February 2011

this man was a conservationist & civil rights activist. he is also considered one of the top American presidents alongside Lincoln & Washington.

Why he’s COOL:
He eloquently stated the following: “the nation that destroys its soil destroys itself.” He created a group called the Civilian Conservation Corps that was to help manage unemployed young men, get them back into nature & working with their hands during a time of great economic strife. In essence he utilized basic manual labor that addressed several disciplines. “I propose to create a civilian conservation corps to be used in simple work, not interfering with normal employment, and confining itself to forestry, the prevention of soil erosion, flood control and similar projects. … this type of work is of definite, practical value, not only through the prevention of great present financial loss, but also as a means of creating future national wealth.” This program was the MOST POPULAR of the New Deal, but never became a permanent establishment within the federal government. Why would we get rid of a program the people supported?

Conserve & Preserve
Furthermore, he signed an act into law titled the Soil Conservation and Domestic Allotment Act. This Act was incredibly beneficial to farmers and agriculture and was intended to manage and maintain proper use of soil. It also was intended to minimize the usage of soil-depleting crops.

A few really relevant ideas from his statement on the act appear as follows:
“They and we [the government] have not abandoned and will not abandon the principle of equality for agriculture.”
“Sound farming is of direct interest not only to farmers, but to consumers.”
“…the recurring dust storms and rivers yellow with silt are a warning that Nature’s resources will not indefinitely withstand exploitation or negligence. The only permanent protection which can be given consumers must come from conservation practiced by farmers.”
“The history of every Nation is eventually written in the way in which it cares for its soil.”
“The wise use of land which it seeks to encourage involves sound farm practice and crop rotation as well as soil conservation.”

Seems to me he thinks true justice is connected to the soil. I am reminded of the story of Easter Island.

Four Freedoms:
FDR said in his Four Freedoms Speech (back in 1941):
“In the future days, which we seek to make secure, we look forward to a world founded upon four essential human freedoms.
The first is freedom of speech and expression—everywhere in the world.
The second is freedom of every person to worship God in his own way–everywhere in the world.
The third is freedom from want—which, translated into world terms, means economic understandings which will secure to every nation a healthy peacetime life for its inhabitants—everywhere in the world.
The fourth is freedom from fear—which, translated into world terms, means a world-wide reduction of armaments to such a point and in such a thorough fashion that no nation will be in a position to commit an act of physical aggression against any neighbor—anywhere in the world.
That is no vision of a distant millennium. It is a definite basis for a kind of world attainable in our own time and generation. That kind of world is the very antithesis of the so-called new order of tyranny which the dictators seek to create with the crash of a bomb.”

What are these Philosophies? How do we transfer them into the community?

It seems his ideas resonate. We have many communities we are members of. Many of us talk about sustainability of the self. For example, there is the community of: your body, your home, your street, your city, your state, your country, your world.

Maybe we should ponder whether we mimic chimneys or trees in all of these communities. Electric wires & fences or rivers and birds? Do we move slow and flow with words, thoughts, actions, or grind and coerce without reflection?

Intelligent people have recognized the imperative part of living alongside the natural world. FDR is NOT alone. In fact people have been writing about this since the very first civilization.

Soil Provides Nutrients to Roots

We have roots too. Roots for people are: attitude, friendship, family…. Respecting roots is an important practice because roots are our beginnings. We ought to ponder history, but of course.

History books should teach us to be mindful with our thoughts, words, and deeds. History is written by the victors. So, who wins at living in the 21st century? It seems that if the people running the world write the history books then perhaps current methods may be failing… there’s a lot of destruction and a lack of innovation… Are we really utilizing all four freedoms that FDR talked about in our lives?

Memory & Forgetfulness

Roots/History/Attitude::: We have to remember the right things while we simultaneously learn from the wrong ones. Loren Eisley stated that the true dichotomy of living is memory & forgetfulness. do we remember to respect ourselves, others, and the earth? do we remember that seasons are perpetually changing? Do we remember car crashes, murders, tornadoes? Aldous Huxley said that the only consistent people are the dead. Therefore we should not begin to believe that we control anything besides our own steps.

watch the irrational sporadic & inconsistent nature of the weather…. …. . . . ! ((we don’t need the boss, the boss needs us. we don’t own the earth, the earth owns us))

We have to learn to appreciate and trust our own rhythm. the rest happens to us anyway & we control very little.

((do as i do not as i say))

((move speak act think like water go grow glow flow just don’t ruin what is below))


every time i’m at the bottom of a hill i want to be at the top of it.

yet the tallest, widest tree always falls in the wind. the one that bends and sways survives the storm.

the sunset is more fascinating than fireworked celebrations because it starts slow, soft and gentle. it is new all day & we don’t have to do anything but mimic it to be content. the sun shines no matter what. consistent & constant creation of new life, renewing energy exponentially without fail.

the greatest architecture that withstands time is inspired by something bigger than the self. it’s different than greed. for example churches, altars, religious structures often remain for centuries. libraries and the u.s. postal building in DC. this is perhaps due to others in the community helping maintain & sustain the structure because there are shared visions/inspirations. Frank Llyod Wright loved water. (the great lakes mostly).

:: —> symbiotic relations help with creations

Discussed styles of living with several dear friends tonight.

Rhythm, balance, patience, movement, flow.

The Rules of Architecture are basic:

1. Keep it structural.
2. Keep it functional.
3. Keep it pretty.

when we create we defy the status quo so it’s related to identity…

from an interview with ESCIF:

Q: “As a long time graffiti artist, has it been strange or helpful to step back and look at contemporary graffiti from an analytical or academic perspective? How much does that affect your work?”

A: “A characteristic of children is that they feel curiosity for anything. From a very innocent perspective they dare to question values that for us are unquestionable. This is marvelous! Children are capable of seeing things we would never see. It seems that when we grow-up we become strong, but our minds close. We become dictators of our imagination and we grasp an identity that is very limited. It’s very sad but it’s the way it is.

I perceive art to be a mix of experimentation, investigation and play. It’s a constant battle to remove the barriers that the system has put in our heads, a road to recover the child we once were but from the experience the years have given us. It has helped a lot in continuing the investigation to constantly ask myself, why continue on one road and not the other?”

Thank you, JUXTAPOZ for publishing & caring.

my response to this:
-Why would we think we dictate our imagination?
-What is “the system” exactly?
-Why a fear of experimentation?
-evolution/adaptation vs. stuck

his name could be victor.

he could arrive in an old-fashioned automobile, dark green, a recycled vehicle, classy and sassy and almost too perfect. he could climb out of his car, blaring Dylan songs. “the times are a changing” he could say and laugh and begin to preach, “indeed.” in the way that echoes and tones of certain laughter can, predictions of truth and light and love, love, love.

I could walk up behind him, dressed in a pale gold dress, worn from years of industrialized washing machines. I could have on tennis shoes, and carry a bag of organic produce from the local market. i could reach into my purse seeking cigarettes and sips of cognac before reaching the park bench to make lunch.

she could be writing in her journal, notes to purchase eggplant for the elaborate dinner, the one she remembered, the one she needs to let simmer for two and one half hours. she could forget that an amalgamation of vegetables is like sex in a pan, and is the proper way to impress a gentleman.

he could step forward, the Cadillac wasting gas, seeking the time, he could ask. “is the sun setting soon? I’d love to find the local saloon..” the station attendant could smile at him,  could answer his ambiguities, “well sir around these parts, there are many good saloons. but tis only noon.”

she could look down upon the glass, see her eyes looking back, and his leather boots through the display. “I like your car” she could say. and of course, as always, she could look away.

I could pause outside the station, my produce in one hand, the burning cigarette in the other, as my chemistry now demands. I could hold my purchases close, as I notice bums lurking peripherally. I could exhale silently as the heat from the smoke and the heat from the sun envelope my straightened hair and dull dress. I could wonder if there will ever be ways to leave the town and all this mess. and I could sit and ponder this distress.

he could smile, and walk to the delinquent aisles, to the liquor he is a pedophile, after traveling hundreds and thousands of miles, he has to sit and drink in style. he could purchase a cab sav or pinot grigio, cheap beer and fresh cantelope. and he could walk slowly, quietly away.

she could roll her eyes in disbelief, and go back to brooding over meals to eat. she could remember the eggplant is hard to discover and that she also needs two sticks of butter, one for her, the other for her brother. she could remember when he could travel on his own, before the tragic moment of his revoked license. she could look at the man and see in him her brother and his influence of under poison when driving motor cars.

I could be spreading the herbed olive oil, placing the gouda, and slicing the avocado onto fresh bread from the local bakery. I could ask, for the 607th time, whether avocado was a vegetable or fruit or if the point was moot. I could hope she had rice pudding to consume, for desert. I could believe food was the labor of good youth.

he could meander back to her, several consumables and a pen. he could proclaim, “mam, these are the best pens in all of the world. I use them to write my stories when I am tired of scenery.” he could rummage his pockets for cash, and laugh ever so awkwardly at the irony of buying his favorite writing utensils from a woman who happened to be using one.

She could never know how to respond, “sir, it will be 37 dollars, even, so strange.” She could watch him reach for his money in his pockets, see a lighter, and a condom fall onto her rug. She could blush but she would silently sigh at having to work so hard for another tourist. she could never understand why they asked so many questions and gave twice as many irrelevant comments, it was so obnoxious.

I could pull out my diary and begin to re-read the last six months since I took a few notes. I could begin to wonder the thoughts of her, or him, or anyone. I could wonder why it was always out with din and sin and secrets that only speak to the page, it is a stage, to act out truth.

they could be diving south, driving south, headed away from northern routes. they could arrive in a small town in Tennessee or Kentucky, downing the best whiskey. they could dance for hours under stars, avoiding the disaster that journeys must begin and end ever after.