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Tag: Douglas Pinson

Maxwell’s Demon and More New Poetry

Maxwell’s Demon and More New Poetry

We’ve added three new poems by Robert Mueller this month. Please feel free to leave comments on the Contact Us page. I’m almost finished reading a good novel by Steven Hall, Maxwell’s Demon (2021). Postmodern, and very Meta. Some fun facts about Entropy, angels, oxen, bees, Jewish gods and mysticism, and the Apocrypha along the way, which Hall integrates well throughout the narrative. I can hear echoes from Italo Calvino’s If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler, and Flann O’Brien’s…

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The Shaman and Time’s Arrow

The Shaman and Time’s Arrow

Over the course of the next few weeks, I played Daniel-san to the Shaman’s Mr. Miyagi. He had me wash his car, weed and seed his lawn, and take his clothes to the dry-cleaner’s, among other chores. All of this struck me as a waste of time, of course, which was likely the point. Either that, or a lesson in Entropy, a word the Shaman had left out of his lessons so far. But things changed dramatically soon enough. Archery…

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The Shaman and the Coffee Shop

The Shaman and the Coffee Shop

The Second Lesson Percolates Cat Stevens sang “Morning has Broken” above us, as we sat in the corner café, with its old stone walls, its monstrous fireplace, and its unbreakable wood tables and chairs. I suddenly felt relaxed in a way that had escaped me for weeks. The Shaman looked at me quickly, saw my newfound comfort, and pushed me violently to the floor. Luckily, there was no coffee to spill yet, no cakes to fly upward into the vaulted…

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The Shaman’s Secret

The Shaman’s Secret

First Lessons Abide “Moderation in all things is terrible advice,” said the Shaman as we walked, then ran, then stood still. “All is contrast within context. If you wish to live sweet lives, take the highs and lows, embrace the deepest darkness and the most luminous visions, as if your life depended on it, because it does.”           So I asked him, as we ran, then walked, then stopped: “But moderation and mindfulness lead to balance and wisdom, so say…

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Trilunar Phases and Cosmic Debris

Trilunar Phases and Cosmic Debris

Have been productive along the artistic front lately, though that old black magic, inspiration, seems to come and go. But I’m pretty happy overall with my progression these days, taking more and more chances with media and medium. The latter is the message, or so I’ve heard. The two Cosmic Debris paintings are possibly the biggest departures from previous efforts, and made primarily in Gimp. I like the direction #34 is taking me, especially. Have figured out that I can…

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Sacred and Profane Gardens.

Sacred and Profane Gardens.

Got in a good walk today, listening to music as I moved through the blue air. Strange beginnings, with “Revolution 9” by the Beatles spinning up first, splitting my head in two, then four, hoping “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” would follow, but she didn’t. Thought, too, about my most recent paintings, and about friends who have already left this world, one who also painted. He was self-taught, and could have been great if he had had the time….

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New Poetry, and Skyfields Falling.

New Poetry, and Skyfields Falling.

Clyde Kessler offers us a new poem and some wise words of advice when it comes to statecraft and balking skies, among other things of note. Spinozablue welcomes him back into the surrealist fold.     *     *     * Speaking of balking skies, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about their true colors and hidden meanings, their portents and judgments, which only we ordained Magi can see. That is, of course, unless a non-Magi person has synesthesia. If they’re so blessed,…

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Cosmically Fresh Mixed Greens

Cosmically Fresh Mixed Greens

To uncover and explore. New things. Even software. Yeah, I know. It’s not like Brendan the Navigator reaching the New World 1500 years ago. But, well, it’s new to me. I use a mix of “free hand” drawing and painting, plus the help of geometric shapes here and there, on two of three digital paintings below. With “Cosmic Sunday Blur,” it’s all free hand, using Microsoft’s Fresh Paint app. The latter is interesting, if a bit glitchy. It mimics the…

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Wobbly Little Streets

Wobbly Little Streets

Did you ever? Or, as Peter Frampton once asked, back in 1976, “Do you feel like I do?” If only I could have played guitar back then – or now. Oh, the fun I would have had! I do play the piano, but as I’d sometimes mention to the young women I tried to woo, it’s not very portable. Polite responses typically ensued. No tomatoes – yet. I’d risk them, certainly, by adding, “I play by ear, but it hurts…

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The Hills are Alive with Deeds of Light

The Hills are Alive with Deeds of Light

  A dash of this, that and the Other. Some homage to Kandinsky and Van Gogh, plus my own dreams and walking visions.  It’s been much too long since I. Far too many months since I. Since I found my mountain tops. Since I floated there, with the wind, and music, and grief. Glad grief because of where I was, and where I floated. Because the sun was shining down on me and mine. Me and my shadow dreams. This…

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