“Truth doesn’t pay the bills.” It’s been said by so many different people it’s become a truism; with no one person able to claim definitive authorship. Now, I speak here not of any fractional versions of the truth, nor of distortions promoted for religious, socio/economic or political gain – but of Truth, with a capital ‘T’… Your Truth may vary… But why doesn’t it pay the bills? Is it because ‘they’ haven’t yet figured out how to monetize it? Or is it because, for almost all of us, the bills have become the truth of our existence? If those questions don’t frighten you – if they don’t scare the bejesus right out of you – then perhaps you should read them again. EJ Liederstein Advertisements
The only photograph thought to exist, of the creature formerly known as: Snoddly Thumpernickel A SYLVAN TALE OF HORROR An original fantasy in long form It occurred back in the year of eighteen-ought-three, Deep in the murk-some woods of Mashamoquet. If you’d have the tale, then pause while I sit, and Speak of the Cabbage Patch Kid, who lived in a tree. Yeah. You know, that’s not really doing it for me. I’d wanted to do a frightening kind of Halloween-type blockbuster poem. Something epic, to endear me to the hearts of those people who like to have their hearts pounding, around this time of the year. A work of monumental proportions, combining many diverse themes – themes both classic and those more obscure. Something colossal; like the following ambitious, larger-than-life and rather impressive diagram: [You wanna talk about horror – you try spending an hour or so mocking something like this up in WordPress, and then hit ‘Save Draft’ – and see if you don’t find yourself screaming rather impressively in horror.]
A detail from the fountain in Bryant Park, NYC, on any given spring day. And now, a view of the same fountain, from this past December… And that’s before the ‘polar vortex’ had even hit us. NOW do you understand why I’m so not even happy about this coming winter season…?
Literature and poems, and music, and indeed all the arts, are best served when used as windows – into other souls and other realms, into other minds and other cultures – into universes not of your design. But what’s most important is that you not seek your own reflection. You must look through them… away from yourself, and towards that mysterious other. For what can even the most glorious music say to you, if all you can hear is your own voice? EJ Liederstein
Ah… now it all becomes clear… The chief executive of Hong Kong says that it’s “… unacceptable to allow his successors to be chosen in open elections, in part because doing so would risk giving poorer residents a dominant voice in politics.” What a disaster that would be – to allow the poor to gain control, simply because they happen to outnumber the rich. Why, they might actually try to do something about poverty… Horrors…