The Origin of Consciousness
-Porges, et al. "Thinking About Thought"

How does consciousness arise? It is a widespread belief that we, as individuals, are not born conscious, and life, as a natural phenomenon, was not originally conscious. If these beliefs are correct, when and how does consciousness arise?

i remember all the different kinds of years.
angry, or brokenhearted, or afraid.
i remember feeling like that
walking up the mountain along the dirt path
to my broken house on the island.
and long years of waiting in massachusetts.
the winter walking and hot summer walking.
i finally fell in love with all of it:
dirt, night, rock and far views.
it's strange that my heart is as full
now as my desire was then.

-linda gregg

i'm standing at another crossroads. my boss thinks i'm selling myself short, settling, but she doesn't realize that i have no other options, or that i do not want to make the effort to compete for the sake of ego. her vision of my life does not take into consideration all my emotional baggage. after talking to the people at the pinnacle of their profession at work, i recognize their quality of life is horrible. i've reached a point where i have committed to a zip code, and do not wish to trav

Robert Delaunay, letter to August Macke, 1912

Direct observation of the luminous essence of nature is for me indispensable. I do not necessarily mean observation with palette in hand, although I am not opposed to notations taken from nature itself. I do much of my work from nature, "before the subject," as it is commonly called. But what is of great importance to me is observation of the movement of colors.

Of all the scribbled sentences that have converged to create the Valerie Plame affair, the most remarkable, in literary terms, may belong to Scooter Libby, Dick Cheney's recently deposed chief of staff. "Out West, where you vacation, the aspens will already be turning. They turn in clusters, because their roots connect them. Come back to work--and life," he wrote in a jailhouse note to Judith Miller. Meant as a waiver of confidentiality, the letter touched off the sort of fevered exegesis mor

if there were a word that meant
thought, mind, spirit
and wish, desire,
appetite.

and memory,
and recall. and finally also
will, purpose, intention,

we might have it down:
the impatient child
filled without being filled,
filled despite

bunion surgery (BS) log (aka, my right foot):

things you learn at the doctor's office-
1. how it is to be a hermaphrodite
2. how to pick up britney spears
3. byos (bring your own starbucks) for after surgery, a very good thing

Artists themselves tend to take absolutist and unhelpful positions
when addressing themselves to questions of content, pretending with
Degas that the work has nothing to do with ballet dancers, or
pretending with James Agee that it has nothing to do with artifice.
Both positions have the virtue of neatness, and allow the artist to
answer unanswerable questions briefly and then get back to work. If an
artist were to admit that he was uncertain as to what part of the
conten

alan lightman and richard colton in SEED magazine

herein are kurt vonnegut's rules for creative writing 101:

1. use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.

2. give the reader at least one character he or she can root for.

3. every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water.

4. every sentence must do one of two things--reveal character or advance action.

5. start as close to the end as possible.

to combat the forthcoming onslaught of rejection (the trickle so far has been unbearable enough), i am attempting to give birth to something meaningful, or at least a purposeful distraction. at the moment, my art is stalling (still don't know what i want to say, what i stand for), so i have decided to write a novel (a taiwanese-american historical epic, to be precise) in hopes of easing my perpetual state of emotional constipation. literary catharsis should be more satisfying, if not much che

"I myself should always regret not being a doctor."
-Van Gogh, in a letter to his brother, Theo, 1889

I type "Matisse", and my spell check asks if I meant to say "madhouse." I try Pasteur, and it elicits an "OK." Apparently, my computer isn't enlightened, as I was, long ago, by Lionel Trilling's famous essay "Art and Neurosis," which convinced me that artists aren't crazier than anybody else; but I still believe their characters are often unfairly maligned.

baby boy
dieing under hot desert sun,
watch your colours run.

did you believe the lie they told you,
that christ would lead the way
and in a matter of days
hand us victory?

did you buy the bull they sold you,
that the bullets and the bombs
and all the strong arms
would bring home security?