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Please find the following words of truth…moreover, a few words on the meaning of life.  Presented without euphemisms or pulling punches, I seek meaning and speak plainly about life…all life.  Accordingly, the reality of life needs an update once in a while.  Yes…life’s meaning really changes with the times, and yes, it changes often, but usually holds some basic tenets at its root.  This is a small dose of reality that exposes the lies and spin doctoring that currently pass for journalism, political insight, or select words from the sponsor that is exploiting you.  Sadly, truth can only be taken in small doses; to counter this, we have fiction, which sometimes becomes so interchangeable, people don’t know the difference.  An important distinction to make, so it behooves us to take care and pay attention.These truths were realized in the past, yet are blatantly ignored today.  Wednesday morning at five o’clock as the day begins…an important line that could alter the history we think we know, and change the structure of reality we think of when listening to music.  Number nine.

I’ll avoid war, terrorism, or gratuitous violence; they are indeed serious symptoms of an improper and destructive world view, yet solving these problems is an endless debate over solution, cause, and effect.  No one will accept the hard choices that must be made, so why bother hashing them around.  Our world must change; ultimately, that is all anyone can agree on.  Implode or change…simple.  Anyway, I’ll leave war to an advanced society and more enlightened majority to solve.  Perhaps aliens really will show up and demand that we become peaceful…who knows?  Unless the power of money is removed from society, that civilization will slowly erode from this monetary power that creates corruption, greed, selfishness, conspiracy, and a host of other ills.  When the love of money exceeds the love of life, a fatal rot will continue to thrive in elite groups that lie and cheat to be falsely empowered by a duped public.  Elect the poor, for they know the value of a dollar, the importance of a meal, and the need for equity in all business transactions.

Hey…this is your life…the decisions are yours…so try and use your time wisely – help others, or at least become sincere. This is universal, although your situation at birth affects your lot in life, as well as your hopes and dreams.  It takes a lot of fighting to break out of such situations.

People can tell you what to do, but when alone, only you can make yourself busy, and find something to do.That concept leaves people frustrated with life, and often falling back on past traditions.

This is why so many people follow social patterns that have worked for centuries: get married, raise a family, and struggle to support that family. It hopefully provides love, life, and meaning to your existence…at least you’re a mother or father, and you have children to raise.  Notable and necessary, some embrace this as their reason to live, and never look beyond for different things to do. Some jump into careers that demand total devotion, and often require extensive education or specific talents. We also have free thinkers and bohemian attitudes that push more into creative careers, music, art, or writing.

In today’s world, our society has evolved into a foreseen consequence of population growth: too many creative people face not enough patrons to support their output, removing their ability to make a decent living from their labors. Pre-warned by anthropologists and basic demographics, we’ve reached the finite need for archeologists, scientists, and artists, along with countless other specialties. We have amateur astrologists with enough training to be scanning the heavens and producing discoveries, and even physicists or other graduates that end up driving a cab because there are no jobs.

Another factor at play is the inability of those with august careers to step aside for younger talent, and throughout our complex society, there is now a tendency for people to work until they die. Longer life spans contribute to this phenomenon, but the bottom line is still simply explained by acknowledging there are not enough top jobs to accommodate the scores of graduates our universities are producing.

This fact of life has had its own affect on career planning; specialists are becoming even more specialized, creating areas of expertise that were once covered by one all-encompassing title. As our technological society advances in equipment and training, there are new areas of expertise opening that were not there before. The key to a thriving economy of labor in Marxian terms is successful only when the instruments of production and overall advancement maintain pace with the number of people ready to enter that field. A consequence of this reality is that education becomes more central to success, and without a long and carefully planned period of preparation, many intelligent and skilled people fall through the cracks and become over-educated for the job they end up with…just to pay the bills.

In our technological society, money is needed more than ever, and the only areas to live without money are far from the centers of industry or large urbanized dwelling places.   The last few centuries have drastically changed humanity’s way of life, but the greatest change has taken place within the last 60 years. Population increases have urbanized all land around a city, and living in isolated areas now requires a lot of money and an independent trade to maintain this life, or the ability to devise some method to make money from the land itself. Gold mining is again popular, as the price of gold makes a few ounces valuable.

These are our realities: they influence our lives, limit our choices, and dictate our responses.   Becoming a lone wolf or independent operator that scorns society is not possible in our modern world. Living off the land requires that you buy the land…with large acres of wilderness, our governments limit access, and squatting is now punishable by jail. Yesterday, we had sojourners and travelers: today, we have homelessness and abject poverty. Lack of money is a major part of our modern lifestyle; poverty now produces widespread depression, alcoholism, and drug abuse. Proverbs from long ago, the wisdom of the Bible, stated that we should humanely give strong drink to those who suffer, and wine to those in despair.   They didn’t have drugs back then, but what they had was legal. Modern attitudes have stiffened outlooks, and our evolved society has made the only cure for depression only legal by a doctor’s prescription. Everywhere you look, bureaucratic laws and statues exist for every conceivable situation, and we live in a society of rule, law, and paperwork. The pursuit of freedom in such a society is impossible. People need proper identification to exist, social insurance numbers so they can pay tax, and an economic powerhouse that controls all forms of wealth, and charge you for the privilege.

Our modern society does not represent all the people, but since the system includes the majority, the minorities that once had options in life are now subject to approval by politicians, police, and a court system without mercy and rules without exception. An absolute conclusion from all this is that yesterday’s decisions make today’s quality of life.  Advice can be helpful, but personal insight helps traverse life’s bumpy road.

This is our brave new world,  Orwell’s 1984 nightmare, our technological revolution. We are either in the painful early stages of a miraculous new order of life, or suffocating in an explosion of elitist expansionism and secular growth. The meek are trampled underfoot, the weak are exploited by the strong, and the poor indentured slaves of the rich.  Not much has changed, and as Solomon said, there is nothing new under the sun, except the gap between the rich and poor is now a chasm of galactic proportions.

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I do declare the following: on this day, November 27,2014, in response to the new Facebook guidelines and any other claim by blog sites and RSS post sites, under articles L.111, 112 and 113 of the code of intellectual property, I declare that my rights are attached to all my personal data, drawings, paintings, photos, texts etc… published on my profile. For commercial use of the foregoing my written consent is required at all times.
Those reading this text can copy it and paste it on their Facebook wall. This will allow them to place themselves under the protection of copyright. By this release, I tell Facebook and other blog sites that it is strictly forbidden to disclose, copy, distribute, broadcast, or to take any other action against me on the basis of this profile and/or its contents. The actions mentioned above apply equally to employees, students, agents and/or other staff under the direction of Facebook, and other RSS style blog sites and other posts.
The contents of my profile include private information. The violation of my privacy is punished by the law (UCC 1 1-308 – 308 1 -103 and the Rome Statute).
All my post are the exclusive property of myself, and any unauthorized copying or reproduction without my written consent is against copyright law. This includes all blogs, comments, posts, samples, or any and other pictorial media, such as paintings and photographs, are the sole property of Artidan/Artidan007, and the original author, myself, my name excluded for confidentiality. Several posts are from published books and are only shown for sample purposes, and possible sales. All material is subject to copyright, and any and all mention should be done with the author’s permission, or it is a breach of the copyright act. I’m not Shakespeare, but then again, he was an amalgamation of Elizebethan writers, and I dare anyone to prove otherwise. Again, copyright Artidan, and IdEgo Creations, Inc. 2008

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These words could be classified as opinion to some, a guide by others, or a lifesaver for the few. Many have read and tried the grandiose guarantees from magical success manuals—methods that promise to transform your life for the better. And, it takes a whole book to do so. If so bewitching and poignant, why do people forget the main premise, or overlook that punchy statement that changes everything. The one that offers a better strategy for using your knowledge. For everyone has their own education, a curriculum uniquely their own. Weak in some areas, but expert in others. Does it take a book to point that out to you? If I discovered a simple sentence to re-shape and revitalize my life, I’d memorize it…repeating it again and again, like a mantra to myself.

A single sentence of absolute wisdom, in crystal clarity, would be hard to forget—moreso, if truly wise, and entirely absolute. There are many books focusing on positive thoughts, but few ring and resound throughout a person’s mind. Ultimately, if their life can be turned around by this mystical phrase—they would shout and dance with that phrase falling from thieir lips and cavorting in their hearts. A mighty statement indeed, with the power to erase failure, croon success, and chant victory! What a miraculous string of positive words…or paragraphs. Or perhaps the whole chapter held the key!

People know when suffering depression, or feeling sad and lachrymose, it’s a good idea to get out and see the world: meet new people, talk with old friends, or do something to take your mind off whatever is troubling you. Frequently, it’s because of something nasty or mean someone said or did to discourage you. Don’t let them have any power over you. Thinking with a positive attitude is an accepted strategy for self-help. Natural endorphins can re-charge your inner batteries, stimulate certain areas in your brain, and like the Energizer Bunny, you’re be-bopping around in no time. People only have power over you if you give them permission; deny them that power, and start chasing your dreams. Don’t take anything personal…no one reads your mind, or knows the real you. Off-the-cuff comments are meaningless; like water, let them run off your back. Develop a strong back-bone, and believe in yourself. Nothing people do is because of you—it’s because of them. Never make assumptions; usually, they’re untrue, false, and cannot influence you, unless you give them power. Don’t empower them…ignore them. Only love puts you in a state of bliss; love everything, and nothing can harm you. Happiness is our lost paradise: Moses called it the Promised Land, Buddha called it Nirvana, and Jesus called it Heaven; mystics call it a new dream, or your personal realm of enlightenment. You can choose suffering, or complete happiness. To live in Heaven, or live in Hell. Pick your attitude; believe what you want, and forget what other’s want you to believe. What you truly believe makes you happy and full of joy, so don’t accept what other people think…that’s their problem, not yours.

True hope is a waking dream. Follow your dreams with confidence, in the direction you’ve selected. Live the life that fills your dreams, a life that brings happiness and inner peace. You have every right to dream heroic dreams. We grow great by dreams; notice that all great men are dreamers. Martin Luther had a dream…sadly, it’s still being fought over, but the positive power from his dream reshaped our notions of race and human equality. As wishes inspire dreams, so dreams inspire wishes. What is the difference? A wish is seen as an ethereal action with no substance, yet a dream contains a reality, but a reality that is reshaped into something good.

In dreams, we are true poets, true philanthropists, and full of love and charity; turning that into reality merely takes work, commitment, and determination. Go confidently in the direction of your dream and live the life you’ve imagined. You are the only one who holds you back. Hope is a waking dream, and your reality can be refocused, reshaped, and altered. We have so many great adages that all push us in the direction of that apple in our eye…the apple can be real, and it takes willpower and charisma. Some think they are without these qualities, but we need only believe in ourselves. If courageous enough, our dreams are great enough to change the future. They are goals to reach, milestones to pass; only through truth and effort will them exist. Stare deeply and fearless into that dream, and you will soon be dreaming dreams no mortal ever daring to imagine. There’s nothing like words to move a heart, yet confidence and faith are required to get up and start putting your wishes into reality. We must pursue the ineffable with effort, for from nothing will always come nothing…add action, and the world can be at your doorstep. It’s easy to say, but all we need is true faith and we start marching towards that wonderful horizon we see in our mind’s eye.

Whatever you’ve heard, whatever you’ve been told, there is nothing like the dream to build a new future. We grow through our dreams; what you’ve fantasized about in real life becomes alive in your dreams…everyone has the right to dream heroic thoughts. Follow your dreams, for as you dream, so shall you be. Think big, or stay home. Home is safe, but take fortune by the horns, and boldly take it where you want it to go. Unlike the endless reams of motivational sentences, this is succinct, and to the point. Hold on to your dreams; young or old, always dream, for dreams are what makes life challenging. Without challenge, we fade away, disintegrate, and cease to have a purpose. Hang on to your instincts…chase your natural intuitions and grow, for when you lose the desire to upgrade your outmoded mental software, you’re left in the dust, and sadness takes over.

Pursue your imagination, dream your dreams, as the dreamer, dreaming, dreamt. And forevermore, chart your desires, dream with all your heart, and grasp what you will. A dream is a phantasmagorical image, a picture from your soul, a vision of a future, a daydream of what you want from life. If your reverie stimulates your personal gumption and drive, focuses and orients your mind to the attainable, you search for that dream, with all your heart, all your soul, forever reaching, until you touch the untouchable. A poor man is not without a cent, but without a dream.

Go softly and surely in search of your dreams! Live the life you have imagined. Not the virtual video game version, the real McCoy. If your life is not what you’ve imagined, keep dreaming, keep track, and then walk the path to fulfill your imagination. There’s never been a more rewarding experience. Dream on. Almost sounds like a song…wait, I think it is one…sing it, and sing it with conviction and belief…only you know what you really want, so go out into that big wide world and find your little portion of heaven. Do not be afraid to put your dreams into action…once you’ve passed that hurdle, anything is possible.
thanks,
Fitz…www.saatchionline.com/Artidan, my art gallery, but lacking my newest art,
or newly out, @ artFitz – a new site in progress, as the artfitz name seems to ring…
check out http://www.createspace.com/5025327 – a book on the unknown
or my action and philosophical reality http://www.createspace.com/5080668 – finally edited and on sale.

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Marcel’s critical eye scanned the canvass. A homemade easel secured his painting at a rakish forty-five degrees. The background was spattered and roughly daubed in dusty lavender, accenting the random blue and red lines of various heights and lengths. His artistic eye probed the piece for that decisive coup d’oeil that would satisfy his artistic soul. This was how he finishing his abstract paintings. No one would notice any difference, but his artistic muse and inner Weltanschauung needed to be sated. Using a two-inch flat’s chisel edge, he added a straight line, blending the rough stroke with a fan brush. The purplish red complimented a series of similar slashes in the bottom corner. He felt an ethereal contentment that triggered a creative closure. The painting was concluded. His artistic essence was fulfilled; its form and function satisfied his strict creative principles. He would have to write another paper on form and function. He would share his unique insights with the uninformed masses that were unaware of the proper utility or art. Ravenous audiences could appreciate art with his inspired guidance. His convoluted thought process began to whir, as he scribbled a quick outline.

After capturing some brilliant insights, he got up and surveyed his work. The colorful mishmash of haphazardly placed lines atop the dappled background was agreeable. Everything seemed in proportion, and the finishing tangle of geometrically opposed lines seemed acceptable. He jotted down more notes about his methodology, adding them to a growing stack of notes on his creative processes. Writing, he believed, verbalized the artistic experience, and could teach a great deal. After he conducted his business at the bank today, he would finish the paper at once. Marcel’s apartment housed a great deal of writing, but it did not generate the paltry income his paintings received. His Magnum Opus was incomplete; when finished, it would reverberate throughout the art world and stun the ignorant critics. He was adamant that people that who enjoyed his art would agree with his opinions.

Mixing a watery black, he added his well-practiced signature. The buyer should be here with his cheque in an hour, and the quick drying acrylic would be dry in half that time. He hoped the man would show up; the money would help him pay his rent. The cramped quarters under the bar were dirty and rat-infested, but provided a base to promulgate his enlightened ideas the world desperately needed. Displaying his work near the Chicago Museum of Art, making a sale was always a financial juncture, as he was constantly on the move, being told to pack up and never come back. One day, he mused, my ideas and creativity will transform the art world.

The burdens of genius were onerous indeed. Strict bylaw governing sales without a vendor’s permit was a mere inconvenience. He could rant on about Van Gogh and the treatment of starving artist’s in general, but without a permit, the constables were limited in the leeway they could allow the poor artist. Explaining creative confluence, with the museum’s august location as its focal point, fell on deaf, bureaucratic ears. His overbearing attitude and promises to write scathing attacks upon the degeneration of society did not encourage pity.

His self-assurance predicted this misunderstanding would soon be settled. Upholding his principles and invaluable insights on the creative process would stand him in good stead when upscale galleries recognized his genius and clamored for the privilege to showcase his creative masterpieces.

His eye drifted back to his painting. The colors were soothing and peaceful. It was a creation he enjoyed. He did not want to venerate the piece. He was sufficiently detached from his useful handiwork; his creation could impress a viewer without disturbing his stubborn definition regarding the function of art. He adamantly endorsed Oscar Wilde’s view of art. Art is surface and symbol, and that it is the spectator, not life, that art really mirrors. He loathed pride and excess, believing that only humility could provide someone with an acceptable moral center. Like Wilde, he forgave a man for making a useful thing, provided he did not admire it: obversely, the only excuse for making a useful thing was to admire it intensely. All art is useless. Yes, he felt creating this piece propelled him to write a brutal attack on modern mores and aesthetic values. Like his art, they had become debauched. The world needed his advice to re-evaluate artistic values.

His significant daydreaming was interrupted by a knock on the cellar door. The buyer he thought, scrambling to the door. He had a subconscious fear that his client might change his mind. That happened to him several times. He threw open the door, and was relieved to find the well-dressed gentleman that commissioned liked one of his works, but asked if Marcel could change the background colors. He disliked customers critiquing his inspired work, but dismal circumstances taught him brilliance endures darkness before illuminate artistic appreciation. Also, money excused many mistakes. He greeted the man warmly, brush in hand, and returned to his easel.
“Come in Sir,” he said”, I have just completed your painting, and was taking in the overall influence the piece displays. It projects a warm, almost morally soothing ambiance, but that is just my impression. Come, come, have a look and tell me what you think.”
The tall stranger ducked under one of the ceilings many pipes, working around the clutter to catch the light from the room’s grimy window. He rested his chin on his hand and appeared lost in thought.
“Yes, I can see what you mean”, the man agreed, “it does have a somewhat calming affect upon you – I wouldn’t say it had a moral effect, but it does reveal a sense of ease. You used the colors I suggested beautifully. I like the way it demonstrates a warm and engaging situation that gives straight strokes a sense of vitality.”
He moved towards Marcel’s kitchen table and pulled out his chequebook.
“Indeed sir,” he continued as he filled out the cheque”, I’m so impressed with your work that I shall give you 100 dollars for the piece, not the five we agreed upon the other day.”
“Oh thank you sir”, bubbled Marcel”, that is most generous of you. I could tell you had a fine eye for artistic display. Perhaps I can interest you in some of the essays I have written on the nature of current artistic appreciation. Art, along with fine writing, are the two mediums we artists have that can shift emotions, even return a soul to its moral center. The great masters enthused viewers from bouts of bathos to the pinnacles of joy, captured by the aura their work aroused. Marcel held up a thoughtful finger, formulating the thoughts that were swirled about his cavernous mind
The stranger noticed he was preparing another long-winded speech and quickly interjected, “No, thank you, I quite agree, but that’s okay, perhaps some other time”.
Marcel looked down, his crushed soliloquy draining from some mental orifice, realizing his brilliant visions were sometimes hard to grasp in verbal form. “I’ll just shuffle off to my shipping department”, managing a grin,” and wrap up your painting”. He disappeared in a portioned area that showed the edge of a bed peeking out.
The stranger glanced around the dingy apartment, noting stacks of dusty printing paper and thick books crammed in any opening. A flood of brushes and paint surrounded the strange easel, the overflow contained in a circular area around the stand. Several finished paintings leaned against the wall. The rest of the residence was being slowly crushed by the weight of numerous alphabetized binders and precariously balanced paper towers. The wide kitchen table held a series that had some sort of order. Every inch of the place was multifunctional; the kitchen acted as paint station and canvass stretcher department. Everywhere showed the signs of writing, reading or painting. He imaging the bed was the shipping and wrapping department.

Prominently displayed on a blank wall was a three by two foot sign of black lamacoid with engraved white writing. It was a quote from somewhere, some tidbit of wisdom that Marcel obviously held dear. He quickly scanned it.

The artist is the creator of beautiful things.
To reveal art and conceal the artist is art’s aim
The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression
of beautiful things.
The highest as the lowest form of criticism is a mode of autobiography.
Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming.
This is a fault.
Those who find beautiful things mean only Beauty.
There is no such thing as a moral or immoral book. Books are well written, or badly written. That is all.
The nineteenth century dislike of Romanticism is the rag of Caliban not seeing his own face in a glass.
The moral life of man forms part of the subject-matter of the artist, but the morality of art consists in the perfect use of an imperfect medium.
No artist desires to prove anything. Even things that are true can be proved.
No artist has ethical sympathies. An ethical sympathy in an artist is an unpardonable mannerism of style.
No artist is ever morbid. The artist can express everything.
Thought and language are to the artist instruments of an art.
Vice and virtue are to the artist materials for an art.
From the point of view of form, the type of all the arts is the art of the musician. From the point of view of feeling, the actor’s craft is the type.
All art is at once surface and symbol
Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.
It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors.
Diversity if opinion about a work of art shows that the work is new, complex, and vital
When the critics disagree the artist is in accord with himself.
We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it.
The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely.
All art is quite useless.
Oscar Wilde

The stranger saw the sign echoed the comments on life and art Marcel had enthusiastically explained when he first met him and bought one of his paintings. Indeed, this odd view of art and morality clearly formed Marcel’s inner core. He felt as if he had peeked into Marcel’s soul. Deliberately placed near the door, Marcel probably read this whenever he left this hovel. He looked around at the prolific stacks of essays. Long, pedantic inscriptions indicated theological and philosophical issues, with frequent references to modern morality. He noticed the source: a closet-like area embraced a rickety desk holding an ancient computer and ink jet printer. The painter would make an excellent subject for study.

He enjoyed a moment of detached anticipation; this guy was committed in more ways than one. Morality was a big part of his life. As the bubbly man returned, his now wrapped painting under his arm, an incisive gaze bored into Marcel, piercing his very essence.

“Here you are sir, Marcel exhaled, “not proportionally exact – Christmas and birthday presents were not my forte - but it is protected from the elements”.
“Thank you Marcel. I will enjoy it on many levels. I must take my leave now, I have much to accomplish by tomorrow.”
Marcel had hoped for more insightful banter, but was thrilled that the extra fifty dollars gave him more than enough for his rent. He could only hope this might become a repeat customer.
“As you wish Sir. Feel free to call on me again, or look for me around the museum sometime if you might want to make another purchase. Thank you, and I hope to see you again.”
The stranger paused as he opened Marcel’s door, and replied, “I’m sure you will see me again. I bid you good day.” The door closed, leaving Marcel with his swirling thoughts.
He did not feel like venturing out today, he had made the month’s rent, and sat down to write more on his great vision.
The stranger squinted in the bright sun, his eyes accustomed to the gloom of Marcel’s dingy basement. He walked towards his BMW chirping it as he juggled his keys and his new painting. Fitting the painting in his back seat, he removed a digital voice recorder from the glove box. “7 Oct. 2007, Marcel Dupris, psychotic schizophrenia. Believes he is a successful author and painter and collect assorted magazines that he imagines contain his writing, art critic reviews and other signs of success. Marcel is entrenched in this world of delusion and believes he will soon be given a showing at the Chicago Museum of Art. I discovered the subject selling his worthless art on the street and commissioned him for a piece. I confirmed my analysis when I picked up my “masterpiece” today. The subject is self supportive, self reliant and self deluded.

***Stranger is Dr. Victor Fiske, famous TV psychiatrist, who sees an unorthodox approach is needed to help Marcel. Perhaps hired by a rich family or friend of Marcel’s. He sets him up, then shows up at the station to explain that Marcel is his patient and is being treated for psychotic schizophrenia. The police release him into his custody and he explains that Marcel needed to be jolted out of his delusional writing and painting fantasy, that the magazines didn’t have articles by him and reviews about his art.
He will do a paper on him.

The next day broke sunny and warm. Marcel decided the grubby sunlight making its way past the built up dirt was inspiration for a new painting. Securing a new canvas to his homemade easel, he pondered the blank space for a moment then began mixing paints. After several hours, most of the background was sketched in, and Marcel had an idea for the overall painting. Noticing the time, he began to prepare himself for the trip to the bank.

Tells him what bank he uses and what time he likes to show up.

The old turn-of-the-century structure made a formidable bank.
He loved these old purposely-designed buildings; modern glass towers, in his artistic eye, were tasteless glass rectangles that projected height and size over form and function.

Tastefully chiseled in a neo-gothic style, the large granite blocks gave the building redoubtable dependency and impenetrable strength. It offered a perfect fortress to safeguard your money. Tom Surrey climbed the broad front steps, firmly stacked to support the bloated, beautifully fluted columns, thoughtfully carved in the Doric tradition. In his early art studies, he had studied classical sculpture and architecture, and appreciated the older sections of the city for its eclectic array of Victorian and other, more time consuming styles of construction. Minimalist towers of glass with no taste had replaced early aesthetics, the modern shrine of capitalism.

Tom eased into paycheck Friday’s lengthy line and leaned forward to grab a deposit slip. He had sold four paintings this week, an influx of cash that would help him barely meet the month’s rent.

A quick take on the crowd ahead of him reminded him he should have brought a book. Unlike other waiting rooms, the only reading a bank offered were glossy pamphlets advertising financial services for which he had neither need nor any money. Cashing several cheques was a lot easier when you could take your time and use the check counter. He fumbled for leverage as he used the back of his chequebook to write on. A quick head count confirmed he had not missed the lunch hour crowd. His watch read 11:45: the bank thought it was 11:58. Damn. He reset his watch. After finishing his deposit slip and signing his cheques, he fell into the watching game, guessing how long each customer would take.

He remembered the difference had something to do with the entablature at the top of the column. Some were plain, scroll-like or ornately carved. As an artist and old building enthusiast, he should study up on some of the city’s more colorful districts, the ones were he loved to go walking.

Ionic capital, column and entablature.
Doric: plain, first style.
Ionic: scrolls at the top
Corinthian: elaborate carving around top.
Gothic: elaborately carved, fancy flying buttresses etc.
Roman: arch, functional, solid.
Greek:

The soaring columns supported a stretched triangular frieze.

Chiseled granite blocks showed neo-gothic accents and regal Ionic columns.

A man that hand him a zippered leather folder joins him in line. He does not return. When John gets to be third in line, he opens the heavy folder to see if it is a gold brick or rolled change. He puts his hand on the handle of a gun. Fingerprints are now only his.
There are two letters. One to him, telling him to rob the bank, or be shot by the brown car he can see parked in front of the side door. The other letter is to be given to the teller and instructs her to lead him to the end of the counter and open the small door and lead him into the vault. He is to fill the case with the bundles of fifties on the shelf, have the staff lie on the floor, and lock the vault as he leaves, gun in hand. He is to then get into the car with the stranger.

The stranger is a robber, but a psychological nut who likes to push people to their moral limit and see if they will rob the bank or risk getting shot, or getting caught with all the evidence leading to him. The stationary is from his apartment/studio, printed on his printer, and probably has his fingerprints or other incriminating mark, and other personal trace evidence planted there by the robber.
His choice is to rob and leave with the guy, or shout out and hit the floor, in which case the robber would just drive away-it would be his word against the evidence…maybe he does that and gets thrown in jail, as the police find a plan written on his computer that shows he might not have the nerve to carry it out.
So, either he robs the bank, or gets set up and sent to jail for attempted robbery and conspiracy.
If so, he gets a letter from the guy at the end explaining why, or a visit or something.

Have it a surprise ending, like he yells about the guy in the car that is not found, but goes to jail when the police find all the evidence against him

Or, the guy calls his cell phone and tells him to do it or face the consequences…and just tells him he will go to jail, that he’s arranged everything so all he can do is go through it, get shot if he leaves, or goes to jail if he yells frame up.

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Like any business, artistic value depends on promotion, style and recognition.  Unfortunately, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and new art relies on critics, galleries and “experts”, to gain popularity.  If it is beautiful to look at, it could take years before it becomes worth anything.  I’ve been told my art surpasses some of the new art styles, but I still need that “provenance” to be recognized and appreciated. This is like being “recognized” as an unknown talent, even if there is no talent there.  A picture with 3 stripes just doesn’t seem like art, but after someone promoted the artist, the painting had an $8,000.00 price tag.  Well, nothing in life is fair.  You need luck, and lots of it.  Knowing the right people helps; it applies to jobs, opportunities, glory and fame, and, of course, the chance to make a lot of money.  Check out http://www.spoiledink.com/danae

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In 1880, the philosopher Thomas Malthus made a prediction that is now affecting our society in ways he couldn’t foresee, but are eeirily similar to his general theory on population control.  When you remove war, plague and other problems, population growth will skyrocket, unless a natural disaster occurs.  Taken alone, this is an excellent argument for space colonization and exploration.  We need to re-examine what is important in life, and put the world’s fabulous wealth to work on it.

Malthus theorized that population growth would soon overwhelm the planet’s resources, then overused and depleted resources would be insufficient to supply the world; therefore, people would die off.  He calculated that technology and resources expand arithmetically, but people grow geometrically.  Geometric growth is the old double a dollar trick: if you take a dollar, then double it, double it again, and keep doubling it everyday, you would have over a million dollars within a month.  It’s a straightforward mathematical progression, and when applied to our population, it’s easy to see that there will be too many humans for this Earth to sustain if we keep increasing our population the at the current rate.  Longer life through better medicine adds to the problem.  Here’s how it applies to literature and writers. 

In the Victorian age, there were a great many readers, and every writer, if they were able to create something worth reading, would stand a good chance of being published.  Today, there are thousands of writers out of work, just because publishers are inundated with manuscripts and have the luxury of selecting only the very best.  It could be argued that some of the so called “great” writers of the past wouldn’t stand up to the numerous rejection slips every author receives before someone decides to take a chance and publish their book.  There are many other reasons the Victorian age produced so many new ideas and so many new authors, but the main reason was an empty playing field, and an audience thirsting for new and bizarre ideas.  Now the playing field is packed, the benches and stadium  crowded, along with the dressing room and the parking lot.  It’s hard to find an original idea that is truly unique, because with so many minds thinking of every permutation and every twist and turn, it is hard to come up with something fresh and original.  Some say that’s why
Hollywood does so many re-makes of old ideas.  With so many people writing free blogs, or publishing their stories for free on certain websites, it’s hard to get a publisher to pay good money for a story.  That is, if they actually get a frustrated talented author to withstand the long wait lists and offer a story that is fresh and interesting.  It really begs the question, why do we read what we read.  Will anyone ever read this?  Chances are, with the countless, unknown and possibly excellent blogs clogging the internet, no one ever will.  People read less books today.  TV and the internet changed the dynamics in ways we are still studying.

Another factor is society’s overall success and increasing level of education.  To get a half decent job, you need education.  Today, it is quite common for someone to possess B.A., Master’s Degree or PhD.  That means a greater proportion of our society can write, and write well.  With a hulking pile of unread and well written manuscripts clogging an Editor’s “in basket”, it’s quite possible that some of the well known writers of the past would not be published today.  Perhaps their story lacks sparkle, their writing style is trite and outdated, or the author couldn’t deal with the countless rejection slips that are now part of the job.  Based on this, what was published in the past might not be published today.  A loss to literature?  Not quite.  We have literature coming out our ying-yang, and a book about talking animals discussing their political situation, although clever and satirical, doesn’t sound like a real page turner.  Sorry George Orwell, but Animal Farm might not pass muster and end up in some rejected file.  Possibly.  Television, radio and the Internet are changing our society in ways that will not be fully understood until some future date.  Perhaps when sociologists have had the time to read everything and make an original conclusion.  

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Banks don’t even enjoy art…they just look at the price tag…like a Monet, Turner or DaVinci…they know the price of everything and the value of nothing.
I recently had a revelation: I now understand the significance of starving children holding out tiny hands for food and the shiny brass plaques on the door of a bank.
They don’t need handouts…all the uninformed line up to deposit money in their coffers…the banks turn around and invest this money, make a killing in interest, then charge you whenever you need to withdraw enough to buy food to live. A capitalist might think that’s a normal attitude, but a realist understands it’s the same way rich people have been sticking it to the underdog since the days of Babylon and the building of the Egyptian pyramids. The shivering, starving, and huddling masses have the upper classes walking all over them, getting them to wash their cars, and then not even paying them enough to get a drink of water. Bottled water is not cheap…next time I blow a buck on a bottle of water, I’ll make sure it’s a Perrier.
I don’t like getting walked on, but I have so many footprints on my bad back I look like the path to a beer stand on the fourth of July. I can’t afford a bank account…they don’t pay interest, and they have fees for every transaction I’d ever make, so it’s basically cheaper just to keep the money under my mattress. Cash only…sorry, no cheques. No wonder the ruling classes are trying to institute a cash-less society…if your money is in the hands of a greedy bank, you don’t have as much as your little booklet states you have…even if you close your account, they charge you for that…it’s easier to withdraw all your money, then never use the account again. Unfortuntely, that will work in reverse…they automatically withdraw monthly expenses, and if you have nothing, it shows up as a negative amount…after a few years, they’ll come knocking, demanding what you now owe them…and you don’t have to do a single darn thing.
No one ever said life is fair…it’s nasty, brutal and short…Edmund Burke made that comment a long time ago, and it’s as true today as it was then. It seems the moral of all this is you should stick it to your neighbour before he gets a chance to stick it to you. Never trust anyone with a smile and an Italian suit…and, stay away from banks with shiny brass plaques on their doors…those brass standards are a domineering, commercial group of investors…investors that need your money to make them more money, and you won’t see dime one of it…but you will see them taking dimes a plenty for the priviledge of letting them use your money to make them more money. Life always goes around and what goes around doesn’t always come back…it ends up in the luxuriant pockets of those bankers that always smile when you make a nice deposit. Need a loan? We can help…you’ll pay it off for the rest of your life, but we’ll lend you a few bucks…banks were created by someone with lots of money, and they will continue as long as money is a class symbol, and turns life into a endless fight to get your fair share…an oxymoron, as your share is never fair. Too bad, so sorry…we’re closed…use our credit card…only 15% for each transaction.

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