The Responsibility Of The Artist

I’ve been reading a fascinating historical account of the original existentialist scene featuring the leading figures Jean- Paul Sartre and Simone De Beauvoir along with luminaries such as Albert Camus and pre-existentialist phenomenologists Edmund Husserl and Martin Heidegger. Much can be said about all these thinkers and certainly little can I add that is not already known. However, it is interesting looking back at exactly how political they would become. Of course, how could one be alive in WW2 Europe and not be political! Even beyond the war existentialism influenced the feminist revolution, the civil rights movements, and the protests of the 60’s. 

I contrast it with now as it feels almost like we are perched on the precipice of WW3 with the war in Ukraine, genocide in Gaza, and growing tensions in the middle east. I think of our own economy with inflation and corporate greed, a fractured political landscape, eroded workers rights, the list goes on… and I wonder, where are our revolutionary voices of dissidence and hope? 

Where are the politically charged philosophers and poets, writers, and musicians? And yes, as a small press writer I know they exist in the underground, but where are the voices on a globally visible level? Do they exist? I’m genuinely curious because quite frankly I am not exactly in tune with pop culture. I’d like to think there are a few out there. Or is it all fake celebrities in a plastic disposable culture?  

And regardless, does the artist have a responsibility? If so, what exactly are the obligations?  

Me being your humble writer, I am very far removed from being an important or famous voice, but I can only ponder that question from within my own experience. What is my responsibility to the world, if any?

When I first became a published writer was around the time I was thrust into the world of factories and warehouse. This culture shock of being a stereotypical starving artist type dropped into working class America temporarily ripped me away from my youthful language experimentation and set me on a path of straight forward working class poetry. I was often referred to as a working class poet and while I wasn’t overtly political I do believe it shone some sort of light on the working class and our struggles. Outside of my writing, I was very political at this time.

Even as my work inevitably drifted back into surrealism and experimentation, it was still very industrial, reeking of factory despair and bad coffee.

Then it all changed, the factories were still there ( as I was still in the factories) but the writing and my personal journey went inward, more concerned with self discovery and navigating inner space than documenting anything else.

Did I abandon the working class and the oppressed? Did I give up fighting for navel gazing and self indulgent inner reflection?

Some people may think so, but I don’t feel that is the case.

The factories, money, bills… it all broke me eventually That, along with my inability to become what I deem a successful artist, and a long genetic line of depression brought me to become so fractured that I had no choice to look inward not just for answers, but for escape. I had to look to inner space to grow outward. I wrote my best book of poetry, I returned to meditation, I took my mental health seriously.

Old Ta-Mo and even the Buddha himself knew you had to take care of yourself or you were of no service to the world. And I still believe if every human being on this planet explored their own inner space albeit with art, meditation, therapy, etc the world would indeed be a much better place.

I am a work in progress, as we all are and always will be, but I know myself a little better and I have a lot more inner peace. 

With all that said I am realizing one can’t stay in inner space forever. One has to turn around or risk getting lost, that was never the point. We live in the now, and this is a common ground for Zen and existentialism, the concrete reality of Now because that is where we reside.

Yes, we are all “en soi” and we have a dizzying and daunting freedom, but we are also citizens of the earth and have the responsibility to move things forward. So much is broken in the world, where does one start? As usual, I have more questions than answers. For right now, all I know to do is to keep writing.

My Zen Is Broken

If old Bodhidharma was right, and one should look at every problem like a gift from the Tao… then this factory life of mine is it. This factory life has challenged me, depressed me, taken years off my life probably. However, through these challenges I have grown, become stronger, somewhat wiser, and supported a family. It has inspired countless poems, prose, sound art, etc. The muse isn’t always beautiful.

More often than not I fail to see any of that though. More often than not I fail.

But even Bodhidharma knew this wasn’t an easy task. He advised tolerance and patience not just with fellow man, but with yourself.

It’s easy to find peace and introspection in meditation or on the yoga mat. The challenge is to take that peace and introspection with you throughout the day, especially in times of stress or adversity. That is where the spiritual growth lies, that is where I aim to be. Rather than letting these situations mold me, I shall mold them. That is the goal, anyway.

The name of this blog is Broken Zen, this term goes all the way back to youth with notebooks full of bad poetry and right there scribbled on the cover is the title “Broken Zen”. I think back then it was a reference to the nihilism of youth along with my trademark self-deprecation, my aspirations grounded by my negative self-worth. Now years later and middle-aged though I see things differently. My Zen is broken, but it’s okay. It’s Wabi Sabi! It’s like a work of kintsugi, the Japanese art of mending broken pottery back together with lacquer and gold powder, giving them new life more beautiful than before not by concealing, but by embracing and highlighting their imperfections.

This old factory, I sit here now in the dead of night slurping black coffee, typing this into the computer, and I’m reminded of the saying “He who doesn’t live in the now, lives nowhere.” The past is a dream, and the future doesn’t exist, there is only now… and every buzz and hiss of all the machines in my lab seem to scream now, now, now. This is my now… right here.

This classic Zen koan is pertinent here:

Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water

After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water

Echoing a similar theme, I penned recently:

A factory worker is Buddha-nature

A factory worker is not Buddha-nature

They are going to work either way

 

Anyway, thanks for reading my ramble. In other news I am working on some fresh writing that I am very excited with. I have also been tweaking knobs and appear to have enough soundscape material already for a new album. 2024 is looking better already.

Everything Is Connected

My brain is a highway of wormholes and tiny universes exploding. We are here to go to inner space. The way to outer space is inner space, everything is connected. I sit in my dirty garage, scuffed Buddha staring down at me. Sitting half lotus style I close my eyes, back straight, chin slightly tilted and begin to breath. Let everything relax, shoulders, eyes, jaw, any place where stress is stored. Breath deeper, into hara, the gut right below the navel. Count my breath, anchor to it as all thoughts are nothing but clouds passing by, observe them and let them go. Breath.  

Sounds of the settling house, breeze outside, birds, cats, dogs, squirrels, passing cars blend together to form their own kind of silence. I keep breathing. 

Inner space is not mindlessness. Inner space is more real than real, tuned into the moment, seeing your own hand in front of your face. Mindfulness. The ability to bear witness to your own being in this moment in time, to truly experience the nuts and bolts of reality. My brain is a highway of wormholes and tiny universes exploding from the deepest expanse of inner (outer) space to the nerve endings in my fingers and toes. 

A Few Thoughts On The Koan

2023 brought me anything positive, it has been my reconnection with Zen Buddhism. I first became enamored with Buddhism in my youth, and I carried it with me intellectually and philosophically my entire life. However, I always lacked the discipline to engage in a meaningful meditation practice for a prolonged period. Now, years later middle age hasn’t brought me wisdom, but it has at least gifted me with the patience to slow down, sit down and meditate. If 

I’ve been voraciously reading a great deal of Zen literature as well, and I have devoured many Buddhist texts in the last year. One particularly engaging book was by John Daido Loori and titled Sitting With Koans, a fascinating book with essays and studies from some of the finest scholars in the world of Zen koans. The book started with a historical perspective of the ancient practice which was very educational. However, what makes this book an absolute gem and must read are the actual koans and koans studies. I have always been interested in koans in a literary sense, and along with haiku, have been very much influential on me as a writer for both their paradoxical nature and their sparseness and economy of words. Koans are integral to a spiritual journey, and I find myself turning to them more frequently…. Yet there is another layer to them, and the experimentalist in me finds them to have similarity to something else that has been integral to my journey as a person and as an artist, the cut-up. 

I came to cut-ups in my youth with a literary curiosity. I employed them in my own writing as a stylistic tool where I could use words like a painter uses paint. Eventually though, I would realize they are much more than that, that the cut-ups indeed challenged rational mind and word lock, allowing my subconscious to bleed through… which was therapeutic to say the least, groundbreaking more so. 

Like the cut-up, I also enjoyed Koans from a literary point of view long before I studied them or understood what they were intended for. The point of these paradoxical stories and parables being to exhaust the rational mind and feel the meaning of it in your being rather than with your intellect.  

So the Koan and the Cut-up, while different in content and style and separated by centuries, are not at all dissimilar in their intended effect… to challenge the rational mind. One is a tool for enlightenment, the other a tool for de-conditioning. Is the deconditioned mind not an enlightened mind?  

So now the questions that beg to be asked: What would be the effect of meditating on cut-ups? What if we cut-up Koans? What would a post-modernist Koan look like? 

Heading Into The New Year

2023 was rewarding in some ways and very challenging in many others. I carry both the rewards and the challenges with me into the new year. In many ways it seems it has been one long year since 2020, with all the months blending into one too long period. However, forever the sucker for the symbolism of the year closing and new chapters beginning I find myself waxing on the year we are leaving behind and the one ahead.  

Despite some of the more challenging circumstances of the year, I find myself on the right path moving forward, focusing on my mental, spiritual, and physical fitness. After all, I finally find myself in a regular meditation practice again and focusing on repairing myself inside and out to be of better service to myself and those around me. 

Yes, I want to push further and grind harder in the new year, but I want to appreciate the little moments of magic as well, be mindful and thankful for the life I have. I sorely and urgently want to refocus and prioritize my creative side, literary wise and sound wise. I have neglected the muse far too long this year and paid the price mentally. 

And if I were to make a resolution, it would simply be not to let the factory stuff and the money stuff consume me. Other than that, I simply want to forge ahead on this path. 

However, the most arduous part of the new year for me is maintain that enthusiastic fervor beyond January. Each year I am little more successful at it, maybe its age, or dare I say… wisdom. Going forward, it’s going to be the nurturing the discipline to keep this mindset regardless of circumstance. 

2023 was difficult with job and money stuff, letting it eat me up and kill me in many ways, creatively being one of them. I can no longer let these things mold me.  After all, the happy, hairy Zen weirdo meditating in the park joyfully is the same person scowling in the factory. The only thing that changes is mind. That peace is always inside of me. So is that anger. Which seeds do I water? Well, that is up to me.  

And me? I just want to be with my wife, write my little poems and make my moody noise. I want to travel a bit, do some poetry readings, meditate, run, workout, veg out, drink a bit, laugh a lot, not worry about money, play with my dogs, maybe tend a rock garden, paint, make bad collages. Watch sunrise, sunset. Live in the moment, every moment, even this one. 

Anyway, I hope there will be a lot more literary updates and publishing news this year. At the very least, there will be some more personal posts like these. Either way I hope you will give them a read.

The Graveyard Shift

Under the canopy of stars and the soft comfort of the moon lies a deeper darkness, one of disconnectedness that can only be brought on by the acute pangs of desolation hanging dankly in the air of the night shift….

The wife, the kids, and the dogs at home asleep dreaming of places far from here. I’m surrounded by people in this old factory, yet I simply could not feel more alone. I’m middle-aged now but I feel I’ve already died a million times over on many of nights just like this one. I’m sure that’s why it’s called the graveyard shift.

A Glimpse Into My Writing Day

Recently, I was invited by Rob McLennan to submit to a fascinating blog project called My (Small Press) Writing Day. It’s an interesting look into the creative day of your average small press writer. It’s quite addictive and I recommend checking it out.

My post went up recently and I hope you’ll give it a read. I had fun writing it, as it’s something I never gave much thought to. I’ve dreamt about what I would like an ideal writing day to look like, which it looks nothing like with day jobs and real life often taking priority. I always felt my writing day was haphazard… but like with many things in life, once I looked deeper a theme emerged. My writing day is not perfect but it is mine, and it is better than not writing at all. You can check out My small press writing day here!

Happy New Year!

New Year’s Eve has always been my favorite night of the year. Whether I was a crazy kid partying like it was the last night on earth, or a bit older quietly drinking rum and cokes with a notebook and contemplation, it has always represented the closing of a chapter and start of another. Maybe I’m just a romantic underneath this façade, but I’m a sucker for the symbolism of the closing year. For me, it is a time for self-reflection and evaluation; it is also a time to focus on the coming year.

As 2018 looms, I couldn’t be further away from those carefree nights, and Times Square might as well be a different planet.

I’d love nothing more than to be at home with my wife and a stiff drink, listening to good tunes while the ball drops. Perhaps it is more fitting that I am once again ringing in the new year in this factory where I spend so much of my year. Here in my little lab, with John Coltrane wailing over the hum of machinery, instead of rum I’m drinking bad black coffee in a Styrofoam cup. The years sneak up on you in this place; we usually only measure time here in increments of a twelve-hour shift.

I haven’t been near as prolific as I had hoped I would be this past year. Is it an artistic block or am I simply uninspired? Is it possible for the creative juices to simply dry up without warning? I have done some writing this year, and been published in a handful of places. Likewise, my work with sound has been limited this year as well.

Despite my lack of productivity, it’s been a rejuvenating year. I shifted from being the artist back to being the student. I’ve spent much time reading, listening, studying, and contemplating. After an entire adulthood of artistic output, I felt it beneficial to become a student of life and arts again. I needed the recharge, both mentally and physically. It was time to finally stop and figure out who in the hell I am.

Now as this chapter closes and a new one begins, I feel the creative juices bubbling up again. Will it be a prolific year? I don’t know… I’m not much of a resolutions guy. I do know that however prolific the year is exactly how prolific it needs to be. However, I can guarantee I will never quit. I’ve been doing this my whole life, sometimes I am prolific and sometimes I am not, but the need never leaves me.

I’d like to think I will own 2018 (and will sure as hell try) but it will likely include more emotional highs and lows, money stress, artistic insecurity, and long, cruel factory nights. That’s okay, because it will also include laughs, good times and misadventure with family and friends. There will be bad times, but they will be outnumbered by the good, and if I’m fortunate, I’ll be here writing something terribly similar in 365 days.

Happy New Year!

New Project and Shameless Social Media Plugs!

Blk/Mas collaborator Shawn Blackburn and I have a new ambient/drone project in the works entitled Thieves Of The Bleak Earth. The new year will be here soon bringing recordings and shows, but until then I would like to remind you that there are plenty of sounds over at Awareness Factory Recordings to keep you busy. There you will find Blk/Mas and some solo stuff, along with older projects like Stickfigure and Zilbread. You can stream them free or buy the digital downloads for cheap, which is always appreciated.

I would also like to invite you to check out my YouTube page where you can find live noise performances, glitch art, and more. I plan to update more frequently there as well, and plan to start with some spoken word videos really soon. While you’re hitting up my social media, make sure you follow me on Twitter and Instagram too!

 

Thoughts On The New Language

Writing is not a dying art form, but it is rapidly changing. Writers typing words into computers like this is becoming a thing of the past. Of course, writers and luddites alike have been saying for a long time that technology is killing writing; the only difference now is that I am not sure it is entirely a bad thing.

William S Burroughs stated that words are a virus and cited the advantages of hieroglyphic language. He also stated that words were tools of the control machine and used cut-up as a means to subvert said machine and reality as well. The cut-up method lives on to this day and has been utilized by artists far and wide both underground and mainstream, myself included. We all came to cut-up for varied reasons, but largely because ordinary writing had reached an impasse. Cut-up was taking us places that traditional language could not go. We knew, at least subconsciously, the limits of language. Experimental literature is alive and well albeit still in the fringes of modern literature. Some authors are moving beyond language entirely and defining (or re-exploring) the boundaries of ascemic literature.

However in the everyday world, language and how we perceive it may be changing more rapidly than it is in the art world, we just don’t think about it. Whereas outdated notions of tradition or formula inhibit many artists, technology adheres to no such boundaries.

The internet has changed the way we receive information and it would seem language is going through a slow metamorphosis. People are putting down magazines and newspapers to gather information online. Books and chapbooks are giving way to e-books. Blogs have given way to Facebook which has given way to 140 character tweets. Language is getting lean, like haiku. It is mutating and merging with image. The new language is a strange synthesis of words, images, sounds, hyperlinks, hashtags, and emoji. Literature is changing, as well as how we disseminate information. The way we “read” is changing accordingly.

It’s an exciting time to be a writer, provided you are not bound by the printed page. Of course the theories I am expounding are nothing new. There are innumerable artists far more talented than I that have experimented with form, communication and the new language for much longer than me and with much more precision. They too have realized the limits of language and how to overcome these limits. Still yet, I feel the need to reiterate and express the ideas to myself at the very least. You see, for all of my experimentation and grand ideas sometimes I still get hung up on words. I still get stuck on the label of “writer” which often leads to frustration as an artist. After all, how can the concept of “writer” remain the same if the concept of “reader” has evolved? Basically, how do I sell something no one is buying? We too must evolve and drop all notions of what a writer is. We must purge ourselves of noir imagery of the alcoholic writer with a cigarette dangling from his mouth slamming keys on an old Corona typewriter. Exterminate all rational thought. That is another lesson Burroughs taught us, but like the Buddha in the road we must also slay Uncle Bill and all of his wisdom. Nothing must stand between the artist and total freedom. Not you, not me, not words.