It’s my kind of town…

Chicago

BY CARL SANDBURG

Hog Butcher for the World,
   Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
   Player with Railroads and the Nation’s Freight Handler;
   Stormy, husky, brawling,
   City of the Big Shoulders:
They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I have seen your painted women under the gas lamps luring the farm boys.
And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to kill again.
And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the faces of women and children I have seen the marks of wanton hunger.
And having answered so I turn once more to those who sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer and say to them:
Come and show me another city with lifted head singing so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the little soft cities;
Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning as a savage pitted against the wilderness,
   Bareheaded,
   Shoveling,
   Wrecking,
   Planning,
   Building, breaking, rebuilding,
Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with white teeth,
Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young man laughs,
Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has never lost a battle,
Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse, and under his ribs the heart of the people,
                   Laughing!
Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of Youth, half-naked, sweating, proud to be Hog Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.
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Go Away. No, Wait a Minute.

I love humanity. I hate humanity. The poem below was written when I was in people overload. All my life I have been an over giver. I’m like a drunk trapped in a bar. The need to do good, to help people overwhelms at time. Mentally, it can be draining. Sadly, we can’t help everyone, we can’t fix everything. Perhaps, it should be said. love one another always, but don’t forget to love yourself in the process. Slow down. Breathe. Listen to your inner voice. Sometimes, we have to take care of ourselves, before we can care for others.
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Disconnect.

Thank you for the invitation
But I really must decline.
Please don’t call.
My heart is not at home.
I just want to be left alone.
Sometimes the reason
Doesn’t match the rhyme.
My love for humanity has taken a ride.
Verbal exhaustion
Mental fatigue.
Disconnected.
The number you have reached
Is no longer in service.
Please try again later

“Moods that take me, and erase me,. And I’m painted black”

Cover reveal- Self Help to Self Harm: The Dubious Guide to Life, Love, and Relationships by Tosha Michelle

Artwork by The Brat aka Me.

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About the book.

This is not a self-help book. Sadly,reading my musings won’t get you laid, help you lose weight or cure your One Direction addiction. Okay, maybe, that’s my addiction. SHH! I feel no shame. OK, maybe a little shame.  I’m not an expert at anything unless you count tripping up the stairs, getting lost in my own head and devouring a box of Godiva chocolates in one sitting. Now that I have told you what this book is not. Let me tell you what I hope the book is. It supposed to be a humorous, tongue-in-cheek look at life, love, and relationships, tempered by moments of serious introspection. It’s kind of random and chaotic like its author.  Oh, and you should know, I kind of have a list fetish. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.

Special thanks to my dear friend Todd Lowe for his sweet Foreword. Your friendship has sustained me over the years.

Foreword
Tosha Michele is a dear friend, whom I respect deeply. I count her among my closest friends and cherish the woman she is. The words she uses when she writes gives the reader a glimpse into her soul and who she is at her deepest level. She has a delightful sense of humor but mixes it with a high level of intelligence and sophistication that causes her words to leap off the page, stabbing the heart of the reader and forcing us to feel what she feels or think what she thinks. Tosha is the kind of person who will cry with you, rejoice with you and walk with you no matter what obstacles hinder your path. She is a treasure to the human race, someone you can trust with complete abandon and a determined and gifted writer. It is more than a pleasure to call her my friend.
Todd Lowe, author of This Road I Travel

The Inquisition of Mark Kingwell (Plus, Zombies, Bond villains, Timothy Olyphant, and Daddy Warbucks)

My favorite Canadian philosopher, Mark Kingwell, graciously agreed to submit himself to more of my questioning. Much to his chagrin, his answers have solidified my undying, innocent, nerdy devotion for life- or at least the duration of this post. I’m fickle that way. Marriage is off the table.  However, I am hoping I can convince Mark to adopt me. :) (need I add, tongue firmly placed in cheek, it tends to stay there) My thanks to the Professor Kingwell for his candid, thought provoking, and witty answers. He’s been nothing but kind when it comes to dealing with my awkward and goofy sense of humor.

1. What makes you, you?
The philosophical answer is: not terribly much. Some replicable genetic coding, some badly recalled memories, a more or less consistent physical presence over time, and a few traces of extended mind in the form of books and articles and other people’s (badly recalled) memories of me. The first-person perspective demands, though, that we treasure some sense of uniqueness. And it’s true that we are all unique: no one human is ever entirely identical to another, even with twins or clones. But what of it? Snowflakes are unique and we don’t value them for it. Or do we?

2. Would you rather be James Bond or a Bond villain?
Villain, of course! But I want to be the villain that James Bond becomes when he breaks bad and goes totally, not just temporarily or charmingly, rogue. The anti-Bond, the bizarro Bond. Has to be the Sean Connery Bond, too (much as I love the Daniel Craig Bond). Same gorgeous suits, same sociopathic pleasure in killing and empty sex with random beautiful women; but new attitude, new program, new sardonic wit. I could tell you what the new Bond’s plan is but then, naturally, I’d have to kill you.

3. When does consciousness begin?
Come on, this is too easy. When? Right here, right now. What else? We find ourselves thrown into it. Nobody asked us if we wanted to be, but here we are. The human condition, at once utterly mysterious and utterly trivial. No wonder we tie ourselves in knots trying to figure out what it all means.

4. Could you survive a zombie apocalypse? How would you avoid being zombie meat?
First, never joke about the zomb-pocalypse! If it ever comes it will make every other pandemic in human history look like a teddy-bear picnic. I doubt anyone will survive. In fact, the more I think about it the more I think the very idea of ‘surviving’ it is one of those delusions that will allow the zombies to win. Every zombie movie or TV series ever made is actually all part of the zombie plan, to lure us into a false sense of our own superiority.

5. How can people believe in truths without evidence?
Beats hell out of me; seems like the very definition of insanity. But there are lots of kinds of evidence, and not all them answer to the demands of the senses. I believe a fair number of things that are so abstract they could not be described in language, let alone vouchsafed by some generally shared notion of proof.

6. If they made a movie about your life, who would play you (Psssst Timothy Olyphant). What would the film be titled?
I don’t think I look much like Timothy Olyphant anymore, but yeah, he could maybe play an idealized, super-handsome version. Then maybe Kiefer Sutherland? The Canadian tennis player Milos Raonic, if he were an actor? (I get these two now and then.) Title will have to be, with a nod to a previous list of questions, “Everyone Hates a Sad Professor.”
(Blogger’s note, Timothy Olyphant is D. R. E. A. M. Y. Yeah, that’s right, he’s so hot, all his letters deserve to be capitalized. My crush is so justified, my material… not as much. We now return you to the real star of this blog post)

7. Do we have free will?
I freely choose to think so. Kind of have to, no? How else are we going to go on holding people responsible for the things they do, judging them, talking to them, getting annoyed with them? If free will is an illusion, and it might be, then it is an essential illusion, like personal identity (question 1).

8. When you were single, did you ever use a cheesy pick up line? If so, what was it?
I was never much of a pick-up artist, but I did have some success just going up to people and asking if they wanted to go on a date. How about that, huh?
(Blogger’s note- I was hoping for some embarrassing lines, like “If you were a vegetable you’d be a cute-cumber.” or “Did you read Dr. Seuss as a kid? Because green eggs and… damn”

9. Would your life be better or worse if you knew the day, time, and place that you were going to die?
Neither better nor worse, I think; just sadder. It seems awful to know that we will all die, even more awful to know for sure when. But both things are functionally the same, and should force the same conclusion: be here now (as the man said); and live all you can, it’s a mistake not to (as the man said).

10. Favorite current song?
“Baby Blue” by Badfinger. Totally rocked the last minutes of “Breaking Bad” and I can’t get it out of my head since binge-watching the whole thing on old-school DVD not long ago.

11. If you could only look at one cityscape for the rest of your life, which would it be?
I have to say Manhattan because my favourite building in the whole world, the Empire State, anchors that particular scene. (Wrote a book about that!) But I am also partial to Shanghai and Toronto as evolving new-century skylines. After that, it all goes downhill pretty fast as far as I’m concerned.

12. Would you rather lose all of your old memories, or never be able to make new ones?
Two different kinds of hell or just the same hell by different names? I just decided which one I preferred but then I forgot what my decision was. Hey, did I already tell you that? Wait…

13. Why are you answering these questions?
Who can resist talking about themselves? But I also find questions as a linguistic/social form totally fascinating. I’m one of those people who get through cocktail parties, faculty gatherings, and airport layovers by asking people lots of questions. I am amazed how few they usually ask in return. No bounce-back at all. Sometimes this is routine mansplaining egotism, but it is sometimes also a kind of confession. There are people who just never get asked anything! Next time you are at a bar in O’Hare or Charlotte, or stuck at an art opening or departmental meet-and-greet, just start asking. If nothing else, it passes the time.


14. Do you dance in front of the mirror?

No, but I do sort of dance in my office sometimes. I crank the music (Big Star, Teenage Fanclub, Slowdive) and weave my way around the desk. It’s more like modified pacing than actual dancing. Potentially embarrassing, too, because the college’s mail guy has a key to my office for when he wants to drop stuff off. I figure if he ever comes upon me this way I will just pretend I am drunk: that seems more like the norm on my floor. (Kidding!)

15. If you could be the opposite sex for one day, what would you do?
Ha — the Tiresias thought experiment! I suppose his/her answer would have been “Have lots of sex, so you can see that women really do experience more physical joy than men.” Maybe, maybe not. But I think a lot of physical things would be in order. What does it mean to ‘throw like a girl’? (a good phenomenological question that inspired a great essay by the philosopher Iris Young). Personally I’d like to fly fish as a woman. Would I be more patient, more thoughtful, more sure-handed with the cast? Then I think I would be inclined to slap a few male friends of mine, just to see what they would do.

16. 3 items you always have on you.
A USB drive with essential files, my Nat Sherman Zippo lighter, and a Ka-Bar folding knife. Plus, you know, keys and cash and whatever else. But I always check these three pieces of hardware in my pockets before I leave the house.

17. If you made a documentary, what would it be about?
This may be the only question for which I have no easy answer! I guess my mind doesn’t work in documentary ways, though I have done interviews for lots of other people’s documentaries. How about a documentary about the literary and cultural significance of the cocktail? (I wrote a book about this, too, so it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch.)

18. Moonlight as another profession, what would it be?
Well, jet fighter pilot used to be my response to that question. These days, I wonder if maybe being a major league baseball manager would be more fun.

19. Any regrets? (aside from agreeing to answer these questions)
Non, je ne regrette rien! Actually, of course, not true. Like most people with more than a half-century of life behind them I have lots of regrets. I feel fortunate that they are mostly minor and mostly merely personal. Nobody died, nobody went to jail, nothing burned down or exploded. Some broken bones, some broken promises, some broken hearts. The usual, I guess. But regret as such, as a place for the mind to dwell, accomplishes nothing.

20. Favorite country to visit?
I really love Australia, China, and France, but I never get tired of the vast weird awesomeness of the U.S.A. After countless visits, and shared family and various residencies, I still feel like it is my undiscovered country. I should also mention countries I have not yet visited, quite alarmingly as time creeps on: Russia, Spain, Italy, and Greece. How is it possible I have never been to these places? I ask myself this all the time.

Bonus Question
Are you up for more questions? ;)

Always, always! But: must … visit … Italy … first!

(Blogger’s note. Please send me a postcard. In the meantime, I’ll be hanging out with Billy. drinking wine, and thinking up more questions.

About Mark Kingwell

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Mark Kingwell is a Professor of Philosophy at the University of Toronto and a contributing editor of Harper’s Magazine in New York. He is the author or co-author of seventeen books of political, cultural and aesthetic theory, including the bestsellers Better Living (1998), The World We Want (2000), Concrete Reveries (2008), and Glenn Gould (2009). His articles on politics, architecture and art have appeared in many academic journals, including the Journal of Philosophy and the Harvard Design Magazine, and in more than 40 mainstream publications, among them Harper’s, the New York Times, the New York Times Magazine, the New York Post, the Wall Street Journal, the Guardian, Utne Reader, BookForum, the Toronto Star, and Queen’s Quarterly; he is also a former columnist for Adbusters, the National Post, and the Globe and Mail.

Mr. Kingwell has lectured extensively in Canada, the United States, Europe, the Middle East, and Australia on philosophical subjects and had held visiting posts at Cambridge University, the University of California at Berkeley, and at the City University of New York, where he was the Weissman Distinguished Visiting Professor of Humanities in 2002. Mr. Kingwell is the recipient of the Spitz Prize in political theory, National Magazine Awards for both essays and columns, the Outstanding Teaching Award and President’s Teaching Award at the University of Toronto, a research fellowship at the Jackman Humanities Institute, and in 2000 was awarded an honorary DFA from the Nova Scotia College of Art & Design for contributions to theory and criticism. His most recent book is a collection of political essays, Unruly Voices (2012); he has also recently published two illustrated pamphlets, Frank’s Motel (2013) and Democracy’s Gift (2014).

Upon a Time…Once.

My cover of Taylor Swift’s Wildest Dreams

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Sublime Ends

Remember at the station, waiting

On the train, on that sultry summer day?

We stood lost in an embrace, breathing in

each other that way. that awful, terrible,

perfect mad and delicious way that took us

to the shrouded place.

Remember at the station that day, waiting

on the train, as the wind hummed a lovers tune?

She sang of sublime ends, from supple beginnings.

the alluring medley of serenity in a war of rhyme

on the sharp bloody edge of Neverland and Narnia,

the peaceful enchanting interlude of rage & myth.

Remember at the station, that day, as

the train churned closer and we cussed goodbye

His steam a prelude to our eternal kiss, the sun

soaked, never ending fuel of light, of love, of

heat. Basking and bathing,

merged and emerged and submerged,

Dancing and swaying in time

with golden chariot and the huntress.

Remember at the station that day, as

the train tugged away, on a endless track?

We gazed as it came — as it came — as it went

through the crossroads. We did not know,

our own separate, distant destinations,. Our own

rail-less wild paths cut into unimagined mountainsides

You to the west, me to the east.

Remember the station that day as

the train, conducted our last kiss?

That gaping wound where our lips met. Where

we learned cruel fate is hot love and all love is

the calamity of UN-armored battle. We all go under

wrong or right. Each of us blankets miles and the ground

is nothing but a shifting litter with irascible iridescent hope

and hurt-dulled dreams, unfulfilled plans and schemes.

Remember the station that day, waiting

in twilight until we forgot and traveled on, and on

alone, with only prayers of new Twilight to set

in stony slumber with hard solace of old loves loss

then found again.

-Tosha Michelle

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Random thoughts, music and more of my artwork.

Song of the day.

I’ve been in a non stop creative mood. The muses are strong with me. Creativity in overdrive. I want to write, to paint, to make music….there’s a vitality, a life force, and energy, moving within me. I want to transform ..to move…to BE.
I’m such a dork!

This is my cover of Sting’s Fields of Gold.

I won my first ever Gabie. The category.

The Krispy Kreme award

such an honor. (tears) ;)

Sexual Healing. 

Sex shouldn’t be a commodity or used as leverage or bait.
It’s shouldn’t be a means of exploitation or slut shaming.
It should be consensual and physical but not one dimensional
For me it’s spiritual, soulful,-a expression of life and love.
It’s emotional-rooted in commitment and true intimacy.
Society encourages us to settle for less
The media, music, television, tells us sex is just a feel good feeling.
Pleasure alone.
But true fulfillment comes when we combine the physical with the emotional.

This is just one flawed romantic’s view.

“Your naked body should only belong to those who fall in love with your naked soul.” ― Charles Chaplin

“We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in the slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.”
C.S. Lewis

Artsy

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Artist

Art Attack.

My abstract art

“I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason. I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I can not transform into something marvelous, I let go. Reality doesn’t impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls.”
Anaïs Nin

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