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Parting Words from Moristotle (07/31/2023)
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of art, poems, stories, serials, travelogues,
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Saturday, April 30, 2022

From “The Scratching Post”:
Bring back the Inquisition

By Ken Marks

[Opening from the original on The Scratching Post, April 19, 2022, published here by permission of the author.]

The Spanish Inquisition was a stain on world history, but it needn’t have been. It was badly botched. An inquisition is, after all, merely a formal inquiry. There’s nothing in the term that connotes punishment, torture, or malice. It’s simply a search for facts. In more tolerant times, the Spanish might have gathered testimony on why Jews choose Judaism over Christianity and left it at that. Instead, their proceedings were poisoned by hatred. A calamity was inevitable.
    We have learned better. We need to give it another go, but with an entirely different mission. Today, there are dozens of people who have tens of millions of fervent followers. They are political leaders, religious gurus, people of enormous wealth, and various others possessed of exceptional charisma. They command extraordinary power. From the standpoint of public safety, it’s imperative to know the histories of these people, the beliefs they hold, and the social agendas they support.
    I propose that an alliance of governments, perhaps with the help of philanthropists, create an International Inquisition Academy (IIA). The academy would consist of acclaimed critical thinkers from all parts of the globe. Their task would be to interview powerful people and publish a transcript. It would have an addendum titled “Assessment,” where interviewees are judged on their credibility, honesty, and rationality. Instances of factual error, deliberate lying, evasion, and oversimplification would be called out. Regardless of the contents, interviewees would earn the IIA seal as evidence they had submitted to the extensive questioning of experts.
    You may wonder why powerful people would agree to such an ordeal. They’d do it for the seal, a symbol that they had done a civic duty and had the courage to “bare all.” Any public figure who declines an IIA invitation would, in effect, imply they have something to conceal from the public. (The rules of the interview would stipulate that no question about sexual conduct is admissible, unless its intention is to reveal the interviewee’s hypocrisy.)
    It may be difficult to imagine how an IIA interview might go, so I’ve chosen to do a mock interview of a popular holy man whose opinions have been widely published. He is the Dalai Lama, a title that means “Ocean of Wisdom.” He was born in Tibet in 1935, with the name Lhamo Thondup. Later, he took the name Tenzin Gyatso, meaning “Upholder of Teachings.”
    What follows are the Dalai Lama’s essential teachings, shown in bold italics, and my corresponding questions.
[Read the whole thing on The Scratching Post.]


Copyright © 2022 by Ken Marks
Ken Marks was a contributing editor with Paul Clark & Tom Lowe when “Moristotle” became “Moristotle & Co.” A brilliant photographer, witty conversationalist, and elegant writer, Ken contributed photographs, essays, and commentaries from mid-2008 through 2012. Late in 2013, Ken birthed the blog The Scratching Post. He also posts albums of his photos on Flickr.

Friday, April 29, 2022

Fiction: A Killing on a Bridge (21)
A historical fiction

Saint Sebastian River Bridge
[Click image to call up
all published instalments]
By Roger Owens

Friday,
August 11, 1922


Red had been running back and to between taking care of Guy and trying to keep the farm going. He tried to do most of his work before dawn or after dark, but he was working for two.
    And yesterday he was sure he’d seen someone watching from over Ezra’s way. Probably spyin’ on him for them Ashleys. He had never met any of the Frankenfields personally, so wouldn’t know one if he saw him. They had been Guy’s occasional drinking and carousing buddies, but he doubted that would stop them killing him if it was business. You do business with the Ashleys, he reckoned, you’d damn well better do as you’re told.
    And sure as shit, somebody had blown guy’s God damn leg off. You’d think they would of let it go after that. Lucky for the spy Ezra hadn’t seen him in the gathering darkness, Red thought.

Thursday, April 28, 2022

About Two Islands of Malta (3)

Image from
Black Mountain – Part 3
More Hiking…
before Our Problem Escaping


By James T. Carney
Photos by
Detmar Straub


We resumed our hiking the third day, over a field in whose stone we could see ruts that some believe to have been worn by prehistoric carts.

All Over the Place:
US Master Sgt. Roddie Edmonds

For Yom HaShoah—
Holocaust 
Remembrance Day

By Michael H. Brownstein

The day the commandant of the Nazi POW camp called us outside,
he came to our commanding officer and told him to separate the Jews from the others.
Our Christian leader said in a voice steadfast and perfect so we could hear:
We are all Jews here. Everyone step forward.
The Commandant put a gun to his head and demanded: Separate the Jews.
He answered: Sorry, we are all Jews here. See? My men stand with me.
The Nazi threatened to blow his head away if he didn’t do as he said.
I am a Jew. Jews are not afraid of death. Jews are not cowards.
The only cowards present today are those who obey orders without thought or restraint.
The Nazi’s face bubbled over, his lips quivered, his eyes lost control of their sightline.
Then he placed his sidearm in his holster much too hard, turned and told his soldiers:
Get into your vehicles. We are abandoning this camp. Let the Jews starve.

It’s been many years now, I still remember how I stood for something moral and great.
Many times I met with frustration, conflict and life-threatening circumstances.
I would recall his words. Jews are not afraid of death. Jews are not cowards.
A great peace would fall over me. I knew he had said the only truth I needed to learn.

Copyright © 2022 by Michael H. Brownstein
Michael H. Brownstein’s volumes of poetry, A Slipknot Into Somewhere Else and How Do We Create Love?, were published by Cholla Needles Press in 2018 & 2019, respectively.

Wednesday, April 27, 2022

Highways and Byways:
Clarity from the Swirling of Clouds

By Maik Strosahl

I owe much credit to the individuals who have inspired me through the years. Take these last four years in Missouri, for instance.
    After a few months alone in the truck, I was starving for fellowship with creative minds. I found a writing group in Columbia, but their focus seemed more on prose than the poetry I longed to write. My wife and I saw a notice of a local author book sale in Jefferson City and decided to see if we could find like-minds there.

Tuesday, April 26, 2022

Fiction: A Killing on a Bridge (20)
A historical fiction

Saint Sebastian River Bridge
[Click image to call up
all published instalments]
By Roger Owens

Tuesday,
July 4, 1922,
8:00 PM


When Red pulled up outside Senegal’s Sumptuous Palace, there were only two cars there under the oak trees besides him. The building was done up like a Mississippi riverboat, the clapboard walls white, with red railings painted on. At the center of the blue painted paddlewheel was the door, which was almost round. The second floor sported real railings like the observation deck on a steamboat, on a balcony for the girl’s rooms. Senegal had told him looking up at a woman enticing them from a balcony was a traditional whorehouse touch that men enjoyed. The façade above the second floor was all pastel curlicues and gingerbread.

Monday, April 25, 2022

We Humans (a poem)

By Neil Hoffmann

The day lingers late,
Grey, wet, cold and windy.
April showers seeming sad,
Not promising joy and beauty.

A last crust of winter, perhaps,
Soon to be forgotten
In an early summer blast.

Sunday, April 24, 2022

All Over the Place: Wintering in
the Tattoo Garden of Capella

From a themed book I’m working on:
“The Tattoo Garden
of Capella”


By Michael H. Brownstein

Almost five,
the sun still brightens the sky
Winter in the Tattoo Garden of Capella,
the ink less obtrusive,
its coloring calm and clean,
soft white cotton linen,
fine lined with the nibs of fine pens.

Saturday, April 23, 2022

Acting Citizen:
Racial Inequity
through a Botanical Lens

By James Knudsen

Following the death of George Floyd in May of 2020, some Americans have sought to improve issues surrounding racial inequity. Attending protest marches, running for public office, and changing the racially incentivized packaging of your product, are three ways attempts have been, and are still being, made to address our nation’s oldest and most vexing issue. And yet, with all the progress realized, the work remaining seems to increase with each passing year.

Friday, April 22, 2022

Fiction: A Killing on a Bridge (19)
A historical fiction

Saint Sebastian River Bridge
[Click image to call up
all published instalments]
By Roger Owens

Tuesday,
February 23, 1915


Joe knew it was time to make a move. They needed money. They sold untaxed bootleg moonshine up and down the coast, and were expanding into the center of the state, but the profits were slim. His side business running call girls and taking protection as a Palm Beach Deputy were over.
    He’d shaved, dressed up, and gone into Palm Beach to see Geneva, who told him she’d got wind of a large deposit at the Stuart Bank and Trust. The cash shipment would arrive on Tuesday, the 22nd, late at night.

Thursday, April 21, 2022

About Two Islands of Malta (2)

Image from
Black Mountain – Part 3
Some More History
and Hiking


By James T. Carney
Photos by 
Detmar Straub

The island of Malta was a major fortress in the war with air bases built into caves and air raid shelters in many public buildings. The tourist picture of Malta envisions blue skies, sunny days, and sandy beaches, but the reality is a little different: Malta is very hilly and often the hills run down to the sea, so there are not nearly as many beaches as one would expect. Warm sunny days may characterize the summer, but not March with temperatures in the 50s and frequent stiff winds.

Wednesday, April 20, 2022

How can we grow our readership?

Our writers 
deserve more

By Moristotle

My leading question is addressed to anyone and everyone who is reading this. The writers of Moristotle & Co. provide valuable content, and they express it artfully. I believe the subtitle states a truth: Our writers deserve more [readers].
    The fairly small readership we have so far been able to furnish them is worrisome, a burden to me to contemplate. That’s my immediate prompt for issuing this appeal for help in increasing our readership. I want Moristotle & Co. to reach a wider audience for our writers. Help me find ways to do that.

Highways and Byways:
The End of the Biscayne

By Maik Strosahl

Another one of my photography friends, Sandra Nantais, recently posted some new photographs that got my brain whirling. Sandra’s photos have inspired several of her poet friends to ekphrastic pieces and we have collaborated on pieces many times. I used one of her photos before in this column (“Fiji Musume: The Wisteria Maiden,” the tribute to Carolyn Files, August 11, 2021).

Tuesday, April 19, 2022

Fiction: A Killing on a Bridge (18)
A historical fiction

Saint Sebastian River Bridge
[Click image to call up
all published instalments]
By Roger Owens

Sunday,
February 7, 1915

Joe Ashley stood on his porch in the sunrise and thanked a merciful God the cool weather had shut down the God damned mosquitos. Gomez was flush back up against the Everglades to the west. Stuart was to the north and Hobe Sound to the south. Clouds of the little biting critters swarmed from the massive swamp on warm days.
    Joe’d had a three-room house on the Gomez Land Grant for several years and had legal claim to a hundred acres. It had just made sense to retreat here, into the remote backwoods, when John escaped from the Palm Beach Jail.

Monday, April 18, 2022

Penny for Her Thoughts:
Shoplifting Called Out

By Penelope Griffiths

What does “shoplifting” mean? There are many different takes on this; for instance, the person doing the shoplifting is just “shopping” for things he or she wants but doesn’t intend to pay for (or can’t). These things could range from essential items such as soap, toothpaste, and food to the “luxury” items like electric toothbrushes, curling irons, razor blades – some makes are very expensive!
    To the retailer it’s a cost issue, because every item shoplifted has to be accounted for and can lead to financial loss and even to closure if it’s a major issue.

Sunday, April 17, 2022

All Over the Place: Seasons

From a themed book I’m working on:
“The Tattoo Garden
of Capella”


By Michael H. Brownstein

We know the change in the season
by the inks in the water,
their uneven spread across
the flesh of plant and tree,
the way it spirals inwards
rainbowing leaf and rain,
snow and ice, quartz
and the red breasted bunting.

Saturday, April 16, 2022

Goines On: “Proceed with coition”

Click image for more vignettes
While working on a poem using sexual metaphors for depicting a writer’s encounter with his muse, Goines remembered his virginal college sophomore shock during a Saturday night party in Yale’s Calhoun College upon seeing the placard tacked on one of the host suite’s two bedroom doors: “Proceed with coition.”
    Though Goines had not quite yet had sexual intercourse, he was not unschooled in some of its vocabulary, so he got the pun. (Had anyone thought the third word a misspelling?)

Friday, April 15, 2022

Fiction: A Killing on a Bridge (17)
A historical fiction

Saint Sebastian River Bridge
[Click image to call up
all published instalments]
By Roger Owens

Tuesday,
July 4, 1922


People were lined up along 20th Street by noon, waiting for the parade, which was to start at two o’clock. Red Dedge sat at the same table in Jimmie Owens’ Flamingo Café on 21st Street. Once again, he was sitting in front of the fried catfish dinner and talking with the same man, Judge Greyson Stikelether.

Thursday, April 14, 2022

About Two Islands of Malta (1)

Image from
Black Mountain – Part 3
Getting to Malta

By James T. Carney
Photos by 
Detmar Straub

Malta – or rather the Maltese islands of Malta, Gozo, and Comino – lie in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea about half way between Sicily and Tunisia. It has been held by Phoenicians and Carthaginians, Romans, Greeks, Arabs, Normans, Aragonese, Knights of St. John, French, and British, among others, given its strategic importance in what the Romans called mare nostrum (our sea) and its excellent harbors.

Wednesday, April 13, 2022

Mind’s Eye (a poem)

“The Mind’s Eye,” watercolor
by Jennifer Wigg
By Paul Clark (aka motomynd)

When he fell in love with her,
she had her father’s mind,
and her mother’s glamour.

Her mother had the mind of a model,
a cynical wit cloaked by a cackling laugh,
and a body that made all forgivable.

Tuesday, April 12, 2022

Fiction: A Killing on a Bridge (16)
A historical fiction

Saint Sebastian River Bridge
[Click image to call up
all published instalments]
By Roger Owens

June 1912 – May 1914

Joe Ashley drove the department issue Model T through the night, cursing the dragline crew who’d found the body of Desoto Tiger. He’d planned it with John that the young men would go trapping together, John would kill Desoto, and the ’gators that plagued the New River would take care of the body.
    He hadn’t counted on the dragline crew poisoning the water with arsenic. They were extending the canal to Okeechobee, right through the swamp. It was getting more common that, rather than taking chances on getting snakebit, mostly, but ’gator bit too, swamp crews would dump arsenic in the water. They didn’t care that it killed everything, the snakes and gators sure, but the fish, the birds, turtles, hell the fuckin’ frogs. It was a sin and a crime, how these citified folks just destroyed every natural thing they touched.

Monday, April 11, 2022

From the Alwinac:
  Telo-melo Cello:
  Step-Child of Gasparo?

[Click on image to
go directly to
the Alwinac’s home page
]
[The Alwinac blog is part of the schroeder170 project, honoring the life and musical career of cellist Alwin Schroeder (1855-1928) and exploring the history of cello playing in the US.]










My recent post on cello poetry brought to mind the writings of Robert Haven Schauffler, who studied cello with Alwin Schroeder at Princeton University at the turn of the 20th century. The author of numerous books, article, and poems on music and other subjects, Schauffler credited Schroeder for encouraging him to pursue writing professionally. He quoted Schroeder as telling him, “As a cellist you would spend your life playing into the air the music of others. ... But as a writer you might create something yourself that would live after you are gone.” (From R. H. Schauffler letter to Victor Danek, 1955, quoted in Danek, A Historical Study of the Kneisel Quartet [Bloomington: Indiana University, 1962], 197)
    Schauffler’s poem “The Music Maker” opens with a tribute to his own cello, made by Gasparo da Salo:
Beneath the bow
Your live cords, ’cello mio, throb and stir,—
My viol-like, dreamful child of Gasparo,—
Raising from reverie your Lombard voice,
And bidding us rejoice,
In all the things of soul and sense that make
These beauty-consecrated chambers glow….
                    —Schauffler, Selected Poems
                    (London: Heinemann, 1922), 48
    In his 1911 collection of essays on amateur music-making, Schauffler discusses his first tentative steps toward mastering cello technique. In “Fiddler’s Lure” (Schauffler, The Musical Amateur: A Book on the Human Side of Music [Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1911], 30-55), he describes how, at fifteen, he “chanced upon an old ’cello in the attic” and “fell devoted slave” to it: “A week of furtive practice convinced me that I could play the ’cello, though I now remember grasping the bow like a tennis-racket and the fingerboard like a trolley-strap.” In this essay Schauffler takes the Old King Cole nursery rhyme as his point of departure, arguing that the King himself played the cello in string quartets, with his “fiddlers three.” Discussing the effort and dedication required to play well enough to read Beethoven’s Op. 59 quartets (mentioned specifically in the Old King Cole rhyme), Schauffler imagines a yet-to-be-invented “telo-melo cello,” an electric instrument playable by just the touch of a button, that would remove the toil and struggle of mastering the old-fashioned instrument “with bow in hand.”
    Though but a passing thought in Schauffler’s essay, it wouldn’t be long before Leon Theremin, purported to be a cellist himself, was marketing his electrical instruments through his New York-based Teletouch Co. Patented in 1928, the space-controlled theremin remains the best known, and most often played, of Theremin's electric instruments....
_______________
Read on….


Copyright © 2022 by Geoffrey Dean

Sunday, April 10, 2022

All Over the Place: Tyler

By Michael H. Brownstein

Some things come out of no place:
a jerk and a brake:
a flash and a fire:
a text and a heart
bends itself in two:
the monster came with the rain,
the night bright blue then gray.

Saturday, April 9, 2022

Goines On: Sex with the muse

Click image for more vignettes
Goines couldn’t let go – didn’t want to let go – of an idea he had conceived during the writing of a recent poem:
When your muse whispers,
welcome her embrace,
hold her, feel her, glide with her,
follow her rhythms....
His muse had given him the idea during the poem’s writing. It seemed to be the poem’s theme – or one of its themes.
    The idea was that every encounter with one’s muse might be an act of love-making, of coitus. It could certainly be so metaphorically; was it so as well in some deep, psychological, biological way? An essential attribute of animals is that they reproduce themselves, plant their seeds or receive another’s seeds, sprout them, grow them, deliver them, raise them. Could all human enterprise be an embodiment of that underpinning?

Friday, April 8, 2022

Fiction: A Killing on a Bridge (15)
A historical fiction

Saint Sebastian River Bridge
[Click image to call up
all published instalments]
By Roger Owens

Monday,
August 14, 1911


Julius Warren Ashley sat stiffly on the brocade “canape’” in the “salon” of Geneva Pitt’s mansion in the North End, Palm Beach, not half a mile from Henry Morrison Flagler’s Whitehall digs. The ocean breeze sailed in open floor-to-ceiling windows, belling out heavy, embroidered curtains. Fans turned languidly high overhead while massive gilt-framed portraits and forest and ocean scenes imposed from the walls. Heavily decorated yet insubstantial furniture strategically graced the room, like the tea table before him and the “divan”—no, the “canape,” he reminded himself—upon which he sat.

Thursday, April 7, 2022

When Your Muse Whispers
(a poem)

Luis Morris: “Artist’s Muse” 2009
By Moristotle

No time like the present to get things done.
            —Maik Strosahl (“OLEV”)


[Note: About ten days ago, a few minutes after reading Maik Strosahl’s statement quoted above, I found myself in a wild embrace with my own poetic muse. “Following her rhythms” produced the lines presented below. I am grateful for “no time like the present to get things done.”]


When your muse whispers,
welcome her embrace,
hold her, feel her, glide with her,
follow her rhythms.

When your muse arches her back,
announcing her theme, accept
her invitation, enter her,
thrust to her rhythms.

Wednesday, April 6, 2022

Highways and Byways: OLEV

By Maik Strosahl

While I lived in Indiana, I used to love visiting the Indianapolis Museum of Art. On one of my many visits, I took the following snapshot and always figured I would write something about looking at love in a different way.

Tuesday, April 5, 2022

Fiction: A Killing on a Bridge (14)
A historical fiction

Saint Sebastian River Bridge
[Click image to call up
all published instalments]
By Roger Owens

Sunday,
June 18, 1922,
concluded


They were in luck. The doc’s door stood open and Charles Hunter’s “Tickled to Death” ragtime piano poured out into the yard, where three apple-faced young men in white britches, black-and-white-checked jackets, and white straw boaters, were making smoochie with two of Lottie’s girls under one of them fancy little pole barns out in the yard. What did they call them, he thought wildly. Pergolas. Pavilions. Why did he care? His brother was bleeding to death on his floorboard.

Monday, April 4, 2022

Hallefreakin’lujah

By Anonymous

I don’t usually waste space with boring stories from the homefront, but I have BIG news to report. After eight months living with us since graduating college, and after managing only six interviews in his first six months of alleged “efforting” to find a job, my wife’s son has FINALLY landed a job that will be making use of his Interior Architecture college degree.
    Proving that, against all odds, you actually CAN play Empire Builder and other equally pointless computer games 16 hours/day, and still eventually find a real job. Makes me a bit skeptical about the company he is going to work for, but the important fact is the job is three hours away from my house, and he is now their problem, not mine. HALLEFREAKIN’LUJAH!!

Sunday, April 3, 2022

All Over the Place: Cell Phones

From My Teaching Book

By Michael H. Brownstein

We have had a policy in my school for a while now prohibiting cell phones. I’m sorry, I just don’t seem to see this great urgency to have one. I don’t know why I would need to talk to someone all of the time everywhere I am no matter what. It puzzles me—people on the train, in the shopping center, on a date—all of them, talking, talking, talking on a cell phone. Obviously I’m one of the last people in America with a phone connected to a wall in my kitchen.
    One of my students asked, “What if there’s an emergency?”

Saturday, April 2, 2022

Fiction: A Killing on a Bridge (13)
A historical fiction

Saint Sebastian River Bridge
[Click image to call up
all published instalments]
By Roger Owens

Sunday,
June 18, 1922


Red and Guy looked around in the last of the day’s sun at the clearing where Guy’s still had set, according to him, just a few days before. He hadn’t wanted to ’fess up about it at all, but after Red had clouted him upside the head a few dozen times he’d relented. Guy could fight but Red had a good four inches of reach on him, and, as Guy liked to say when he was beaten, “About fifty pounds of mean.”
    It was true. Red had never lost a fight, and there had been a lot. Fighting was just what young men did. Young men who did not were considered sissies, homos, no account, or the worst: cowards. Almost rather folks thought you were a homo than a coward, Red had considered once. Guy could take a beating, couldn’t deny it, but Red Dedge just never cared how bad you hurt him. He kept coming until you were down, period, that was it.

Friday, April 1, 2022