Welcome and Beware!

This website is an open platform for free thought. I love ideas, even the outrageous ones. I believe that free expression and the free exchange of ideas can change the world for the better. More will always be revealed…

Hack journalism

This from the article linked above:
“A closer look, however, reveals that he’s been providing pseudo-science bullets for the alt-right’s online infantry for some time (including such gems as how serotonin levels in lobsters might justify the gender pay gap).”
This kind of bone dry, implicitly biased journalism (if one could call it that) is what drew me to actually look into JBP. And it comes from a site that claims to be all about “free thinking.” But it exemplifies something more akin to “free association” at about a high school level: ‘e talked about the Nazi’s, therefore he condones and forgives them.’ Yup, great logic and no derisive intent there at all. The usual cherrypicked, unsubstantiated claim above is a good example of the propaganda on the left that continues to astonish me.
The rest of the article continues with the same sort of high school level name calling consciousness. Pethetic.


The Holy Epistemological Island of Utopia.


Viewers Noticed Some Very Disturbing Details In ‘Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer’

Check out the article linked in the picture above.

Racists and bigots and misogynists, oh my! Yup, the whole world needs some serious diversity training, and if the training doesn’t stick you’ll need a partial PC lobotomy. And if the lobotomy doesn’t erase the memories of your terrible patriarchal indoctrinated childhood that came from growing up in the most evil, racist, bigoted, misogynist society that ever existed, you’ll need shock treatments. Or maybe a month on an ayahuasca retreat in South America where you puke every day before you talk to androgynous aliens from the fifth dimension who will set you on the straight and narrow path to the holy epistemological island of utopia.

Ideological Privilege

There’s a lot of white privilege propaganda on social media lately. A recent article in the New Yorker implied that all white people are racist. Though I get that there’s an assumed motive behind it all, to help people who are less privileged (a solid liberal value which I am completely on board with), I can’t help but notice the vindictiveness, tenacity, and the energy spent denigrating people because of the color of their skin.

Maybe that energy could be directed toward more fruitful endeavors?

To me, to point a finger at an ethnic group and accuse them of a collective crime is racist. Period. It’s also counterproductive, and laced with the gratification and revenge of extremist ideological spin. I think that those who want other people to check their privilege should, in turn, check their ideology. It wasn’t that the Marxists cared about the poor, it was more about how they hated the rich, and thus gave Solzhenitsyn some terrible stuff to write about.

Things might not become so terrible now. But one thing I’m pretty sure of is that if this “all white people are racist” propaganda keeps getting hyped, then Trump is going to win another term.

I hope I’m wrong.

Craft talk #3, The tone of “Pilgrim at Tinker Creek” by Annie Dillard

tinker creek

Craft talk #3, The tone of “Pilgrim at Tinker Creek,” by Annie Dillard.

A short craft essay by Michael Allen:

Having been a lover of all things Transcendental for a few decades, I can’t believe this classic book slipped past me. It was nothing short of a treasure chest for me, so much so that I listened to it three times in a row non-stop on Audible while driving across the country. Rich in insight and lyrical prose, it is exactly what I was trying to describe when I mentioned “lyrical essays,” to a mentor-friend of mine, regarding what I wanted to read for my MFA in non-fiction.

The book is consistent in its meandering, praiseful, almost child-like fascination with nature. Just about every important philosophical and spiritual topic a human being could wonder about is on the table. In all its mystery and grandeur, it feels as plot-less as nature seems to be. Throughout the book, Dillard gracefully acknowledges the wonder and spontaneity of creation in nature, as well as the horror and cruelty, with unwavering praise.

“The great hurrah about wild animals is that they exist at all, and the greater hurrah is the actual moment of seeing them. Because they have a nice dignity, and prefer to have nothing to do with me, not even as the simple objects of my vision. They show me by their very wariness what a prize it is simply to open my eyes and behold.”

Because of all the Thoreau-like insightfulness, which I have long been a fan of, it took a second reading for me to notice the consistent tone. Thoreau was inquisitive, but he could at times sound cynical, like when he pointed out the arrogance of one of his neighbors naming a pond after himself. Or, especially in his famous essay, On Civil Disobedience.” But Dillard’s book (or collection of essays depending on who one talks to) doesn’t slide into pointed criticism. Even though she does make some counter-arguments here and there, it’s more like she’s dancing with the topics. The book feels to me like a long prayer on what it’s like to “simply open my eyes and behold.” It’s the beholding that never seems to end, even when the author realizes the frog she’s been staring at has had its insides sucked out by a giant water bug.

I think the tone of the writing in this book alludes to what I’ve heard called a “monistic” view of the world, where both sides of the coin of nature and god are seen as noble and praiseworthy, necessary and incomplete, one without the other. And in the last sentence, it’s as if the entire year Dillard spent at Tinker Creek, described so beautifully with such poetic eloquence, gets funneled into the very last word:

“And like Billy Bray I go my way, and my left foot says ‘Glory,’ and my right foot says ‘Amen’: in and out of Shadow Creek, upstream and down, exultant, in a daze, dancing, to the twin silver trumpets of praise.”

“Praise,” is the tone throughout—a long prayer for praise.

Craft talk, #2, Literary curiosity and creativity.

e b white

“I’ve never had a very lively literary curiosity, and it has sometimes seemed to me that I am not really a literary fellow at all. Except that I write for a living.” ~ E. B. White, from the Paris Review interview.

I literally laughed out loud when I read this quote. Myself, I’m not an English major. I’ve earned an MFA in creative writing, which to me is a different ballgame. I’m more of a storyteller, more interested in exploring my own capacity to create something unique out of my life experience. I have a deep respect for people who can rattle off classics they’ve read, and give a general outline and some articulate criticism. I’m not one of them, even though I’ve read a fair share of classics. I trust that they are tilled into my subconscious, though, and that reading a lot is key. I’m sure E. B. White read a lot, too, him being involved in the beginnings of New Yorker magazine. But he also just plain wrote a lot, about what he was interested in.

Craft talk, a daily thing (I hope).

“Most nonfiction writers have a definitiveness complex. They feel that they are under some obligation—to the subject, to their honor, to the gods of writing—to make their article the last word. It’s a commendable impulse, but there is no last word.”

~ William Zinnzar, On Writing Well

This reminds me of the name of the blog that Craig Childs writes for: The Last Word on Nothing. I recently wrote a piece for Assignment Magazine in which I got caught up in definitiveness. The working title was “The Moment of my Enlightenment,” which I felt burdened to define accurately to the absolutely precise – last word. There was a suggested 750-word limit, which I’ve’ stretched to 1,000 once before. For this piece, I wrote 2,000 words to try to get it right. After six or seven rewrites, I got it down to 460 words and changed the title to “Touching Betelgeuse.”  I couldn’t quite whittle it down to the last word, but it’s a lot less than where I started.