Forgotten Silk of Naivete

25 09 2010

Naiveté exists in caterpillars and joeys—in their cocoons and pouches metamorphous occurs silently away from light heat and dust. A surreal almost clinical earthen bubble prevents these creatures from experiencing the plight so many of us intoxicate ourselves in order to forget. How do we cultivate a childlike naiveté that flutters away from the gravel of society’s judgments? Those who appear naïve and innocent must not really possess any real innocence but instead must choose to perceive differently. If only we could perceive ourselves as caterpillars crawling, chewing, and changing in accordance to our internal natural law rather than abiding by societal demands.


Would you love to become an outlaw?

14 03 2010

“Would you become an outlaw for love?” sings Big Star in his song Thirteen. Who wouldn’t, I wonder. We sacrifice ethics, identity, and even life for love–whether love is that silky thread of soul connection with another or simply an infatuation with ourselves, a belief system, or any array of materialistic goodies, we love the struggle to connect and possibly possess that which we desire. However, even those who sing praise to rules and structure fuck up. I suggest the following rewording of Big Star’s question: Would you love to become an outlaw?…It’s really the driving desire of politics and our social selves–reconstructing laws to make ourselves feel a bit more guilt free to break the old ones. Really shouldn’t we just return to primitive society that allows us to follow our feelings–living in our own laws rather than fear of living outside of them. Perhaps it’s all game where the players are unknowing pawns of themselves.

A Whitman Why

8 03 2010

Beyond yearning for stability and clear purpose, souls seeks solace in creativity. But how far does one gain acceptance of themselves through such pursuits? A cartoon, sketch, or poem can only carry one to depths discovered through visual or reflective considerations. Does continuation of one pursuit leave one more satisfied than pecking at many? Oh such is my conundrum. Being in the now is oh so difficult.

Whitman asks us to be patient when he says:
All truths wait in all things,
They neither hasten their own delivery nor resist it
(Song of Myself, 30:650)

But we do hasten and we do resist. And if such truths are dependent upon our rediscovery of them, how do we effect them with our impatience and denial? Where does this leave truth? Naked and disfigured? Our habits also camouflage truth in exhaustion. So much of humanity struggles between breakfast and dinner. I fear they only live at night in their dreams. But if we don’t hold a respectable position in society’s hive, we receive criticism.

How I wish to love, live, and create without habit, haste, or denial.