What is divine inspiration?

It occurs to me that when I speak or write it is a man speaking. But when I attempt a visual expression as in my art it is not me reaching out to other men and therefore not really any kind of communique or colloquialism. It is me attempting to recall what could have been known had we not begun to confound ourselves with words. Words will never infuse us with wisdom - not that images will; but I do believe they can get me closer to feeling what true paradise is - recognizing, of course it can only be found through God, release of most human distractions and temporarily death.

"f'real"

"f'real" (for real) Used to hear this contraction a lot. Not so much anymore. Maybe that's because there's just so little belief or sincerity, I don't know. Or maybe there are just no sound words to describe the disbelief or dissatisfaction with the real. Kind of like when "Mark Twain" suddenly becomes "Abandon ship", ... and after that just a mayday, a specialized signal hovering over anonymous cries for help in the darkness. Reality become an excuse for dehumanization.

But we haven't visibly hit bottom yet have we? or have we! I still find it difficult to believe much of what I hear in the media. It's all fog and echoes. "Reality" has become just as fiat as the Fed, the waters shallow as the pond you might have dug in your yard had the savings not recently been depleted by unemployment or a mismanaged portfolio.

I guess it's time to "spell it out" for each other and "get real"!

fresh air

Examining the design of my little space it occurrs to me these windows weren't really designed with this in mind. The need for fresh air is critical for this otherwise closed space. The singular pane though is very large, heavy and there are no screens for this building.

And so I make due with poorly filtered downtown air. I bought a little fan made in china, and found a relative match for a screen. Altogether it takes about fifteen minutes to "open" my window. I suppose that saves me minutes of life in the end for having some air exchanged, I don't know. Or maybe the air isn't as fresh as it would seem - being chillier than indoor air there is the illusion that it is crisp and clean. But even snow can be tainted with pollutants. Cold air merely wakens the senses. And I am awakened further today to wonder what shall become of the city dweller who resigns himself to stagnant air. And the rebel who opens his window for an exchange of perhaps an even fouler breath.