James Hart / Fiction

If fiction is dead, reality is not far behind.

James Hart

James Hart
Be Home Soon,
December 31
Hart will have maintained this blog for One-hundred-sixty-nine million, nine-hundred-forty-eight thousand, six-hundred seconds through 31 May 2014. Times two (roughly) deep in the Twenty-Fifteen. ******************************** ******************************** ******************************* A carpenter's level designs a calm sea. ******************************** ******************************** Violent movies and prime-time TV shows ought to have disclaimers as reality checks during curtain calls. The cast could gather for a bow and civil handshake and or cheek kisses in order to demonstrate (to the least sophisticated among us) to let us know that the aforementioned carnage was make believe. A fiction. An entertainment. Such reality checks (and stage craft tribute) would well serve a fairness to the deranged among us who are prone to confuse the fantasia of entertainment violence as 'acceptable reality behavior'. There are legions of empty vessels awaiting sustenance about 'how' to react. With sure-bet frequency, the ubiquity of guns and conditioned criminal reflex results in aberrant behavior with subsequent ruinous acts of violence. We see it along the road. We read it and see it and hear it in the news. Such a paradigm! Odd that bow and bow and bow and bow are the same word. One for thank you, one for protection (?}, and the other to stay off the icebergs ... and of course there's the shoe tie, and gift wrap and that bloke from Saginaw, reading USA Today on the Greyhound. Here's a limerick from my Average Guy series: Of all emotion, the grin 'n frown, the best among us, stand down. ******************************** Here's a paragraph from my Average Guy: a couple of satiate dinner guests had ensconced themselves on the living room sofa.* * Whoops that was an abandoned paste, thanks, Merriam W. }One Moment{ Like all boys they wanted everything: the wild treetops and Tarzan hollers, then back to the soccer game on Channel 9 with their buttered microwave popcorn and tough-guy toothpicks. The painted fancy news ladies, in high skirts. Slivered clapboard was a place to carve initials. Not far, canaries built their own thatch nest, hunkered and still against the wind from all directions. An onyx black crow its wing tips torn of feather like a shrapnel-wounded plane, stood watching. Until it was yellow and black, a flurry of woven grass and fallen scatter of shadowed ruin. A swooped escape of yellow dots and the black clawing predator of powerful wide wing, its bright beak triumphant to the sunshine, the white fluff chicks burst within merciless gripped coil. A quick flight toward 3 o'clock backward through nascent Linden buds. An automatic trick spiraling, a mystical bullet, the motion at once there and gone to stellar over soul of weathered naked branch. Its prize of canary chicks: a satiation to the endless March blue. ******************************** (more) Average Guy Then the Old Spiced Fuller Brush man shows up blowing Lucky Strike smoke rings, Dinah Shore had her own hour, and ol' Ike poured concrete, coast to coast. Sundays? Victory at Sea, Archbishop Sheen, Groucho Marx, I'm never sure, such awhile back, weren't the Commies about to attack? Then who'd blink first, Nikita or Jack? ******************************** She spoke of life she did. I'd a fascinating 'eye in the sky' riff' invoking the richly named Auden, at midnight: A to F, clamored-clack of generous muse, nearly always helmeted faces appeared, dusty in white powder, an encounter along the parallel hedgerow , of dog-eared tome, her lips an alabaster meow: some kindling, Edward R. Murrow, the who, what, where when and howl Another magnolia time, first daffodils, another year from June, cold-level ferns as white knuckles; O the color of yellow sugared Chuckles. a sow with piglets, upon the soil: where oil prisms the mud, A new day, so near insane, this autumn an abject postpartum; O bacon, o eggs, why did I start'em? Now I have to eat, the ceiling fan, an aeroplane prop, a yolk slurp, one more word, perhaps a fast break, maybe a dark hour, nothing but cake ... a belly ache ... cooler by the lake. &ah:It's a bit early, Oxford level though, as I'm left, in our adage: truth may vary. If only Aynie would have used "Atlas Mugged", as real utopian form. Keep those Dreamliners rollin'! Until greed and fear return to the dictionary, beyond the zone of human nature. Operative words above: OXFORD & ADAGE &/or: PEOPLE WE GOT THE POWER


FEBRUARY 2, 2013 5:07AM

I Read Ayn Rand Probably Sometime In 1964

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I read Ayn Rand probably sometime in 1964. Essentially,I was attracted to the term 'intellectual'. Just boys, a few of us calculated that intellectualism had to offer a tad more enrichment and fresh air than working in the drop forges or at the slaughter house.
Now, paging 'For the New Intellectual' cramming for comment, this faded polemic, this Philosophy of Ayn Rand--its prose of low order, claustrophobic. I fallback and flick through the interwebs and present a quote from Gore Vidal as extrapolated from the website of conservative Congressman John Chambers: [sic]

'As Gore Vidal wrote in Esquire back in 1961, Rand’s "…‘philosophy’ is nearly perfect in its immorality, which makes the size of her audience all the more ominous.”'

And more from Mr.Vidal, 1961 Esquire: [sic]

Ayn Rand is a rhetorician who writes novels I have never been able to read. She has just published a book, For the New Intellectual, subtitled The Philosophy of Ayn Rand; it is a collection of pensées and arias from her novels and it must be read to be believed. Herewith, a few excerpts from the Rand collection.

• “It was the morality of altruism that undercut American and is now destroying her.”

• “Capitalism and altruism are incompatible; they are philosophical opposites; they cannot co-exist in the same man or in the same society. Today, the conflict has reached its ultimate climax; the choice is clear-cut: either a new morality of rational self-interest, with its consequence of freedom…or the primordial morality of altruism with its consequences of slavery, etc.”

• Then from one of her arias for heldentenor: “I am done with the monster of ‘we,’ the word of serfdom, of plunder, of misery, falsehood and shame. And now I see the face of god, and I raise this god over the earth, this god whom men have sought since men came into being, this god who will grant them joy and peace and pride. This god, this one word: ‘I.’”

• “The first right on earth is the right of the ego. Man’s first duty is to himself.”

• “To love money is to know and love the fact that money is the creation of the best power within you, and your passkey to trade your effort for the effort of the best among men.”

• “The creed of sacrifice is a morality for the immoral….”

Read more: Comment, July 1961 - Gore Vidal on Why Ayn Rand Sucks and Literary Criticism - Esquire http://www.esquire.com/features/gore-vidal-archive/comment-0761#ixzz2JjD1Aziy

At the same time I do appreciate your effusive slant and controversial inclusion of liberalism enjoined with objectivism. However, beyond entertainment, Rand's murkiness and damning recklessness assuredly has led to President Reagan's battle cry 'government is the problem' and more recently Romney's expose as expressed in his awful 47% fund raiser faux pas which sought to define the half of us as worthless burden.

Agreed, however, that we all did not suffer and escape Stalinist Russia as she did so the author as entertainer gets a pass on some of her proliferate warpiness. My concern is that her paranoid master and slave analogue flourishes with an imperialistic anti-humanist exploitation...that at some juncture she would have stared at the sole of her own boot!

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That's the thing with the written word- the authors are dead and all we have are words. Whomever reads them, interprets them.

Let's look at another book, the Bible. I am not equating Rand with God, so don't latch onto that. The Bible is an example of a book written with one intent which has been misused through millennia.

IMHO, Randians are missing the essential piece. They read " To love money is to know and love the fact that money is the creation of the best power within you" and think that the answer is to mindlessly accumulate wealth when the second part of that statement, "and your passkey to trade your effort for the effort of the best among men.” says what the wealth is to be used for. That part got dropped. If people would use the wealth they accumulate for good then we wouldn't have as many problems as we do now.
Proliferate warpiness indeed. I've never read her and she is not going on my bucket list. R
she had quite a bit of influence & followers. her books have sold very well over the years. but, her star seems to be fading. paul ryan said he liked her & then backtracked. etc. also read about her connection to serial killer Hickman in my blog.
on the other hand, Im reading tantra, and it has a different word for I ... the Self. it suggests that we go on an endless search for gods outside ourselves. it has some strange parallels to her obsession/fanaticism with individualism.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UHhyyRByuJ0 - Ayn's was hotter
James, very cool youtube selection.