Honey I Shrunk the Bees

Honey I Shrunk the Bees

Bees line up
at the bee line
in the distance
and I see buzz-
ard overhead
at the beeline brink,
at least I won't get stung
So much.

Not by bees...
never by bees.
Maybe by hornets as big as my thumb!
Less bees bugging,
a third less food to share,
nuts, fruit supplies,
seeds no longer
in supply.

Buzzing off is hard.

Infinitesimal dag-nabbits
continuously befall us in
the hope of the honey gold sunset.

Conjecture on "the Salt of the Earth" and even Capitalism

It sometimes occurred to me as obscene that we did this. Or that I did this, that I thought this. I couldn’t speak for everyone else. It seemed like waste was the new hot commodity here. To create waste, that is. Like, what has value these days? What, really? What is valuable but a mythological past, itself surrounded by a corporate present? What has value? What is worth contributing to? Nothing, one disgruntled critic might say. Nada.

But ourselves. And if one could be themselves for just those crucial moments that that them sold or caught on to just enough eyes. That would be the dream, to sell exactly what you are to a group that want what you have: you. It’s the biggest smack in the face to those who say, “Hey moaners and groaners alone, you needn’t do that, come, join me, flog products for minimum wage, or join some cult that sells vacuum cleaners or broadcast that SARS is back with a vengeance at supper time,” but ah, then the maniac on the line gets cut off, cut off by archetypal protagonist under consideration, who says, “Please, good sir, pardon me, but I’ve produced something more important than your nonsensical beeswax. I showed people that it could be fun to think again.”

“Thinking? What fun is thinking?” Mr. Phone Line Chastisement was probably thinking. But the conniving dagger-dodger is eternally incorrect. Thinking will save us all, i think. I don’t think thinking will be our great undoing.

But I do think that it is easy, sometimes even desirable, not to think. That was something I mentioned in the very first blog. Or at least I separated those two partitions of the human mind, the one that finds bliss in empathetically accommodating various mind-frames, and one that is merely glad to be.

I think it can be fun to think. Thing is, it can also suck. There are so many available thoughts, so many troubling thoughts, so many distracting thoughts.

What do I think about? The inventory, the contents of this page? I guess if this crud were all I thought about, I would hardly be worth my salt. I want to be worth my salt, to be sure. And this page, while not necessarily providing valid and robust saline statistics, at least extends a desire, to chat about things whether or not those things chatted about are completely worthy of merit. To back up fellow Canadian Douglas Coupland, these blog-like wisps contain traces of storytelling, and they encourage it. Storytelling is one of the most important things there is; we must never lose sight of that, for fear of losing the majority of the value of our internal salt!!!!

Type Semantics; talking about graphic novels

I am so taken by the art of graphic novel production that I can easily find myself drawn into a world felt so dearly in my youth, of comics: peppered with Dilbert and Calvin & Hobbes and Beano, Dandy n Beezer.. and of course, Tintin. But now, beyond that, struck with Watchmen, one of the most epic beasts of literature in all fields, with full illustration to boot, itself a wonder of parallel narratives, endless connected tissues throughout mankind’s repertoire making the text actually infinite.
Otherwise, I’ve experienced other adult comics that also seem to employ the mass appeal of the square box graphic in similar fashions, using windows to share theme through numerous focalizers while depending on a variety of complex and non-complex visual art. Watchmen itself was nearly all highly complex art, Curses, another recently acquired favourite by Kevin Huizenga, utilizes a mostly simplistic drawing technique, a feature with a lot of open, blank space for areas of textual breathing, of reader absorption and deep consideration. The book explores a great deal of theological philosophy, mirroring each comic in motive but never in expression. The nuances between each piece within the text are moderate while explicit, unexpected while brazenly indiscreet. Like Watchmen, it reaches deep into the soul of humankind, the lonely wretched product of a masterful evolutionary process, but unlike Watchmen, which does its delving from a bleak sense of postmodern pragmatism, Huizenga’s Curses challenges the exquisitely obscure primate intellect through a rich and attention-filled look at its own deep culture of folklore, one that has not lost its significance in the world today, if perhaps the attitudinal reason behind such significance.

This said, Huizenga’s book is an extremely contemporary read, one that makes informed connections between the ever-growing history of theological reason, folklore, and the era that such concepts have led us to, whether we can gladly accept that or not. In any case, such notions give endless justification to the ongoing study of language and its communicative transmission, and, oh yeah, stories.

No matter what, even if (god forbid) in (knock on wood) so-ever-many-years-from-now when the planet’s inhabitants have run of luck (as it were..), and Earth has thus been reverted to a Wall-E-esque existence of post-sapien proportions (can barely picture it), these graphic novels would remain significant long after the last fading novels of pure text, of yellowed script and smudged ink were gone! So any graphic novels left on this beautiful and remote lush island of the universe could be left to whatever alien entities (oh gee whiz, there he goes!) that might happen to traverse this spatial plane at one particular moment in later time! That they might piece together the wonders that were, the joys beheld, the beauty perceived, the essence realized. For here on Earth, life is good. From my meager n feeble subjectivity I can perceive a balanced and comfortable idea of “good”, and I know of this good in my own self. My essence is realized in my happy comprehension of these facts, and in the contented effort to contribute my feelings and ideas in moments that I can to those that might be receptive.