Neon Codex

Where digital meets classical.

Filtering by Tag: love

July in Retrospect: Car Fires, Utopian Visions, and the Fourth

There's this quote at the beginning of The Fire Next Time by James Baldwin, where it gets its title. It essentially states, and I'm paraphrasing, that in Genesis the rainbow was a sign sent from God, a solemn promise, that He would never flood the earth again. That next time, He would simply set it on fire. Pardon my sacrilege, but that always struck me as kind of a fucked up trade-off.

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Penelope to Odysseus: A Scattering of Tear Stained Fragments in the Sea

Having completed them both I think my favorite thing about the entire exercise is the characterizations of both Odysseus and Penelope, one half internal and the other through their lover's eyes, is only complete with both pieces. The full portrait appears of each lover most vividly when connected with the other half. Point and Counter-Point. Hope you like it. 

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Odysseus to Penelope: An Undelivered Letter Swallowed by the Sea

That's where the idea comes from. What I wanted to do was write two undelivered love letters, one by Odysseus, the other by Penelope, written during the time Odysseus was adrift in the Aegean Sea following the Trojan War. Neither of them knowing if the letters would ever be read, let alone if they'd ever see each other again. 

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A Sketch of a Young Woman in Five Parts

They sat quietly across from each other in the busy restaurant. She was a pale, thin little girl with short, dark hair. She played absently with her food, deep inside of herself, making pretend with her potatoes and chunks of mangled broccoli. Her mother sat across from her, she was pretty and had long blonde hair and a pair of sunglasses turned up on the top of her head.

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Why None of Us Want to Be Alone

I feel bad, simple as that. The who or the how of it ceases to be important on a long enough timeline, these things happen to us all many, many times over the courses of our lives, and begin to bleed together without identity. A minor heartache at best—let's call it a disappointment. The feeling almost becomes like a shapeless, faceless abstract; like a force of nature that exerts itself upon your life every so often when conditions are right. Rains that pelt the rooftops, winds that rattle the shutters and windows, but you make it through. These black-and-white phases of life that tilt and skip off of the film track from some caricatured notion of 1920's German expressionism; the cold, grey planes of Fritz Lang, the dark, delirious ruminations of Murnau—a loneliness so complete it's almost romantic, a misery so perfect it's almost artful. The depths of it can become sort of ridiculous. This is not quite that, if anything this is that in micro, a small pang of heartache, of longing. 

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True Liberty

The fact is, as a species, as the human race, we have complete autonomy. We have the power to chose, and it is a simple choice. If we came together, in an instant we could reverse everything. All we have to do is make up this giant mind, made of billions of people, to love and not fear. You want to survive, I want to survive, we all want each other to thrive. Because it's what's best for everyone. To paraphrase Bertrand Russell, love is the only rational choice to make as a species at the end of the day. We can chose to stop feeding into these shallow modes of personal gratification, of power, of greed, and support one another. We've lived long enough to know nothing else will really help us to accomplish our goals, all the information we need is there for us to look at and validate this. 

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Love in the Time of Kali-Yuga

My input is kind of all over the place tonight, I bought a copy of the Beatles film Help! today at work and now I'm listening to Kamasi Washington on Spotify, fucking finally, and I'm delighted to find that he is everything I've been told he is, an emerging vanguard of modern Jazz. Possibly the last one, it's really hard to say, he's either going to lead a brilliant resurgence of the genre or he'll be the dignified caretaker of its final days--a last outburst of urgent noise erupting from his sax as a hot, stifling death-rattle. Part of me believes that there's just too much strength in this man's ability and style, too much passion, for the genre to simply wither on the vine as long as he's around, but tastes have moved on by and large. It seems like most of my favorite musicians are flying low on the radar, while bigger, markedly simpler, acts dominate radio-play and larger territories in the collective consciousness wired into internet, TV, and magazines. They have the modern attention span for the moment, however so fleeting. But then again, who the listens to radio anymore anyway? 

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