Tuesday, February 03, 2009

No Taxation Without Representation

I located this quote as a saved draft from a few months ago. Almost as though hidden specifically for my future discovery.

As the rain falling out of the clouds becomes the life origin for plants, so the stream of creativeness becomes the source of life for a man. Let us feel the pulse of a creative spirit within a man, which sustains his or her vitality, for it, is the only way for one to join the river of eternity. As this truth submerges a man in joy like the sunrays, he or she feels incredibly happy. The spirit of creativity like a stream flowing in a man and watering a dry land of his or her soul, refreshing it and awakening up new forces – a creation of action. It seems that time and eternity merge within a man. Let us aim at awakening within ourselves this state producing success and desire for harmony.

- Augustinas Rakauskas, "Spirit of Entrepreneurship"
I don't have a clue as to where I first read this quote or why I initially decided to keep it as a draft. Honestly, I don't know Rakauskas' story--maybe he's universally recognized as a cross-eyed kook or compulsive liar. "Spirit of Entrepreneurship" might act as scathingly sarcastic double-speak, a Swiftian take our lack of artistic vision in the realm of economics. Out of context or not, I still enjoy the quote. What strikes me most about the selection, however, is not the optimism in his words, nor that he adeptly connects to the humble origins of entrepreneurship (an oft-maligned 21st century term equated with corporatism), but instead that this sense of creative artistry in everyday work remains, for most, a thing of theory.

At least, up to this point.

The current litany of seizures gripping our "global economy" continue to demand the undying attention of journalists, economists, and politicians, and with good reason. Our tax-payer funded bailouts, nearing the trillion dollar mark, resemble some other familiar, controversial, and publicly lauded government endeavors like the ongoing wars on habits and concepts (re: drugs and terror). The defining characteristic, in my opinion, that sets Bailouts apart from other thinly veiled swindles for tax payer money lands on its immediate and direct influence on the majority of America. Any informed citizen--or pundit, for that matter--knows that these bailouts (the Bush-backed TARP billions in 2008, the Auto Bailout, and now Obama's plan) will fail miserably. Just as jailing drug users doesn't curtail demand for drugs, injecting billions into a failed system lacks simple logic. If the tip of your pen breaks and won't stop leaking, you don't solve it by pouring in more ink. You either find a new pen or stop writing.

Layoffs, bankcruptcies, and foreclosures will not cease until a massive, system-wide restructuring of our country occurs. And it starts by recognizing the value of integrity over greed--the very ideals Rakauskas mentions above. The selling and buying of goods and services, what supposedly still anchors the definition of an economy, does not simply exist to uphold every business with gumption and an LLC. We created the systems, the legalities, the loopholes, the earmarks, the gross bureaucracy; we created the classicism, the vast divide in rich and poor, the Haves and the Have-Nots; we created banks, automobiles, and the notion of declared ownership; we created this crisis. The war is over, if we want it.

The businesses that will both survive during and arrive after the New Depression will be those rooted in "the spirit of creativity". Behind the cries of doom peeks an opportunity to mature and redirect our path as Earth's most volatile renters. This crisis serves not just as a mandate for change, but as a specific call for sustainability. Not half-assed teases at a Green Economy like hybrid cars--we still remember their defunct cousins, like the tape-deck/CD player stereos. We're savvier than that now; I will spend my post-taxed pittance shrewdly. It's time to look past the tired and tiered system of capitalizing on the highest profit margins and focus on the efforts that sustain communities and not corporations. Efforts aimed at, as Rakauskas so aptly states, a "success and desire for harmony".

Chewing With Wooden Teeth

conduce

PRONUNCIATION:
(kuhn-DOOS, -DYOOS)

MEANING:
verb intr.: To lead to or contribute to a particular result.

There's a moment in the sitcom we just filmed where Davey, wonderfully portrayed by my friend Nick, vehemently attempts to cheer-up Jeff, played by me. Davey's aware that Jeff just got demoted, kicked out of his own house, and discovered his girlfriend's having an affair with his ex-boss. Naturally Davey invokes President George Washington as comparison.

"George Washington lost his job, his house, and his teeth all in the same day. But did he just lay down and die? No! He didn't die until much later."

Obviously this line exists for comic effect, but I do find a nugget of truth hidden behind the goofiness. Like much of America, and no doubt the world at large, I am not happy at my job. I'm not satisfied by the fundamentally flawed hierarchical fashion in which my company (not at all unique in it's configuration) organizes both creative and administrative facets of our product. I'm tired of endless circuits of meetings and the invisible handcuffs placed on those with good ideas but no power. I could go on. So could you. So could most people.

This morning, while walking against the bitter cold wind to get some coffee, I reviewed Davey's line about George Washington. It's incredibly cliche, for sure, but to dismiss the underlined meaning results in unhealthy cynicism. I cannot continue to defeat myself despite the obstacles laid before me. If I'm going to race, I must learn to jump hurdles. And I'd rather scrape a knee than kick dirt as a bystander.

In other words, I refuse to lay down and die.

I believe blogging will play a significant role in this endeavor. I may use this blog or I may create another. Regardless, I want to write everyday and cover topics (weekly?) that I enjoy and/or feel extremely passionate about.

Wednesday, November 05, 2008

Ere of Change

ere

MEANING:
preposition, conjunction: Before (earlier in time).

Throngs of celebrating masses with damp cheeks and revived energy, pumping fists and chanting--"Yes we can! Yes we can! Yes we can!"--and not-so-subtly clad in the primary colors of our American flag, blending seamlessly with those waving the very icon itself that, for the first time in recent memory, represented unity and not armchair patriotism. That moment, there, watching, feeling the carnal reverberations of shared belief, of participation and proximity; there, listening to the static surge, the howls of relief and optimism; there, no longer showered with pundit-fueled barbs, ignorant accusations, advertisements sticky with mud; there, basking in the brief, awesome silence that follows a landslide, the real people finally allowed to speak for themselves in words and action; there, enveloped with imagery of a man, of a black man, of a true orator, of a poet, predicting his emergence; there, lofting hope like autumn leaves, hugging the newly crisp air, smiling.

That--those people in Grant Park, the private celebrations in apartments and homes, next door and across the nation--is change. Celebration. People smiling, screaming in euphoria, giddy with excitement--feelings made foreign by repressive government, Machiavellian tactics, and complacent attitudes. Yesterday our victory was not just electing a president that defies racial barriers and trumpets progressive change. It too was electing hope over fear, in that most personal of ways, when individuals connect to each other and collectively dissolve throes of depression.

Yes. We can.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Where I Am

Here's a quick synopsis, folks.

I quit my job.

I quit my theater company.

It's time to face me, and give me all I got.

I'm writing a screenplay set in the future. Not distant, maybe ten years out. It's bleak by all accounts, but if it works--if what I see in it now, if what I envision can translate onto the page--it's not depressing at all. It's about beauty in grey places. It's about hearts on dirty sleeves.

I'm studying for the GRE (more in theory right now than practice) and plan to win the battle, not the war.

I've been doing a lot of thinking, and this is how it goes: We're not dead yet.

Thursday, June 19, 2008

Fending Off Common Diseases

waterloo (WOT-uhr-loo) noun

A crushing or final defeat.

Sometimes life seems like a series of dodged defeats, a long string of minor rejections that, if adequately screened as they filter in, fizzle as plot points instead of epilogues. Regardless, even in the best of environments, tension mounts. And I am the grimacing face of frustration, shaking my fist in the air--half at the gods, half at myself--hoping for change.

But am I pushing for it?

Time. Time is always the issue. So much devoted to this, devoted to that, a responsibility here, a should do, an ought to do, a want to do. Money. (Here it's green for a reason.) Money for rent, for food, for drink, for gas, for internet, for everything. I don't want my life to read as an anecdote to complacence, as someone with a heart that drained simply to stay afloat.

But how do you initiate change? What do you sacrifice? What do you trust?

"Never work. Only fools work. To degrade oneself with labor..."

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Shytown, 6 PM

indurate (IN-doo-rayt, -dyoo-) verb tr.

1. To make hardy, inured, accustomed.

2. To make callous or unfeeling.

verb intr.

1. To make hard.

2. To become established.

adjective (IN-doo-rit, -dyoo-)

Hardened; callous; obstinate.


Trains on the el track beams
keep above, stalled in three beeps
(glad it ain't me)

An ambulance
weaves through a one-way
past a blue bus stopped behind
a blue bus--
all full, windows bulging,
people cooking in awful overcoated heat
(glad it ain't me)

All it is:
I walk, see
a shoulderbag-toting trooper
deadright
on my view of life
straight ahead
eyes-glued just past the
shoes and
those blue buses, the ambo sirens shout--
fuck, man, is that a
firetruck
too?--
over mumbles and averting glances
crossing on time with white light
words, routine advances--where,
where is the fire, that emergency
where do they all go in such a hurry?--
(glad it ain't me)

Do you know?
Do you know?

City living's like shit-fearing flies
If you believe all you're told
then all you know is lies

Wednesday, April 09, 2008

Logging In/Out

pusillanimous (pyoo-suh-LAN-uh-muhs) adjective

Lacking courage; timid.

If you stop, if you just stop for two seconds and close your eyes, you will hear the ghostly buzzes and whirs of our machinery as it ticks and percolates through time. This constant current running to plastic-cased hardware--low-level high-rises, condos full of data memory--pierces the air like phantom whistles. You, your body, responds: this listening to the purrs, the sudden changes of tone and pitch, the fabricated background music of existence, forces a physical, alien, conversation between the hidden eyes of these machines and our over-worked fingertips.

Somehow, during this whole unspoken discussion, a new taste emerges. Your tongue, its tip, soaking in an unknown development--a wetness, a dryness, a familiar consistency--that doubles with each pulse. First: not enough to know. Then: too much to stop. Is it blood? Are you cut? Is it batteries? A leak? Is it metals, or is it cells?

Remember, there's no murder in shutting down.

Tuesday, April 08, 2008

Another Blog? Seriously?

For the handful of people that check this blog--and handful might be a little over-zealous--I would like to invite you to check out my new blogging endeavor. I'm not ending this blog, merely taking an announced hiatus (as opposed to the myriad of unannounced pauses between posts that exist normally) to focus on rehearsals for Lipstick Traces, an ambitious play Pavement Group (my theatre company) is producing next month.