THE STORY OF JOHNNY WHOOPER SWAN We go to school trusting our parents. We meet a teacher there who stands up front with a big desk, and a pointer. She or he trains us in an authoritative manner. We attach mentally to a life long need for authority in order to live lives successfully. Right so far? In my case, at the age of 25 I was ready to enter the practice of law where I hoped for success and a happy life finally. Very shortly, very shortly, I became anxious. There was a foreboding. I was made more uncomfortable with each experience. Law work is nothing like what I was told it would be. The system is corrupt. But I still cling to my expectation that career success is necessary to my happiness as a man. Each day my grasp of what the fuck success amounts to after all becomes more clouded, murkier. I hear songs on the airwaves and at concerts which describe my life as the life of a fool. What am I becoming? I want to rip off my business suit to run naked in the street with my hair on fire! But I am too afraid. In strange, weird (weird comes from a word meaning wise), fragmented steps I go about a journey of my own believing myself to be the first man to have failed in such a total way which journey works so as to break up my career, end a marriage, and start an entirely new way of relating with my two children whom I love deeply. Almost magically I meet a woman who is a career counselor who asserts a beautiful message that I am made to be joyful in my work everyday and at all levels. This understanding sets me on a completely new course. It is no longer a world of systems to me but an undivided one of unlimited beauty. It reminds me of a painting. A true masterpiece. I am drawn from within to learn the truth about my identity and nobody else can teach me that. From this point onward I will use thinking capacity for mastering mechanical processes and follow my heart, which includes my whole nature, which includes your whole nature and that of every human being for all the rest. I’ll go by the name Johnny Whooper Swan who does not explain itself to anyone. By my fruits shall I be known. Watch me soar!

Wednesday, November 29, 2017


I have been all balled up in what I had been taught to call Art.
But what is that?

I do not really know. What it means.

I want to abandon that world, vague, arbitrary, indistinct, talked to its death by fools, who are self-appointed experts and whose voices are recorded only because there is thought to be a need for somebody to tell the rest of us what to think and the fools are available with credentials. It is as if the world of art thinks seriously thinks that you and I not hammered with data shall not realize the worth of Da Vinci or Mozart nor Buddy Holly.

There is no culture at all and never has there been such a thing in reality, and friends, reality counts more than its opposite.

Upheaval!

There is going to be.

Hard rain is a name for it in real art.

Upheaval!

People who make a living in leadership positions are going to have to find another way. Leaders are liars. The word is out. We think. We think very well. We think very well without being told what.

Upheaval!

Da Vinci lives! Not in a museum but in the very souls of human beings! Trust what is. Not what was. Not what should be. Not what is hoped for. No. What is!


If the message of the Sermon on the Mount delivered tomorrow on a hilltop anywhere by a perfect stranger who is also despised by the leadership of the place is not fresh enough to carry the moment it is never going to be and if it is not it remains what it is now and that is just a faint symbol of what someone dreamed who now lives far away from us in time and space and so must be related to as a Saint Different and Unique from ourselves who will save us after we die. Funny, how He saves us from nothing but our own self doubt which seems to indicate we are already with it.

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