved trick or treating.  That was back in the late 1950’s a time according to Wikipedia when the practice really grew into such a relished US custom; and who questions Wikipedia; on obscure topics such as Trick-or-treating anyway?  But something that was of interest were other tidbits such as the tradition of going from door to door receiving food already existed in Great Britain and Ireland in the form of ‘souling” back in the mid-1800’s. Where children and poor people would sing and say prayers for the dead in return for cakes.  Guising, as in children disguised in costumes going from door to door for food and coins- also predates our current trick or treat and was recorded in Scotland at Halloween in 1895.  Such fun as masquerading and disguising while carrying lantern’s were done by scooping out turnips, later in the US the rendition of Jack-O-lanterns made with pumpkins. 
  But the idea of trick or treat was recent. For those refused goodies for their efforts usually found mischief done to their yards, homes or barns.  It was referenced in print in 1927 ~ “Hallowe’en provided an opportunity for real strenuous fun.  No real damage was done except to the temper of some who had to hunt for wagon wheels, gates, wagons, barrels etc. much decorated the front street.  The youthful tormentors were at back door and front demanding edible plunder by the word ‘trick or treat’ to which the inmates gladly responded and sent the robbers away rejoicing.”  
Now the real TRICK to this holiday is on the consumer; just as the real TREAT is to the retailer. In 2011 almost 7 billion dollars was spent on Halloween, up from $5.8 billion the previous yea.  Most of that on costume rentals; from sexy pirates to cute little pet costumes (considered to rake in about $310 million, and smallest slice of holiday pie). 

 But the biggest surprise to me was not the two billion spent on candy; that should be a no brainer, but that 1.21 billion went into Adult Costumes, two hundred and ten million more than into children’s costumes. So whose holiday is this anyway?
  Decorations came in at 1.88 billion, as greeting cards brought in only $470 million (not including postage of course).  That means an average household will spend $73 this year on Halloween; a mere fraction of the $700 per person spend on Christmas of last year.  So tell me again…Where’s the recession?

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Exacting Science

An exact science…requires inspiration to use parameters of the known to discover the unknowns.  A very interesting challenge of intuitive art; searching to determine absolutes beg any resolution be framed in conditional statements of: dependent upon things remaining constant.  How mercurial; when change is the only constant.  
In mathematics, you need constants to define variables.  

The only constant is change, but it is by this very nature, a variable.
So then ~
Life is not a bowl of cherries
it's


cherry pi

Monday, October 29, 2012

Winners and Losers


I was writing a post for today’s blog on the issue of raising puppies, but had paused to enjoy the evening with my wife and left it unattended.  

I awoke this morning to read that the San Francisco Giants won the series in Detroit, with an unprecedented clean sweep (winning four games in a row).  Win or lose, it seems setting random fires following a major sports championship has become a trend.  Shortly after clinching the win fans in the Bay Area began starting fires and climbing buses.  Not to be confused with the destruction Vancouver Canuck fans did in 2011 when they lost the Stanley Cup Final and so were, therefore, understandably upset.  

The so called ‘celebration’ for the Giants was rowdy, so then noticeably less destructive, as well as somehow condoned.  A spokesman for the local police had said,
   “We’re going to help the partiers party…as long as they’re lawful and having fun, we’re all for it.” 

I guess torching buses and busting windows falls into the range of who-would-have-seen-this-coming department as the authorities absolve themselves from being too complacent to a developing situation.  Then, perhaps, comparatively speaking with ordinary day-to-day criminal activity this was acceptable lawful behavior for San Francisco…I mean, it wasn’t like anyone was killed dude.

Learn as I do, victory or defeat seems to inspire reckless behavior; as well, it appears, is more common today.  Where all you need in order to be destructive, is a platinum plated excuse to relieve you of personal responsibility. 

Sunday, October 28, 2012

Fringes


I’ve lived on the fringes; on occasion.
   No matter what the topic, I'd become distant, aloof, not daring to invest enthusiasm. I figured that I'd be squashed like some insect that violated the rules of the game when I entered too deep into the inter-sanctum. I can't claim I thought about it, I just knew it instinctively; like predicting there were dangers in a darken jungle. Seemed to have always been that way, as experience proved I best save my breath on voicing incongruities; no one wanted to hear about them.   
  I became aware I was living empty, waiting for my turn; just like everyone else. Secretly I clung to the hope that justice, as a deity, would see me special and make adjustments to the order of it all. But there was no real reason for seeing it that way.  It wasn't like I was abused on purpose; instead I swallowed the whole idea of earning special meant entitled privilege. 
  I had been told countless times in the past, it was a family curse, we just had to learn to lump it.  Ours was a contract with difficult. We struggled for everything for so long, even suffering became an effort. The deception of it became clear to me without preamble, somewhere along the highway paved with discontent as a substitutions for genuine. I saw the practice of being quiet about miniscule portions, under the guise of the safest path; it began to render a subtle bile tasting abhorrence.  Why survive if it was to be filled to the brim with resentment over lack? No reward for being invisible. Sure as hell didn't get me up the ladder of success, unless being at the bottom longest was any accomplishment.  Nor would taking it in the shorts earn extra credit in some future pay off.  They even stopped making grandiose promises; they knew the pay-off was lame reason as well as empty of any real hope; but what could they do? Devoid of any better course, they plodded along with the generational delusion as comfort rather than trust any lesson to change by experience. 
  Our hope for improved quality had decayed into dreaming beyond fairytale madness. Being ignored had become antiseptic, it was nothing personal.  No one was watching to comment on the progress of it. No escaping into the sanctuary of God either, I figured, the religion I had been handed down was used up long before it was served as left-overs to my parent’s parents.  I could tell the truth of it whenever asking those piercing questions?  Why should love hurt? I would be delivered admonished for the temerity of seeking to know. Yeah, the family was distilled to excuses for not getting what you want as some function of being divinely deserving. Except most of us don’t linger on the putridity of that, it'd make us vomit if we dwelled too long on the contradiction of our sacred values.  It'd break our heart to consider we've been settling for someone else’s terror. 
   That was the legacy passed down; habitual, hieratical fear.  Just plug it into any hope, then reap a huge helping of despair for efforts to dismantle unapproved, safe, aspiration. The startling truth that the way of it wasn't born out of survival, it was self defeating along with self fulfilling homage to addiction to victimhood; it was pervasive and revered as our most basic tribal value.  That was the Holy Grail of it.  A wealth of martyrdom to rationalize slacking; justified purpose of keeping fear at bay. 

It was an unspoken ancient war fought in order to turn inert any unspent potential. All the while not moving forward or making any changes that would add a smidgen of quality to life, or chance of personal worth; we were in this together...and the long haul.

Saturday, October 27, 2012

A Friend In Deed


Yesterday, I was talking with a friend, and they mentioned the circulation of the forwarding of jokes...that the message captured the 'nature' of why some people engage in this practice.  Then this morning I receive the very topic he spoke of from another associate, and I was compelled to respond.  I share these with you with the desire to know your thoughts...please read and respond.  Let me know you better.

Subject: FW: Friends

 Sometimes, we wonder why friends keep forwarding to us jokes without writing a word, maybe this could explain:

 When you are very busy, but still want to keep in touch, guess what you do?  -- you forward jokes.

 When you have nothing to say, but still want to keep contact; you forward  jokes.

 When you have something to say, but don't know what, and don't know how; you forward jokes.

 To let you know that: you are still remembered, you are still important, guess what you get?  A forwarded joke.

 So my friend, next time if you get a joke, don't think that I have sent you just a joke, but that I have thought of you today and wanted to send you a smile.

Very insightful, it prompted me to respond with. 

  As with all our tools for expressing our feelings, the key ingredient that makes impact is our sincerity. 
  For what is the value of an empty compliment?  Or the repetitive "I love you" followed by indifferent behavior? I believe we've all experienced tuning out those droning as inconsequential, for we know,the words are uttered without conviction towards their intent; as in called to perform, to feel thus.  Saying 'I care' is just lips service without action. 
  As with all living things, relationships need tending.  Like growing plants, water alone does not sustain the process of growth.  Jokes are the water of relationships, this I concede. But without the fertile soil of personal information that has affect, that changes our intimates, those very events that transforms each of us from who we were into who we are now, then we allow the relationship to 'exist' but to drift...into unattended weeds of our past comprehension.
            I embrace where any action of "I care" are attempts to nurture those connections that sustain us in our affections.  Yet I perceive that attention to what is actually  important, is more the challenge.  To recognize the preciousness of those hearts dear to us allows our ambition to rest for just a moment.  Perhaps take the time to express our appreciation for their dedication to us?  What matter if a report is late? For the sake of reaching out an expression of our true gratitude?
   We live as if we have forever, in the midst of reminders that life is fleeting.  I'd rather take the opportunity NOW to invest my preciousness time as I feel, and show I care; then for thousands of dollars spent on flowers at a funeral.
   "You're important to me" is a simple thing. Not delude ourselves that spectating in our lives is the same thing as a sporting event.  Where children distracted in front of a TV is not being with them; nor is sending jokes the same as being interested in the changes facing our friends...or sharing ours with them. 
Too busy? 
That's the easy excuse, but it is our choice to invest our hearts in what matters.  Are we distracted with the cares of our world?  Certainly sustaining our living is important, but to the exclusion of all else?  Do we work to live? Or live to work?  Just maybe our friendships are wake up calls to those distractions that are consuming us.  To whisper, "Your heart matters more than accumulating things" Security is a myth, for all things are subject to change no matter how hard we resist its effect. 
The comforts in any of our lives are the souls who tend and are called to witness our being present; who care for us.  That is what is important.  The rest is just noise and illusions of permanence.
             We are sustained by those who love us.  They feed our self-worth; they embrace us for who we are.  Not the accomplishments of our worldly pursuits; those accolades are fleeting.  The hearth is where we are warmed.  Choose to tend the source of your energy.  Not those activities that drain from you your joy.  We should resist the temptation to treat our love casually, to take it for granted.  It is the river of our very existence. Just as quick to forward a joke, are the opportunities to take actions that demonstrate a creative ability to find solutions that inhibit our ability to live a full life.  There is abundance, and it starts with acknowledging the very light of us all.....I ....love....you.

Friday, October 26, 2012

Ambition by Disaster


What matters in our pace of daily living is how we feel; about success; or cultivation of comfort; or progress towards personal goals. 
Without feeling, we are listless and perform rituals of habit.  I’ve been alerted by my busy pursuits that I could make excuses for my blindness; for my inattention to what really matters to me, as falling into the above short list.  Where is my reason? In a philosophical measure, that would be my ‘purpose’.  I’ll get to that as soon as I find the time to consider where to get off the interstate.
   I’m cautioned by those abstractions that keep me from focusing my will.  Should I find comfort in sharing similarities with others who are in the same condition of confusion? Together we promote continued pantomime behavior of genuine?  Then give ourselves relief with the assurance that we’re doing our best, under the circumstances we happen to find one another in?  We glean some kind of security in the familiar and predictable glossy approach to living from one crisis to the next.
    Superficial and shallow is not about intent, it’s about poor execution.  Sorry if I step on your toes, but I am dancing as fast as I can. I consider myself a good person because after all I’m only trying to find happiness for myself.
   The scripts have been written in so many variations that we’d be sickened by the truth that we’ve seen this movie before.  But I like the Hollywood version better than my life.  After all, can’t I have it all?  Why not?  If I follow the path others take ~ shouldn’t I obtain the promised reward?
   Sublime promises of salvation support a deeper addiction to lack and so institutionalized unaccountability.  Not thinking about feeling better meant to accept the responsibility for ourselves, and that’s not at all in concert with Burger King telling us it’s ok to having it your way.  What is illusive is that insatiable desire for power.  Sex has our society by its throat, women adversaries to the males not as rebellion over historical rolls, but competition for dominance, the collective fear of not obtaining our fair share drives the game towards its conclusion: There are no winners, only exhaustion for all of the competitors. 
  But in the mean time, you can’t count on anyone or anything that will guarantee safe; except money.  So at all cost, have plenty of that, and if by chance you find someone with more than you got, then use your guile to abrogate them to your cause.
I think I’ll watch a different drama…this one is dire

Thursday, October 25, 2012

Encouraging Words


    That's where we get our energy isn't it?  Allowing our love to fly into the world when we realize we see love? 
So then, race to embrace it as children eager for play.
I have this mental image, when we're hurt by other’s harsh or rebuking responses to such a precious gift.  I see this flurry of small colorful fairies hurrying home distraught from an errant effort of gifting.
   "They couldn't open up to take us in" they'd cry in lament.
Feeling rejected, they would hunch with wilted wings, disheartened, sadden by such a state; then each would begin to softly sob with regret.  As compassion rises from the core of you for them, you would tend each and every one with soft kisses upon their wet cheeks; cooing tenderly to their disappointment as a parent comforts their crying baby.
   "There, there now, other chances will arise, this is not the end of love...fear not, try not to take it personally"
To help love thrive, we send our fairies out.  Sometimes they succeed; sometimes they come back home discouraged. 
To help others love, we must love without concern over approval or acceptance, but with confidence.  We are, after all, original.
How can it get any simpler?
Be certain.

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Another Hot Item


We talked of sending our Catalan nieces hand-tied fleece blankets, something my wife relishes making and are really quite fine to receive.  I’ve bundled up in one often and it really is rather snuggly.  Now along with this cool idea of giving handmade gifts, was finding a fleece print we were convinced, would thrill their little hearts.
    We had learned earlier that both girls are just ecstatic over anything with Hello Kitty on it, (full name Kitty White or in Japanese Kiti howaito).  I’m really unsure just how this pre-adolescent female marketing blitz got down to single digit aged girls, but its massive success shows no signs of evaporating any time soon.
   Because the art of video subtitling has developed so well today, Japanese cartoons can be enjoyed globally. It’s a testament to not just clever application of technology, but to never-resting guile of greed.
   But never mind all of that.  
The girls are bonkers for anything with Hello Kitty on it, as we oblige this appetite with sending Hello Kitty goodies from the States to Spain every Christmas holiday season and birthdays; or at least we had until now. 
  As my wife pointed out, they are growing older and we know what happens with that.  I mean, my own son was a great fan of the Transformers, and ours was a collection of paraphernalia to rival any hint of a museum dedicated to the cartoon characters; then poof they were out and Mutant Teenage Ninja Turtles were in; change all bedroom linen and pajamas accordingly!  

I myself remember morphing in my youth, from insect adoration to dinosaurs with ease, but my parents were befuddled by my so-called fickle nature of falling in love with themes.  So true it would be with these girls. They would eventually, and without notice, decide that HK was lame.  Then, by association, we would be out-of-touch Tia e Tio; relegated to false signs of enthusiasm (humor the affected) while our token gifts would be tossed out at the earliest opportunity, or tucked away in the far recesses of dark closets.  Yes, we would be held to private ridicule for not having a clue because we missed the maturing zig (or zag) towards Pocahontas or Barbie. 


Would it be prudent to invest time into making blankets with themes that may very well be passé in a few months?  We ponder such things.

I think they have hospital wards for these sorts of chic afflictions, but I’m wary to inquire due to my concerns over missing key changes from here on in.  What next? My own wardrobe? 

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Into Madness Through Hazel Eyes


     On the look out; that’s what they warned. 
The doctors, along with medical books, spoke of particular behaviors indicating specific symptoms connected to certain types of personality disorders.   From then on, the world was transformed and became that much more dangerous; lost glimmer of innocence; word to the wise. 
   As that caution rippled its echoed small craft warning, the electric concern could be almost palatable.  All of her afflictions were reasoned out with comparative population percentages of others who also suffered her plight.
    One in four sounds so much more alarming than twenty-five per cent.  That'd narrow it down to something you could wrap your mind around, such as someone in your family might be affected; it was disconcerting to realize that'd put him in the group of consideration. 
   Once that opinion was faced, there would be of course, medical science waiting in the wings to save the day by using regiments of medication and group-talk therapy.  Maybe all anyone ever really needed was to be listened to. 
  Perhaps the hurt would subside naturally if it were not for a desperate hurry to be numbed to the pain.  But, the damage was done, can't go back to ignorant without a hefty dose of mood inhibitor. At that stage, marginalization is for the benefit of society-at-large; the labeled person would be considered a lost cause to a belief that they were, suspicions verified, powerless; in effect a victim to circumstances beyond their control. 
            Prompt to pounce, she'll go about life with a filtered view previously unheard of.  Everyone she knew or meet would be exposed to her coping method of martyrdom.  A minor act; a subtle word; and she would be concluded with barking her accusations.   Resorting to hostility towards the world, as was her contrived pitiable state ~ an innocent wrongly put upon to suffer others callous and unsympathetic abuse.
  She would vent her poison with impunity to the damage she'd viciously inflict.  They said the results were inconclusive, but she stopped listening.  She had been trolling for a reason to demand special treatment and this fell right into her lap.  Bi-polar almost sounded exotic, a just and respectable avenue to entitlement, she’d choose that over borderline personality disorder any day of the week; that struck her as too crass, way too pedestrian, so beneath her effort to maximize the allure of its mysteries. Suffering the struggle for all these years, she was relieved to find a trump card for when her misbehavior cornered her into responsibility for consequences. She now, had an out.
   To think back to all those years, agreeing it was because she was abandoned.  But what course is open to those who loved beyond reason?  Nothing much can be done with recalcitrance except preserver those emotional tempests along with trying hard to remember not to take it personal.  In its way, it could be compared to a saint’s workout.  But then, who doesn't require respite? Or rest from conflict?  In those old war movies, prisoners would be subjected to naked light bulbs – depriving them of sleep, disorienting their cycles- soften them up.  Her nightmares obligated her intimates to unrestrained attention and agreement.  The alternative was the insane possibility that she was delusional, so then; maybe help wasn't needed as much as a desperate call for a change.
   Only the crash of a fragile designed situation would suffice.  Even then, in the aftermath of the settling dust and rubble, she'd make excuses to distance herself from the self-wrought ruination.  One just shouldn't couple with the emotionally unbalanced and not anticipate tendency to stumble into a fall.
   What he did do was recall mostly the frequent visits of trepidation.  How much good was really present when they were together?  She brought teasing, ambushes, and humiliating taunts as a ruse under the banner of boredom; she was accustomed to unleashing cruelty.  Her spoken of adoring spouse had resigned.  He had the misfortune to have an affected creature on his hands.  Foolishly, in the early days, he thought that his love would calm her into what he hoped would be a civil nature.  Mistakenly, he figured his care would be the solution for her.  Only after years of fruitless effort would it become clear to him that her terror was a mandate for his departure; he couldn't fix what he didn't break.
   On the western shores of the great land was the colossal expanse of the Pacific Ocean; said by some, to never remember.  Fittingly she should reside there – so the harm of her company should be forgotten.  He was grateful, that he didn't have to look into her hazel eyes any longer ~ disappointment always unsettled him, even when it was necessary for him to leave it behind in order to survive. 

Monday, October 22, 2012

A Day in History


October 22 is the 295th day of the year in the Gregorian calendar.  There are 70 days remaining until the end of the year. 

I am sure that you could pick any day and it would have some significance for their culture or history.  We’re never apt to sit around waiting for a special day to deliver on our promises.  We just act.  So for instance, what would weave the 22nd into the memory of our lives?  Well in 1962 The US and Soviets were in a face off over missiles in Cuba.

  We were as close as any would say to nuclear annihilation ever, if it had gone differently the survivors would be living in an entirely different world then the one we know now. 

Or how about that the FBI shot and killed the noted gangster Pretty Boy Floyd in 1934 that signaled the end of the great robbers of the depression area. But the real beauty, for American’s  anyway, was on this auspicious day in 1914 Congress passing the Revenue Act mandating the first tax on income  From then on, all kinds of fiscal bedevilment has been afoot.
But let’s change gears and party ~

 So all you psychophysics out there  (The scientific study of the relation between stimulus and sensation) let’s all think about celebrating  Fechner Day; for Gustave Theodor Fechner, founder of psychophysics.
Heres to S=K Log 1 aka Weber-Fechner Law.

Sunday, October 21, 2012

Licorice's Relative Value


One of the greater observation for me at this juncture, is to realize how I have balanced my life between what I didn't want to do, with what I considered as necessary. Along with what I thought I would do once I ejected my fetters. 
   I often speak of the case of while growing up as a child I had fantasies of how much candy I'd buy if only I had the money. Then, one day, when I inevitably got work, then made money, I would walk into that store and scoop up bags full and just eat away in bliss.  I smile, because I remember the summer I was ten, after cutting three lawns I had accumulated nine whole bucks in my pocket.  More money than all the candy in the world I conjectured.  So I went to the local walking distance Seven-Eleven and eagerly perused the displays of chocolates. Knowing as I did, I had finally obtained the power to have it ALL! 

 As I gazed upon the assortment of candy bars, swelling packages of licorice, and phalanx’s of stacked gum. The relative value of it all descended on me like a load of bricks. Relative value is an economic term that says attractiveness is measured in terms of risk, liquidity (cash) and return of one instrument relative to another. In this case, there was nothing there I really wanted that was worth the sense of power I held with cash in my pocket.  Seems those dreams of greener pastures really do have meaning beyond teaching us to settle.  We grow, and so do our dreams. 

An-duh, its no indictment when we realize that perhaps its time to put on a different dream that fits more to who we have become than go off chasing after the past desires of happy.  

Saturday, October 20, 2012

Common as Corn


I wanted to capture the process before the events of the day eclipses the freshness of it and I lose them until another galvanizing moment; like upset or sudden unexpected shift to the orderly parade of my well planned life, a broken fingernail gets total attention in the specific aftermath of its appearance.
I sent a response to an email advertisement on Write-job.com. They were seeking someone to submit several short stories (paying $40 apiece). The submission instructions were to send an email to a particular address on craigslist, then they would send back specific subject outline request.  I had noticed from past ads posted on craigslist that they were taken down fairly quickly, so was hesitant to spend too much time on an introduction message. 
  I put the usual greetings and a short bio I held in reserve for such occasions.  Usually soon after sending I would get an alert that the address was no longer active; then I’d go along with my business.  On this occasion nothing happened, so again, I also went along with my business.  Later that evening I got a response email to my submission and it said, “Hello Albert ~ before I send the outline for the sample, I want to make sure you understand that the content is for a very mature adult website.  The themes all revolve around coerced/forced sex acts.  As long as this doesn’t offend you, I will send along the outline.”
  I found it rather humorous, as well as obvious, I was fishing in the wrong pond.  I also felt a bit grateful for the time it took to orient me on what they wanted and what I may have been getting myself into.  For just a few heartbeats I thought of Anais Nin and how the only work she could get was the publishing of her risqué journals ~ called diarist back in the 1930’s.  So If I were to take the offer I’d be in the company of a fine author since I found her work vivid and riveting.  What also surfaced was something I wasn’t counting on, but now recognize had been simmering.  It was over the outright commercial nobbling, abducting, snatching, seizing or more commonly known as kidnapping, of creativity.
   As I read one advertisement to another calling for writers to write blogs, I see that the demand is about specific sports, towns, travel, and how-to’s I see the underpinning demand for writing skills is to convey a product or service.  Now that may be my own outrage and I’ll deal with that in due course.  

But it also stirred up my memory of when I was a fledgling guitar player.  I knew a few songs, perhaps a few dozen cords, and my voice was in its adolescent cracking.  But never mind that sensitivity period, what chaffed me most was when my parents would have parties at the house they would invariably ask me to come out and play my guitar for their guest.  My siblings and I were accustomed to this sort of treatment; we had ‘entertained’ strangers all of my growing up years.  Singing, dancing, doing skits, all at the bequest of my parents, (who now I realize were most likely totally drunk.)  My recall of these events from my teenage years, as vividly painful; sitting there singing my heart out to John Denver’s Country Roads only to see the guest wonder off or engage in loud conversations  drowning me out, while I tried to play.  Again, perhaps it was just my fragile ego at that moment but I still cringe today at the memory of it.
   I still discern creative writing different from that of journalistic, or literature as some might say.  I still find it difficult to get the former accepted for publishing when it’s not linked to some money generating endeavor.  It’s sad for me to witness art being corrupted for merchandising interest.  

Talent has become a raw material; or at best, a commodity that is used to turn a buck; something to be manipulated, something as common as corn. Not to long ago it was considered a divine gift.