Archive for the ‘The Media Landscape’ Category

Just a few observations on what surrounds us all…a society that takes itself far too seriously and has some insane idea that we are the pinnacle of intelligent life forms…other humans, all in different forms and functions, and sadly most are stupid and blind to all but intrinsic self-preservation and greed, all examples of a species that cannot learn from mistakes.  Well, you might ask, why not?

This was a letter to a friend, but he suggested the comments were interesting enough to share it with others, so pardon mistakes and I hope there are subjects that help you try and learn more.

One thing we can all take to the bank is the fact that we are sold a pack of lies about life and what the government has discovered in the last 70 years, so what can we do now?  Start crying?  A society, if aware of the lies it’s being fed, must rise up, unite and organize, and with one voice shout, “We will not take this crap anymore, nor go softly into the night.  Tell us the truth or we will start another armed revolution.”  Well, this might have more power in America than Canada, as they have really risen up and fought a revolution, whereas Canadians are notoriously famous for being polite and nice to everyone, hence all the lies our politicians feed us.  It’s a bit funny though, as our politicians lie to us diffidently; they are not so sure of themselves, and go way overboard trying to sound official and knowledgeable; it’s like they know they are not very good liars, and know that they could get caught quite easily and that would end their cushy jobs in Ottawa.  What’s not nice is no matter what they do, they still get that fancy pension package.  I think they would still get it even if they went to jail…we don’t seem to have very good laws, and never had politicians like the American founding fathers…those men were visionaries, and created one of the best political systems against tyranny, although that’s exact who’s minding the store down there now.  Oh those great ironies of life.

I recall reading Marcus Aurelius and his reluctant book, Meditations.  Out of his many thoughts based on a stoic outlook on life, he’s given me inspiration and hope, for while he lived in a decadent and rich empire, he lived a Godly life and was more concerned with how he lived rather than how he could enjoy the power he had as Emperor.  This was especially insightful as it was during one of the most turbulent religious periods humanity has ever known.  Jesus Christ had just been nailed to the cross, and His message was slowly working its way across the Roman empire.  Their pagan gods were no match for the wisdom and truth of Christianity, yet Marcus ignored the idolatry, lived an honest and good life, but had never read the message of Christ.  It’s also sad that at this point, greater steps were not taken to ensure the men who would rise to great power within the Church were not curtailed, and allowed to become as powerful as the Kings they contended with for money and rule.  The church was allowed to form an army, have a navy and fought a great many battles; they would always claim to fight in the name of the Lord, but if you examine many of their battles, it’s obvious they were fought for material goods and Earthly power.  This would go on and allow the terror of the Inquisition to happen, along with the extinction of the Cathars based on different religious ideas, and ideas that were more Christ-like than anything the Catholics tried to stuff down the people’s throat.  This was when the ordinary man could not read, and was reliant on priests to read the Latin version of the Bible, and be told how he must live, and how much he must donate to the church.  Phrases like, “God loves a cheerful giver,” and others like that crept into the Bible, as once man starts to play with the word of God, the words end up benefiting greedy humans more than our divine Lord.

The Emperor Aurelius was the sort of person Jesus referred to as good just because his intellect inspired him to be good and avoid what was obviously evil and bad.  One of the great five “good” , Marcus believed in a single God that was all powerful and full of goodness, and that was enough for him to be careful how he lived, what he thought and how he treated other people.  He was a spiritual man before they knew what spirituality was truly about…as many have noted, being good provides an inner joy that is unlike anything we experience in an unjust world.  Immanuel Kant spoke of the “Moral Imperative,” the innate knowledge that shows us the difference between right and wrong…we are born with a special awareness that a life lived properly is a great joy, while a life of lies and deceit will drag us down, and dampen our spirit.  It is said that a good person can be noticed by his eyes…living a good life brings happiness and joy that pours out of our eyes…the window to our soul.

It could be that the small percentage of rich and powerful, the ones with access to classified scientific breakthroughs, new technologies and any new knowledge that is stunningly powerful, fearfully keep it to themselves, for they are like their medieval ancestors, worried about rebellion.

Sadly, that is a major problem when you assume positions of power and control over  a population that exceeds your handful of elite rulers by orders of magnitude that put you in a precarious position.  How can a thousand rule several billion?  Manipulation…mind control, limited access to anything important and defensive/offensive, and most of all, total control over the money that we all need to be of any consequence.

It’s hardly even worth comparing someone who can buy a block of houses with someone who can buy entire islands or even countries.  If you have more money than any government, you don’t need to worry about bribes and buying those in power, for that government, if it has a sense of self-indulgence and knows that better control over its citizens is the key to remain in power, and the more controls you have in place, the more secure your position as de facto KING.  As I mentioned earlier, this was a great concern in the days of old, and their methods of maintaining their grip over the serfs can still be seen today.  Massive stone castles are fairly safe havens, as peasants with pitch forks can hardly place you under siege, or threaten your gang of enforcers…the knights on war horses.  It was apparent to them that keeping real weapons away from those you rule is a fairly good idea, one that the American government would love to correct, but its population loves its guns, and that is firmly written into their law…the law they can’t break.  They flaunt the constitution as much as they can, write new laws, but those founding fathers were quite clever, and made sure their constitution was for the protection of the people against tyranny. Ironically, those very laws are the ones a whole new age of tyrants manipulate, or ignore as often as they can.  Only the lawyers know when the egregious use of power is unlawful…and many bureaucrats and elected officials vying for more power would love to follow Shakespeare’s advice. “Kill all the lawyers.”  Those lawyers are the only thing keeping the public sector safe from the militarization of the entire country.  It’s already well on its way, but denying the rights of freedom would truly turn America into Orwell’s 1984…a dystopian nightmare that can be seen if one visits China, or is mad enough to visit North Korea.

We would all do well to live with our eyes wide open, never trust someone on face value and make sure the truth you are told is the same truth you can find if you read a book.  It’s a lot easier to lie in a conversation; lying in a book requires careful consideration of proofs, a properly worded build up to the big lie and enough little truths to convince the reader that the writer does have some morals and is not selling you some swampland in Florida.


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We marvel at the great ruins across the world, and greatly puzzle over how they were created in South America, high in the Andes.  No trees grow there; they had no wheel nor beasts of burden, so transporting large blocks is a mystery, much more so than the slabs in Baalbek, Giza or the octogonal basalt logs of Nan Madol.  While Stonehenge, the Chinese caves of Longyou and the many temples carved into solid bedrock, such as Kaliskaya, all have some wild theories about sound levitation or the atomic obliteration of rock, yet no such magic suffices for some of the South American mysteries. 

There are conjectures and guesses, as with anything that holds our interest.  Intersecting Ley lines at some sites suggest they could be ancient Star Gates, yet like all extraordinary theories, these demand extraordinary proof.  There are no doubt many reasons these monumental monoliths were erected; along with exact astrological alignment, we have discovered many other precise calculations were used to place them on points of power…although the only Earth power we are aware of are the ley lines.  The imagined “Earth energy” that was harnessed and spread across the ancient world by obelisks is still a bedtime story and unknown.  There are possibly cosmic alignments with Earth’s magnetosphere that could produce unknown energies of which we are currently unaware, if those points somehow interact with a point in space, such as Lagrange points or forces of which we are not aware.  Scientists seem to ignore things like “Spiritual Centers or dimensional connections,” and many other possibilities that require that out of the box sort of consideration.  We are beholden to groups of experts that seem to believe “if we can’t see it, understand it, or have discovered it, it probably doesn’t exist.”  Balderdash.  We couldn’t see the wind, but know it is there; we couldn’t see magnetism, yet iron filings prove its existence…there must be other forces on the frequency scale we have yet to measure, discover or understand.

Well, this is the sort of thinking that perpetuated the Dark Ages, and reduces science to trial and error, with a lot of errors impeding the advancement of our awareness.  Once we delved into the quantum realm, the fantastic results should show us that anything is possible, and that when something observable occurs that defies explanation, only a very open mind will ever discover the explanation, and as Sherlock Holmes deduced, “Once you have eliminated all the evidence, whatever remains, no matter how bizarre or hard to accept, has to be the answer.”  I’ve been pleased to listen to lectures by cutting edge string theorists, cosmologists and quantum mechanic scientists that are proposing new answers to some of the baffling behavior of subatomic particles, including the possibility of computer code, similar to the elegance of DNA, existing at the Planck scale of existence…hidden in the very quantum foam which apparently lies at the very heart of the atomic micro-universe.  Obviously, there must be some set of instructions to ensure that when Mesons, Gluons and Quarks combine into an iron atom, that atom will be the same nature as every other iron atom.  If this implies a Matrix-like nature to all life, so be it; we don’t live in a universe of chaotic improbabilities, we exist in a state of mathematical and geometric perfection…a beautiful existence with evidences of the Golden Mean, Fibonacci sequences and incredible sophisticated and concise design.  We’ve been shown the square of a circle solution that is so elegant and straight forward, even our best mi30nds never thought to approach the solution in this manner…this was shown to us in a crop circle.  It seems certain that the great intelligences of the universe have chosen this manner of communication as it has been noticed for hundreds of years and is only starting to be understood today.  When Carl Sagan sent his detailed map of Earth and sundry information in a binary message to the stars, the answer to his query showed up in a crop circle at Chilboutan about twenty years later.  There were slight differences and even a subtle correction in the periodic tables concerning silicon.  They showed us a triple helix of DNA that represented themselves, gave a population figure of 30 billion, drew a sketch that showed they had a large head and small body, and used a signal device that was much more complex than our basic radio telescopes.  This was no hoax; the science was too exact, and the corresponding information exactly what we might imagine a real message from an alien species to have sent.  It would take an incredibly intelligent hoaxer to do all this, and we don’t exactly have that many genius level humans running around cooking up elaborate hoaxes.  In addition, the message was close to a radio telescope and included a bit-map of what they might look like.  It was spaced and formatted exactly like the message we sent, just so we would know that it was an exact counterpart to our interstellar message; in other words, it clearly stated message received, understood and here is our response.  After this, there were further messages that all met the real deal rules for non-human made crop circles.  Bent, not forced plants, no footprints, odd magnetic readings and everything the experts have discovered from the massive, geometrically amazing circles that appeared within hours, and were occasionally filmed to find orbs of light zipping around, close to the ground, and as they moved, the underlying crops were suddenly transformed into whatever message they were creating.  As the experts say, the real deal, and so geometrically amazing, it could only be made by mother nature herself or some great universal intelligence.  They contained the exactitude of a snowflake in all its geometric glory, plus the divine numerical ratio we find in Nautilus shells, flowers, starfish and a myriad of nature creations that are breathtaking in their glory.  These are the circles that cannot be faked.  A presentation on this phenomenon showed that 500 years ago, they were thought to be “mown by the devil himself,” as there was no way anyone could create such thing in one night.  Sadly, they didn’t have the benefit of seeing them from the air, a small problem that kept the wonder of the Nazca lines secret until we had flight.  Some of these circles represented human culture; one depicted the endless doorway in Lewis Carroll’s ‘Through the looking glass.’  We sometimes forget that the imaginative author was also a brilliant mathematician, which seems to the the basis underlying everything in our universe.  We should also remember that science has admitted they do not understand all things, and admit that dark matter and energy are unknowns…that could also make one curious as to what other invisible forces exist that we are unaware of at this time, but could have known about in the ancient past.

In reality, the lost history of Alexandria or complete lack of all pre-flood history deprives us of what may have been normal human abilities as suggested in the Indian Vedas.  The third eye, or Pineal gland, was much larger, more prominent and more powerful, and capable of unknown abilities.  A purported black op moon mission brought back a pilot from a crashed ship there that contained a well-preserved woman with complicated apparatus connected to this third eye; small tubes and springs seemed to give her control of the space craft, and the “team” of international astronauts called the appendage “the mark of Cain.”  That was no doubt from the opinion of the video presenters, but you never know.  From the Biblical record, there were a great number of humans who bore this mark, and perhaps they also had major access to the Heavenly technology reputed to have been passed down by the watchers or angels sent to oversee the affairs of men.  If space flight was something they readily shared, who know what other marvels they could have included in their little educational bundle.  Thus, we have a ready-made explanation for the existence of advanced technology in the distant past, and every thinking person has to wonder why archeologists are so vehemently opposed to wonders in the past, as in their special timeline, humanity were a bunch of cave-dwelling Neanderthals barely able to paint on cave walls, yet there are incredible examples of superior building techniques, technology that should not exist and other examples of knowledge that existed in the dim reaches of unknown history that managed to survive the flood catastrophe that almost every culture on Earth records in their early literature.


In reality, we have no idea what antediluvian humanity looked like, nor do we know what they was capable of…all we can understand are the megalithic ruins left, or the suggestions of apocryphal writings, including the Book of Enoch, who they suggested built the pyramids in preparation for the flood.  If other entities intervened and gave early humans progressive knowledge, it’s obvious most of that technology didn’t survive, or we just haven’t looked in the right places.  Searching Antarctica would be a smart move, but low and behold, American soldiers are there, and they’ve already classified certain areas, plus with hold everything they have discovered to date.  Sometimes the absence of proof that has a good chance of existing is proof in itself…especially when you have shadowy groups digging around that loudy ascert they have not found anything out of the ordinary.  As Shakespeare once said, “Methinks they doth protest too much.”  When you’re holding a 12-foot spear behind your back and someone asks you where you got the spear, the reply, “What spear?” isn’t really going to fool anyone but a class-A moron.  And from the looks of things, the American government thinks most of the world are complete morons, or they are so arrogant they don’t care what the hell we think we might know, as they’ll just deny it anyway.  Like the obvious UFO reports they later called “swamp gas,” or “the planet  Venus.”  As noted in that alleged report on how to deal with the public when covering up a UFO crash, there was a section on dealing with the media where it said “Just make up a story, and stick to it…no matter how flimsy.”  In other words, once they have shoved the evidence in a U.S. Air Force hanger, they know we’ll never get to see it, so they blatantly lie to cover up something that has thousands of witnesses.  Cases that would hold up in court cannot hold up in reality, as the liars are the ones in charge, and they also have the big guns and control of just about everyone of any importance or power.  By the way, we have Harry S. Truman to thank for that, as he created the first “men in black” group that operated outside the law and independently of any and all governmental influence.  This was the bad move that James Forrestal noticed and tried to do something about…he was thrown out of the 10th floor of Bethesda Naval Hospital after a long psychiatric examination.  Just to show they aren’t totally heartless, they did name a class of aircraft carriers after him…gee, what a bunch of nice guys.  This is exactly what the Founding Fathers tried to prevent under the constitution, and the reality that we were warned about by Eisenhower and Reagan.  At least Reagan had the intelligence to only say something when addressing the world through the U.N.  He spoke directly to Gorbachev “How quickly our differences would disappear if we were facing an alien threat from outside this world…and I ask you, is not that threat already here and amongst us?”  That cryptic quote has got to be one of the most analysed and investigated statements by almost any President, as it was fairly clear that he was talking about aliens that were already here and interacting with us, and who had the power to take over the Earth unless we all acted together as one world.  The petty nationalism of countries would soon turn into a fervent desire to be an Earthling and to fight for this planet.  Yet as many pundits tell us, aliens have enticed certain governments with exotic technology and have the powers to be eating out of their hand, and willing t believe anything they say.  We have been warned in many intercepted and hard to interpret messages from space…the one of greatest import is the one that states something like “Beware of Greeks bearing gifts.”  I believe it was a crop circle in binary that read something like: “Beware those who bring you gifts…be not discouraged, for there is much good in our universe.”  Gee, didn’t these great leaders of ours every hear that old maxim about bearers of gifts?  Did they forget the Trojan Horse?  Or are they so blinded by fancy technology they are eager to sell out humanity just so they and a few rich buddies can hop in spaceships and tool around where we have never gone before.  I really hope we aren’t ruled by idiots that stupid, but it seems that is the case.  From the rumors I’ve heard, it looks like the lunatics really are running the asylum, and the asylum is our planet Earth.  Perhaps they have those medals on too tight, or tightened that dress buckle up too snugly.  How could anyone be so stupid?  Not only that, but what an obvious con, and wouldn’t our “leaders” be watching for that exact sort of behaviour?  Well, I hope the truly spiritual really do win, as those morons could certainly spend a lot of time in some nasty dimension that might cook their underdone brains a little up to normal intelligence.

Kennedy was shot for what they were sure he was about to say, so most Presidents heed that example and watch out for entrenched spooks with guns.  Every conspiracy theory sounds far fetched, but the only one that makes total sense is the CIA stepping in so we wouldn’t share our UFO knowledge with the Russians…which is what Kennedy was purportedly about to do after he released a memo to that effect, telling the director of the CIA to get the files ready.  Ironically, we know about the Kennedy memo, when it was released and all, but there had been no action on it for six months…the CIA basically ignored the orders, and when Kennedy was shot, the memo was thought to have  been erased.  Oh well, someone always keeps a copy of that really incriminating stuff.  This really made future Presidents watch what they said and who they even whispered to.  They couldn’t come out and say much, but they cryptically gave us the verbal clues to know there is a lot going on behind the electoral scene, and that the real power doesn’t exist in the hands of elected legislators, but in the hands of life-time appointees and bureaucrats in the Military, NSA and CIA

The scant information we have claims humanity was able to alter and manipulate the physical world through the power of thought.  Whether that was enough to shape rock or move gigantic boulders like lego, who knows.  It is an interesting suggestion, but one we cannot prove on this level of existence.  The breakthroughs in string theory back up many wild speculations, including the DMT experience and the ability to transcend this dimension, adopt the correct vibration to visit the next, while the DMT expands our consciousness enough to interact with these multi-dimensional beings that have appeared to others and made the same claims.  When we are confronted with advanced UFO’s that are in our world, but then shimmer and pop out of existence, that’s a fairly good indication that they might have left for a different plain of reality.  Again, we can only guess, and it’s only our imagination that allows us to see beyond the rigid confines of textbooks, exact science and dogmatic theology.  The science we are discovering now seems to allow for this sort of phenomenon, yet it is our own minds and preconceptions that trap us here, while the experts quote what is old, told and considered onefold.  We are taught by those unwilling to look outside the box, so how could we ever trust those people to tell us what they truly find, or what may really exist.  There will always be disbelievers, and when looked at in perspective, it was only a few hundred years ago that we had the Spanish Inquisition and were burning witches at the stake.  And, we also thought the world was flat…well, we still have some of those around, but it’s more to be noticed, like some of the UFO abductees that keep elaborating on their story, especially if they get interviewed or get a camera stuck in their face.

The walls of Sacsayhuaman even brought praise from the Spanish conquistadors, brutes who merely saw savagery, and no strategy, yet the construction of these walls baffled them.  What if unknown technology was used, or merely the manipulation of physical forces which we have yet to discover?  Many things were attributed to the power of thought…of mind over matter; what if this were true?  A form of telekinetic force that combined with Earth energies to manipulate the world in ways we find magical, so unscientific and beyond our rigid interpretation of the world.  There is a point where the two combine, as listed in the Vedic literature of India.

But, what if a general knowledge of the physical world/science was behind their works?

Nanotechnology.  Perhaps the “living rock” was grown in place from seed atoms, then trimmed to suit the walls they created.  This would explain the inexplicable marks and exact groves over the construction, and all it takes is to give our ancestors the benefit of the doubt; advanced knowledge that exceeds ours…methods to manipulate the world we have yet to discover.  Many acknowledge this is possible, as the evidence is there, and the justifications our experts give are woefully inadequate.  If, according to written tradition, they had access to “Heavenly technology,” why is it not possible for them to have mastery over elements we have yet to uncover?  We have dark energy and matter, but how many other things might be missing?  Is our periodic table complete?  What subatomic particles have we yet to find?  Questions are what pushes science…and we are a curious race, so why not ask really dumb questions…they might turn out to be really smart.  We would only know when they are asked, and the answers don’t seem to jump up and bite us, or there are no answers that make rational sense.  Ratiocination, examination and a quick close inspection will never discover everything we need to know, or what we don’t need to know, but need to feel.  The spiritual seems to be off limits to science, as religion has made them counter-productive, or at odds with each other.  Why?  Energy is power, and we like power.  History teaches us that.


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D. Fitzgerald ©.


Everyone hears of a better way, a better life, and a better world; however, that world has become a dream.  Reality is corrupted by violence, painted in gore and hidden by lies.  That better life is a world within ourselves, within our hearts and within our minds.  We all agree, yet fail to be free.  It remains a concept…an idea we cannot share.

The real world is ruthlessly beyond some philosophical notion…it is inundated with images of blood, endless acts of senseless terror, and murder is measured with a daily tally.

Hate is hard to kill…vicious ideas survive, for fighting words needs a universal truth, and that truth depends on what you believe.  As long as angry murderers poison young minds with their invective, that ugly attitude will persist.  Murder begets murder: a vicious cycle.

Reeling from shocking images of death…acts of human anger prove their is no global brotherhood…we are a world adrift in darkness, our existence marred by a religion of revenge…a religion of death.  Perhaps an alien intervention is the only alarm that might show us we are of one race, and therefore of one mind.  Another unrealistic dream…or one that is suppressed and denied, letting the industries of war profit on our dreams.

Instead of peace we see war…instead of kindness, we see malice.  CNN reports what is relevant, and bad men command media attention with acts of brutal insanity; actions that inflict suffering, and kill innocents.  Instead of love, we only see hate…a hate that leaves a vision of bloodshed ripped apart our righteous souls.

Brutal violence becomes a poisonous tonic fed to children…kids that grow with hate and mature among lies.  Blinded and taught murderous passions, they are schooled in death, and taught to destroy.  They are instructed to kill on a massive scale.  No man an island, they scour continents, their souls twisted into murderous machines intent on maximizing their kills.  Extermination becomes their goal, and their minds are manipulated to harbor disgust for non-believers and distaste for mercy.  They never forget and never forgive.  They maim and kill with no regrets…they live to hate and hate to live.

Through hate filled eyes, they hide behind children and wives…with blinded views and lying tongues, they seek to kill and use their young.  Steered and controlled by leaders in loss of life, the fatalities mount as new bombs are found, indoctrinated, and re-programmed. Names are replaced by explosive potential.   Their goal becomes the annihilation of angels.

Bloodshed burns their inner soul, as demolition delights their angry eyes; to kill the blameless, to burn all bystanders, to lay waste to the innocent and free.

The desolation of abomination begets a vivid image…an image that controls minds and forgets the words of God…the will and grace of God.  The world must follow their hearts and fight all brutal bands of bullies; of prime importance, do something to protect the children of the world, for only love can cure hate…only peace can stop war.  Throughout the world, our future will depend on what our children learn: hate falters when fighting love.

Teach a child to love and it will spread; train them to hate and war will remain a way of life. They hear what they are told, and see what they are shown…hence, they will never perceive love, nor will they hear compassion.  Brainwashing, molding, and influencing morality, words and ideas erase a soul…replacing all with aggression and deadly delight.  Only Man can value wickedness…a hate that inflames Earthly passions.  Inversely, only God has the power of His word….words that create moral strength, bestow grace, and allow the righteous to mount up with wings like eagles.


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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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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.

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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Ultimately, you are what you believe. Questions hold half the answer. To question is to explore; recitation, while somewhat trustworthy, doesn’t explain the quotation. True understanding can create alternative answers, all relevant to the question, but demonstating there is more than one solution. Truth will stand on its own; impervious to alternative answers, able to withstand an examination of past convictions, producing an assurance of the moral imperative at the very core of our soul.

It can be a figurative slap in the face, to finally understand what you have become; something that you detest, something you are inherently ashamed of and something that rebukes your inner soul. These are discoveries that enhance depression, further an already burning hatred of yourself and don’t give you that necessary pat on the back you need to help you combat the world and become tough enough to withstand the ups and downs of everyday life.

To push through and become what you respect is a prerequisite for positive growth; an upbeat attitude will get you through the day and give you the foresight to plan a future you can live with. Self-respect and fortitude are essential traits to really change your personal outlook on life in general. To enjoy life, smile at the sun and have a spring in your step are the little things that help you appreciate your day; obversely, lingering doubts and a constant wariness of your environment complicates life and enjoy the present, and hopefully plan your future. Post Tramautic Stress hit when you least expect it, and can intantly ruin an otherwise plesant day.

When today’s troubles are overwhelming, when life itself is an unpleasant chore, foreseeing a happy existence is dubious, and carefully laid plans seem like uncertain attempts to accomplish a goal that is unattainable. Today needs a cause; tomorrow a future. You see your future as a continuation of past mistakes: life becomes a tumultuous merry-go-round of despondency, a state of progressively painful emotional torture that becomes horror without end, precursors of an ultimate and inevitable horrific end. To worry over tomorrow is an unwelcome burden, for today’s troubles are sufficiently troublesome in themselves. Your life generates a sense of hopelessness that never leaves – a recurring, doleful nightmare from which you never wake, so absorbing it mingles with your overall outlook and sense of reality.

Ultimately, depression and fear control your life, while happiness and joy are abstract concepts enjoyed by other people – people with families, people with jobs they love, people that have a full and happy life. I’ve become an observer, someone that can only watch a joyous crowd, while vicariously experiencing the good things in life…the things you want but have sadly passed you by.

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The pharmaceutical industry makes an exorbitant amount of money on brand name drugs. After proprietary patents run out, the rest of the drug companies can make their own generic brand of the drug, using the formulation of the original research company. The way things stand, the research company gets to market its drug at an inflated cost for up to fifteen years, recouping the research dollars, they put into the development of the drug, and then the drug becomes available in a generic version. The generic version is generally 50% cheaper than the original.
The Ontario government suggests some changes to this time honored and carefully controlled market. They suggest generic drugs should be available for 25% of the initial brand name drug cost. This upsets the old boy network of pharmaceutical sales – BUT would greatly help the consumer and put less of a strain on health care costs.
If they are going to change the system, they might as well make some more changes that seem inevitable. Drug stores complain about the amount of money they can make: they have a set rate of eight+ dollars to fill a prescription, plus the mark up they add to the price of the drug. The bottom line should be how could we reduce the amount of money a sick person has to pay to stay healthy. And drug stores should lead the way.
Pharmacies would never willing give up that “eight dollar dispensing” fee, but when the entire process is looked at in a modern, more productive light, certain inevitabilities are exposed. Why do we need a person to count out individual pills: this is a less sterile environment, the pills are subjected to human contaminants and any airborne contaminants in the store, plus human error when counting drugs. I’ve personally received incorrectly processed prescriptions. When you pay for 120 pills, the only way to know there are 120 pills in a hand-counted pill bottle is to count them. I sometimes divide my pills in half, and have found shortfalls over 20 pills. This becomes a real problem when you bring it under sight to a pharmacy’s attention. You’ve paid for the full dose, and they claim they’ve given you the full dose, but you only received 100 pills. It your word against theirs, and no one ever wants to admit to an error.
Standardization in manufacturing would end this problem, ensure the drugs are counted under sterile conditions and make sure the amount is computer checked. Certain drugs are always prescribed by doctors in standard doses: it’s a redundant system that costs the consumer too much money.
It makes too much sense, which is why it will be a long time before they surrender that old method of making money. Everyone talks about modernization, but it runs into roadblocks when old money making schemes are threatened with new, safer and cheaper solutions.

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