Laminated Flyer for Uptown Dallas Art Collective by Candace Elizabeth Brooks (a.k.a. Ariadne Phoenix Levinson)

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New Links to Children’s Books by Candace Elizabeth Brooks (a.k.a. Ariadne Phoenix Levinson)

(Some of these Children’s Books are still in progress, and these links have only just been created today so the children’s books have not yet been transferred to them.)

1- https://thevirginmarybuysacar.wordpress.com

2- https://joanofarcthrowsasecretsurprisepotluckdinnerbirthdayparty.wordpress.com

3- https://aphroditewritesalettertothevirginmary.wordpress.com

4- https://princessmulandoescourtorderedcommunityservice.wordpress.com

5- https://cleopatrabecomesamermaid.wordpress.com

6- https://queenelizabethdesignsaskyscraper.wordpress.com

7- https://queenelizabethgoestoterrellstatehospital.wordpress.com

8- https://joanofarcfliesaplane.wordpress.com

Friendship Bracelets by Candace Elizabeth Brooks (a.k.a. Ariadne Phoenix Levinson) for the Uptown Dallas Art Collective Made (Approximately) in October 2014

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About this time last year I bought some bracelet making kits for approximately $12 and would make them and give them to people for a $2 donation each. I can’t remember how many bracelets could be made in each kit that I purchased at the Cityplace Market Target, I think I bought 4 of these kits and a couple of another type of bracelet making kit. I would use the profit on food, more supplies (either clothes or supplies for drawing the children’s book), and more bracelets. I would buy no more than two kits at a time. In my ultimate evaluation I would say they weren’t the most popular item, since they didn’t sell that well.

“The Hawk” (2010) by Candace Elizabeth Brooks (a.k.a. Ariadne Phoenix Levinson)

THE HAWK (Fall 2010)  

The electric doorbell chime on speakers throughout the house interrupts a commercial during Jeopardy, and Ruby starts for her metal walker. “Surprise!!!” A huddle of people behind the screen door, but she recognizes only Lydia. The smell of tobacco wafts in from the porch. “Eighty is a milestone year,” a man says, a kiss on her cheek. He takes off his baseball cap. One of the men stomping the mud off his boots comes inside from the garage in time for roast supper with carrots, on the next day. “Fixed that water heater.” She counts six people in the living room who eat with her off the extra folding TV trays she forgot she owned.

A hawk’s hard wings like banner fabric on the wind. Slicing sounds refract on ice. Whorled paths follow children on steel blades over the windowpane lake. Retrieving his fallen glove, Graham spins reverse. Vera clasps it to her chest away from him, skates off fast in open circles. White teeth twirl, black curls brush her taunting face, shivering laughing. A snapped twig, the ice sheet shatters. He feels her fists clash under him against the frozen wall of water, sees her frantic wide eyes. He shouts for help. He dives into the cold bone-strangling lake. Her body resists being pulled. His ears drum swimming further below. Grabbing her ankle, her ice-skate caught among rocks. Tight laces break cut by his Leatherman knife. Her blood-starved brain, dies by reaching surface. Tubes through her nostrils, she is upright forever in pijamas. Daylight casts dull moving shadows on the circle of knitted webs lengthening at home in the parlor. His thousandth door slam away from gossip clouds. Oxygen leaves his blood his knees rage, racing himself. Away from her submitting in the hayride, pumpkins rupture under the speeding truck tires.

The towns replaced by cornfields until the breeze-combed stalks blur into an empty bright horizon. Nina’s doll eyes move on Forsythia’s skin from the passenger side mirror. Air-condition silence after three hours of news radio. Godfrey’s neck bends back against the fabric seat. Eyes closed, his Adams apple swallows, Forsythia shifts in place. In Gordon, chemical smells, mothballs, 1960s flower neon housecoats sun faded on basement hangers. Forsythia motionless standing, sneezes seeing rolled up dust molded gray-green velvet drapes. The basement like a theater set, the TV/VCR combo and bedroom furniture raised on a wooden platform in a dark corner. Stale fluorescent lights tremble over walls painted linen blue. Kroger boxes stacked against them, labeled: POTS/SILVERWEAR. TOWELS/KNICK-KNACKS. Lydia placing a blank price sticker on an empty wooden curio cabinet, says, “I know Greg and Godfrey are going to fight over that jukebox.” “I can help with something…” “No, you’re fine. There’s nothing really to do but have them come over here and haul away all this junk.”

“Saw Everdell on the way out,” he says at dinner. He means, “Everdell saw me holding money, who hasn’t got anything now.” In her bed between her sisters’, eyes open in the dark night listening. Concern in her dad’s voice in the wooden planks of the floors and into her bedpost. Market crash. The contagion from the telephone call is worse it has festered since returning back with him from town. As water near water collects, as water lightning-struck charges. Muffled words to mother through the doors. Rumors like locusts that the banks have closed. A stock market crash. Now since breakfast dad is nowhere on the land. Hitch the horses out to town. Men off their farms, fifty or so assembled outside the brick bank building pitch mad demands into the open second story window, the rain on their mouths. Mama and Ruby search through the bearded leather faces. Mr. Jean shot himself last night. The banker, the clerk says. “What about our money.” Mama leads Ruby by the shoulders. Horse hoof beats on wet pavement. People collect out of their houses into the muddy cart swelled square.

In Iraq a pyre of human excrement ravages past the American bases violently at the stars. The desert lifeless 10 miles in every direction, infected by a noxious sour smell. Worse than death, it drowns his bleeding nostrils, overfills his stomach. Plastic Port-O-Johns bake in the sun in the day boiling excrement and urine at infernal temperatures. The Units take turns each night burning their waste. Godfrey dry heaves convulsantly, vomits dust; sand is blown back in his face. A Camel Light back at camp relaxes him. Moist baby wipes down his body. A fresh cotton t-shirt. Drinking Coca-Cola under a reading lamp over Genesis, Judah spares the widow his daughter-in-law for disguising as a whore because she is impregnated with his twins. She really pulls one over on everybody and gets Judah by the balls for not handing Shelah over when he turns legal. In Numbers Aaron stops a plague by thrusting a javelin through a Midianite harlot and the Israelite she seduces. When this happens they also are sleeping in a tent.

David thinks the moving sea is an animal because he is hallucinating on Nyquil. And the damp sand he has his feet in up to his ankles looks like television static. That the ocean is a thick a wet mirror of paint soaking up the sky after the storm. Billions of capillary waves shimmer on turning, because the wind is an invisible pinroll machine. Trillions of tiny pale yellow light bulbs blink on the outline of each ripple. The ocean, a big marquis-sign at sunset. A strobe of silent lightning in the distance vanishes. The wave sounds like wire threads struck hard against a cymbal. Tongue rolled crests splash. The waves sound like sex. Thunk, when they fall, breaking. The ocean is air beneath a satin lilac dress, casting sea foam nets onto the wet clay shore.

A little girl, her great granddaughter, Nina, is sprawled belly down on the shaggy carpet, bare feet up. She colors into a coloring book. The sunlight shines golden on her through white drapes. “Well, you sure do know how to make yourself right at home.” “Ha. Hah.” Metal spoons rattle against porcelain saucers on a tray. Lydia carries in tea from the kitchen, offering some to the pale woman staring at the TV, who reaches with both hands for a cup. “Now… Forsith,” Ruby points at her, “doesn’t talk much, just smiles and smiles…doesn’t she? And she’s so pale.” “Like a ghost.” “She’salbino.” “An albino, sweetheart.” “She needs lots of creams.” The blue glow of Jeopardy on television is the only light in the living room, it dances on the faces and arms of the family gathered this time with supermarket birthday cake on paper plates. Ruby whispers to Lydia above the other voices in conversation. “I am not going. No, I am not.” “Mother, you don’t have a choice. You can’t take care of yourself anymore.” “Sure I do take care of myself.” “You’ve fallen down three times in the last two months…we’ve got you packed already, mom.”

The basement, like a theater set, has a TV/VCR and a mattress on a wooden platform at the far right wall; overhead, long glass tubes tremble with flourescent light. The walls are painted linen blue, Kroger boxes stacked against them, labeled: POTS/SILVERWEAR. TOWELS/KNICK-KNACKS. An empty wooden curio cabinet stands next to a rolled up pair of dust moldy, gray-green velvet drapes on a bronze rack. Forsythia standing motionless at the center of the room as Lydia moves along the couches, the lavender one, the one tan, steps over the woven rug, placing blank price stickers on the objects too large to pack in boxes. Things the family doesn’t want to keep. Gregory will contend with Godfrey for grammophone stereo. Lydia’s church friend Sally is interested in the four-poster because it is antique. She tells Forsythia this pinching a sticker off its roll. Forsythia offers to help. “It’s okay. You’re fine,” Lydia says. “There’s nothing to do, really, but have the guys come out here and hall away all this junk.” Forsythia tugs her sleeves over her wrists. She steps slowly on the floorboards. When they creep the sound calls attention, holding her still. Seeing the accordion, its rusty metal plate, flower-embellished, she decides against picking it up.

The news of the stock market crash bounds like a rubber band snapped through the towns of Gordon, Whiting, and Jaspers. Telephone bells ring, telegrams tick, people walking out of their houses into the streets, hands in their back pockets, drive their carts into town, line up outside the bank, winding in a corner outside the brick building, men mostly, wearing farm clothes, the officials wear brown business suits. The town centers in Gordon, Whiting, and Jaspers, have comparable appearances, that consist, each of them, of a church house, a town hall, and a bank, Gordon with a fountain at the center, a donation from Cuthbert family. It is a cement cherub surrounded by goldfish spraying water at it. Ruby rode into town at her mother’s side on the gravel trail that goes from the barn to the center of Gordon. They survey the faces in line, looking for Herman, her father, who isn’t anywhere back on the land. Ruby’s mother Mona wrinkles her apron in her hands as rain begins to pour and agitated voices grow louder, words pitched into a near hysteric furor. Rumors, like locusts, are swarming, that the banks in Jaspers have already closed down. Ruby understands the people are afraid of losing their farms, are withdrawing all their money. If they don’t find Herman, they might lose everything, like the Everdells did in Whitfield. But they don’t see him. No one back out on the land has seen him since breakfast.

David lays drunk, stoned, stretched out on the shore, blankly staring at the stars turning inside out in the black sky. He drools. Sweats. His eyes roll pleasurably against his brain. Bathwarm ocean waves ripple along his feet and legs. He turns his head to face the girl next to him, wanting to speak, but his mind is like cotton and he can’t remember her name. She is topless wearing torn jean shorts loose over her emaciated stomach. She is white as the moon, ribs like tiger-stripes, her nipples hard, as she has NyQuil induced dreams. The sand shifts near him and soon he is blinded by flashlights. Cuffs are slapped around his wrists. Soon his mother’s red fingernails are pressing numbers on a beige plastic phone, the rubber cradle over her shoulder, and her red lips mouth words with her fast, angry tongue, as she sits cross legged on a stool in the kitchen. On the next day he is riding the Greyhound bus and listening to “Kind of Blue,” as he goes to live with his father, who is an electrician in Manassas, Georgia.

The hawk’s hard wings like banner fabric on the wind. Slicing sounds refract on ice. Jagged paths follow children on steel blades over the windowpane lake. Retrieving his fallen glove, Graham spins reverse. Vera clasps it to her chest away from him, skates off fast in open circles. White teeth twirl, black curls brush her taunting face, shivering laughing. A snapped twig, the ice sheet shatters. He feels her fists clash under him against the frozen wall of water, sees her frantic wide eyes. Her cheeks are blown purple with air. He screams for help, diving into the cold bone strangling lake. Her body resists being pulled. His ears drum swimming further below. Holding her ankle, her ice-skate caught on rocks. Tight laces break cut by his Leatherman knife. Her blood starved brain, dead by reaching surface.

Tubes through her nostrils upright forever in pijamas. Daylight casts dull moving shadows on the circle of knitted webs lengthening in the parlor. His thousandth door slam away from gossip clouds. Oxygen leaves his blood his knees rage, racing himself. Away from her submitting in the hayride, pumpkins gorged under the speeding truck tires.

The towns replaced by cornfields until the breeze-combed stalks blur into an empty bright horizon. Nina’s doll eyes move on Forsythia’s skin from the passenger side mirror. Air-condition silence after three hours of news radio. Godfrey’s neck bends back against the fabric seat. Eyes closed, his Adams apple swallows, Forsythia shifts in place.

In Gordon, chemical smells, mothballs, 1960s flower neon housecoats sun faded on basement hangers. Forsythia motionless standing, sneezes seeing rolled up dust molded gray-green velvet drapes. The basement like a theater set, the TV/VCR combo and bedroom furniture raised on a wooden platform in a dark corner. Stale fluorescent lights tremble over walls painted linen blue. Kroger boxes stacked against them, labeled: POTS/SILVERWEAR. TOWELS/KNICK-KNACKS. Lydia placing a blank price sticker on an empty wooden curio cabinet, says, “I know Greg and Godfrey are going to fight over that jukebox.” “I can help with something…” “No, you’re fine. There’s nothing really to do but have them come over here and haul away all this junk.”

Her bed between her sisters’, eyes open in the darkness listening. Concern in her dad’s voice in the wooden planks of the floors and into her bedpost. Market crash. Like a contagion from the telephone call, that grew returning back with him from town. As water near water collects, as water lightning-struck charges. Muffled words to mother through the doors. “Saw Everdell on the way out,” he said at dinner. He meant, “Everdell saw me holding money, who hasn’t got anything now.” Rumors like locusts that the banks have closed. A stock market crash.

Since breakfast dad is nowhere on the land. Hitch the horses out to town. Men off their farms, fifty or so, assembled outside the brick bank building pitching mad demands into the open second story window, the rain on their mouths. Mama and Ruby search through the bearded leather faces. Mr. Jean shot himself last night. The banker, the clerk says. “What about our money.” Mama leads Ruby by the shoulders. Horse hoof beats on wet pavement. People collect out of their houses into the muddy cart swelled square.

In Iraq a pyre of human excrement ravages past the American bases, violently at the stars. The desert, lifeless 10 miles in every direction, infected by a noxious sour smell. The smell, worse than death, drowns his bleeding nostrils, overfills his stomach. Plastic Port-O-Johns bake in the sun in the day, boiling excrement and urine at infernal temperatures. The Units take turns each night burning their waste. Godfrey dry heaves convulsantly, vomits dust; sand is blown back in his face. A Camel Light back at camp relaxes him. Moist baby wipes down his body. A fresh cotton t-shirt. DrinkingCoca-Cola under a reading lamp over Genesis. God telling Aaron that —-, a whore is the reason why a plague has come upon the Jews. His spear through her stomach purifies them, who also are living in tents. Later Joshua’s descendent — the widow is smart enough to disguise as a whore and impregnate herself with her wealthy brother-in-law’s son. She is spared for pulling one over on everybody.

David thinks the moving sea is an animal because he is drunk on Nyquil. And the damp sand he sits upon looks like television static. That the ocean is a thick wet mirror made of paint collecting the storm and the dusk but shimmering them, mixing them into gray green spreading them into silver gray green. Waves roll in horizontal parallel lines to the shore before breaking. Sea foam cast like nets onto the shore. The mighty ocean rumbles under him. Why it is nowhere still. The ocean shimmering like air through satin, even like billions of tiny pale yellow neon lights blinking. The ocean is a big marquis sign at sunset. A stroke of silent lightning in the distance disappears.  The waves curl with the sun in every direction. The clouds feather soft, but they are untouchable. The wet clay shore. Even the sounds of waves are like waves increasing in strength their volume is size they creshendo to a lapping fall, invisibly pinrolled. And the sun changes course and the shimmering dims, or inverses reflecting the blue mixing the colors of sky and cloud. A wave builds and is cast and spread. The sky darkens, the ocean changes mood. Like beer froth. Thunk when they fall. Like sex. The waves sound like sex. And they move fast speed up collecting, move fast spilling fast into the shore all the ripples at a different pace. The waves sound like a brush over a piece of gold tin. The waves are percussion instruments because the wind blows them. Two more horizontal waves at a time. One like a waving skirt flailing. The waves sound like water poured out of a glass. Now gray and getting darker his eyes adjust. The horizion flat as if he could walk across it. As if there were little distinction between the middle of the ocean or the end at the horizon line, where somewhere it is a thick band of blue and another place is white invisible. The lights on a ship that looks like it sails right on the horizon line, moving across it without moving. The lightning flash is muffled behind the clouds this time, looking in the distance what is close looks less clear because as time moves forward the sun diminishes and there is little difference between the sand and the color of the waves that have only the last drops of green, at one end blue.  How it swirls at dusk collecting the sun’s hews after a storm.

Now gray and getting darker his eyes adjust. There looks to be little space at all between the middle of the ocean or the end at the horizon line, where somewhere it is a thick band of blue and another place it is white invisible. The lights on a ship that looks as if it sails right on the horizon line, moving across it without moving.

The wind, an invisible pinroll machine, agitates the water as billions of capillary waves shimmer on turning. Trillions of tiny pale yellow light bulbs blink on the outline of each ripple. The ocean, a big marquis-sign at sunset. A stroke of silent lightning in the distance disappears. The wave sounds like wire threads struck hard against a cymbal. Tongue rolled crests splash. Thunk, when they fall, breaking. The ocean is air beneath a satin lilac dress, casting sea foam nets onto the wet clay shore.

As if there were little distinction between the middle of the ocean or the end at the horizon line, where somewhere it is a thick band of blue and another place is white invisible. The lights on a ship that looks like it sails right on the horizon line, moving across it without moving. The lightning flash is muffled behind the clouds this time, looking in the distance what is close looks less clear because as time moves forward the sun diminishes and there is little difference between the sand and the color of the waves that have only the last drops of green, at one end blue.  How it swirls at dusk collecting the sun’s hews after a storm.

David thinks the moving sea is an animal because he is drunk on Nyquil. And the damp sand he has his feet in up to his ankles in looks like television static. That the ocean is a thick a wet mirror of paint absorbing the sky after the storm and the dusky sunset, mixing the grey-green smoke colors and spreading them out into silver orange. The wind, an invisible pinrolling machine, agitates the water as billions of capillary waves shimmer on turning. Trillions of tiny pale yellow light bulbs blink on the outline of each ripple. The ocean is a big marquis-sign at sunset. The ocean is air beneath a satin lilac dress, casting sea foam nets onto the wet clay shore. A stroke of silent lightning in the distance disappears. The waves sound like wires struck against a gold cymbal, rolling their tongues into crests that thunk when they splash, breaking. Size is their volume.

, into its surface.

trillions of tiny pale yellow neon lights blink between its threads

The wind  swirled, agitated into frothy white capped waves by the wind, an invisible pinroll machine.

and the wind, an invisible pinroll, mixes them. Billions of waves shimmer.

The colors as crashing waves smeared into silver gray green, turning gold lilac into beer froth.

shimmering them, mixes them into gray green, spreads them into silver gray green gold orange.

That the ocean is a thick wet mirror made of paint collecting the storm and the dusk but shimmering them, mixing them into gray green spreading them into silver gray green.

The sky darkens, the ocean changes mood. Not seafoam but beer froth. The waves sound like sex. Now gray and getting darker his eyes adjust. The middle of the ocean so flat that he could walk across it. As if there were little distinction between the middle of the ocean or the end at the horizon line, where somewhere it is a thick band of blue and another place is white invisible. The lights on a ship that looks like it sails right on the horizon line, moving across it without moving. The lightning flash is muffled behind the clouds this time. After looking in the distance what is close is less clear. As time moves forward the sun diminishing, now there is little difference between the sand and the colors of the waves.

drops his glove and spins

The hawk’s hard wings like banner fabric on the air. Laughter echoes on open ice. Steel sounds of twelve ice-skate blades carving paths into the frozen windowpane lake, as children move on it.

The lake is frozen. The lake is ice. The water in the lake has frozen.

The doorbell rings during a Jeapordy commercial break. Ruby rocks out of her chair

The surprise Monday night during Jeapordy nearly shocks her, she only recognizes Lydia at the door. “Eighty is a milestone year.” “No, I am not going. I am not.” Ruby says to Lydia. Television is the only light on in the room, dancing on the faces and arms of the family gathered with supermarket birthday cake on paper plates in her living room.

Sound clip of Jeapordy.

but it is dinner time and the drapes are drawn open to the gray street.

The hawk’s hard wings like banner fabric on the wind. Steel sounds of twelve ice-skate blades echoing paths in the frozen windowpane lake as children move over it. Graham spins reverse retrieving the glove that fell. Vera grabs it before he does, skates away from him in open moon circles. Petal lips, porcelain teeth twirl, black curls against her taunting face, shivering laughing. She trips on a rock of snow, thuds heavy on a thin sheet of ice. Like thunder, it breaks open. In three seconds the lake is swallowing her. Cheeks puffed with air through clear ice. Her black eyes are wide frantic. Graham shouts for help. Frozen water strangles his lungs and bones, diving in the lake. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulls her towards him, but her body resists. She is caught by something. He swims deep into the dark iciness, feels his head go light, his heartbeat pumping in his ears, needing oxygen. Her skate is caught among rocks. The laces are too tightly strung. Clasping her ankle, he uses his Leatherman knife to tear them apart. Free, she floats weightlessly. By the time they reach surface she has stopped breathing.

The basement, like a theater set, has a TV/VCR and a mattress on a wooden platform at the far right wall; overhead, long glass tubes tremble with flourescent light. The walls are painted linen blue, Kroger boxes stacked against them, labeled: POTS/SILVERWEAR. TOWELS/KNICK-KNACKS. An empty wooden curio cabinet stands next to a rolled up pair of dust moldy, gray-green velvet drapes on a bronze rack. Forsythia standing motionless at the center of the room as Lydia moves along the couches, the lavender one, the one tan, steps over the woven rug, placing blank price stickers on the objects too large to pack in boxes. Things the family doesn’t want to keep. Gregory will contend with Godfrey for grammophone stereo. Lydia’s church friend Sally is interested in the four-poster because it is antique. She tells Forsythia this pinching a sticker off its roll. Forsythia offers to help. “It’s okay. You’re fine,” Lydia says. “There’s nothing to do, really, but have the guys come out here and hall away all this junk.” Forsythia tugs her sleeves over her wrists. She steps slowly on the floorboards. When they creep the sound calls attention, holding her still. Seeing the accordion, its rusty metal plate, flower-embellished, she decides against picking it up.

Forsythia by train tracks throws stones against the rusted stationary boxcars.

Grown over with moss. A stone, another stone, unlooking for the right size stone projects easiest howls loudest. The stone has a wake. The stone in her hand, her shoulder wounding. The almost release and the fear of being unable. Her numb hand from clasping the stone. That she won’t open her fist. Her wrist instead will tear away from her. Instead the car draws it out as if inhaling. Loud it is throat shattering. And the ground. Tripped on a shot one time thinking: she cracked the box car. Did not, just a coming train passing. Forsythia daring the second time, to run by the moving train let it graze her fingers. A penny flattened in her pocket, a scorched thumb. Lights out in that house at 9 o’clock but the sharp talking. Forsythia with toilet paper ears. With a walkman. Under the pillows. The metal springs that sound rusted too. The dog who comes always after and his cold nose on her feet to wake up. Her blanket missing reappears on the other bed the other girl and the other girl. Prefers namelessness Forsythia since it’s revolving doors there. The crack of light under the door not dancing painting the wooden floor with television. Blurry voices anyway. Forsythia in the classroom spelling Forsythia at the margin. The bell startles her towards another room. Forceps in the hallway. Locker-room Forceps. Basketball to the head, bounces. Cafeteria peas and cardboard pizza milk. For for for. Music lasts one hour. Forsythia drumming.

David has been watching Godfrey throw back shots for three hours. The bar has an obnoxious pink neon clock and to match the neon country music jukebox. He habitually re-rosins his pool cue standing against the black wall, at least ten minutes must pass each time before anyone takes the next turn. 9 ball. More beer-rounds. He isn’t listening, not to the music or their voices. Women move across their laps, some of them good-looking. The cigarette smoke is suffocating. Outside some fresh air, but he also smokes. Perhaps it is better when the air is clean to muddy it. The cars move cautiously from street-light to street-light since it’s nearly last call. Their slow red lights and his slow red cigarette light and Godfrey comes out. Looking for you bro. I’ve been out here. Ready to go back. Yeah bringing a couple of friends. Drunk idiot. David and the softcore in the next room. Denny’s in the morning, beers all day in Godfrey’s room until the next. Conversations that start but go nowhere. David is reluctant to say anything, as if speaking were an insult to his thoughts.

Today I’m going to show you how to make a simple thirty minute chicken marinara. It’s fresh, it’s quick, and you can come right home and throw it in the oven, have it ready for the family. Alright? Oil paints. Pre-mixed turquoise on the wooden pallate a thin tipped brush for the details around the edges of grass blades. Such small strokes Lydia needs to squint through her glasses and lean forward to see them clearly. So first you take the chicken breast, and if it’s frozen just remember to thaw it out while you’re at work so nobody kills you for not having dinner ready. There are hundreds of grass blades. Hundreds of little turquoise edges that blow brightly in the wind on the side of the road leading to the symmetrical church, a white cross at the steeple’s needle tip. The sky is cloudless yet. The dogs bark before Forsythia opens the front door, calling them down. Thaddy Banyon Get In Here. Lydia tells the dogs. Now. Their black nails scratch against the wooden panels and Lydia closes the door behind them. Plastic bags rustle in the kitchen. I always, always make my sauce from scratch. And it’s easy, and quick, if you have it pre-made, you can put it in a plastic container like this one…yeah, isn’t that convenient? Now watch this I’m just gonna sautee a little piece of garlic…I know don’t you love that smell? Her paint strokes are a few degrees faster; she sometimes glances at the television affixed to the wall, high in a corner. Forsythia is beginning to chop vegetables from the kitchen. In minutes a smell of heady broth wafts into Lydia’s paint-room.

Something Godfrey has to hide, pornography. Something he must be afraid of doing, listening to rap music and looking at it. Something that must happen but which doesn’t though always remains a threat. Something that might as well have happened when the Playboys disappeared. A conversation that doesn’t take place because their words are more strained than anyone’s. Just a feeling the following hour when she brings him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and milk. She sets down the plate so the ceramic rattles to express her inexpressable dissapointment, the air hitting him as she turns, her skirt like the gesture of a bull scraping its hoof on the dirt. He would take the sandwich and gratuitously bite into it. He would chew like a cow and loudly slurp up the milk. He would toss the dish into the metal sink for her to wash. She would gossip loudly on the telephone. Not gossip, but agree inflecting her consternation, always shock. You would think at some point the world would stop pissing her off so much. He would take a basketball to the front yard, above the garage like all the other American houses on American streets. His would be grey and there would be more space, land between them. He would bounce the ball down hard on the pavement, you could still hear her yacking not yacking just listening in agreement, as though at church, and saying amen to the antichrist teletubbies or whatever. He would bounce the ball hard down on the concrete, its sound like something hollow its sound like someone running in slow motion the sound of your own feet running but in slow motion and amplified. She’d raise her volume too Oh I know in her voice that is almost his mockery of it. In her voice that sounds just like when he mocks it, except her rendition is meaner than his own. He just busts her balls. She just busts his. He would be frustrated suffocated by not being able to say, what did you do with the playboys, I’m seventeen, I bought them with my own money, not being able to joke with her like his friend does with his old lady and says he only reads the articles or something. Since she wouldn’t buy it from him bounce since he doesn’t read bounce bounce. Oh I know. Bounce. That’s crazy. Bounce. Bounce. He’d be frustrated and humiliated bounce at not being able to bounce be a guy. Bounce bounce. And Bonnie told me she saw her at the supermarket with Ezra and it was as if nothing happened between them? Bounce. What a hypocrite, he would be thinking. Hypocrite because she spends all her life talking about bounce other people’s failures. Bounce bounce. So what does that bounce make her bounce. Bounce bounce. He wouldn’t be shooting hoops. Just bouncing the stupid ball while the dogs watched him through the fence in the back yard, their noses sometimes through the wire, nostrils flaring to catch his smell. He’d stop the ball and sniff his shirt. No more church friend on the phone. He’d go take a shower and slam the door behind him wearing Walmart cologne. Peel out of the driveway fast.

In Nebraska a few years after the great depression someone came to Ruby’s house to gather her family’s story as part of the farming administration writer’s project. It was set up days in advance and Ruby’s mom sewed different buttons on her dress because it was missing one. In other words, none of the buttons matched. It was made of mismatched buttons. It was a common thing but for Ruby it was a sentimental loss, like the words of Christ in red in the Christian bible. Shall I explain what I mean for you. It was a dramatic symbol that her family’s wealth was starting to dwindle like everyone else’s. Though they didn’t talk about it with the children. She was an only child her older brother was killed in world war i. She saw at the wooden table, the whole kitchen, the whole house wooden and old since her grandfather had built it himself. And dark in the livingroom, the only light through the kitchen window that looked out on the yard and its garden, and the mechanized bird-feeders her father the judge was making out of scraps of wood and timber now in his retirement, since he married a woman two lifetimes younger than him. She was in the kitchen since in those days just to wash a pot was a big ordeal or to clean an oven, complicated to cook. To clean up and have put away in time for company. An apron these cliches that constitute a memory. Worn nearly threadbare. Her hair braided and combed up. But where would her father be at? The interviewer would arrive and again, the judge would be missing. Her mother wiping her hands on a dish-towel, the apron put away, stockings, something about stockings, no stockings, but a pencil line on the back of her legs to pretend she wore them. Ruby her mother and the interviewer there, the clock ticking and a clean glass of water on the table. The interviewer’s notebook sitting in front of him, his pen at the side, her mother telling him about the stuff around the neighborhood, like how old it was, how this one man came to Nebraska to start a farm but wound up being a minister who married an indian and moved onto the reservation having a mission there but being converted and how he was last seen shirtless hunting bears in the winter. The interviewer clearly not even listening. Since the judge had tried the murderer of the Macon twins who was later cleared after his hanging since their father confessed. That was far more interesting to him since the interviewer wanted to be a reporter for a newspaper but in times like these he had to take this job instead. So the interviewer didn’t hear the story either about how when Ruby’s mom mom first came to Nebraska she met a cowboy coming back from the goldrush in California and just for letting him stay the night he left her a sack of gold. Or some innocent story where Ruby’s mom doesn’t realize (nor does Ruby) that her mom’s mom was paid for sex. She would talk with this stretched smile and her eyes as if they were hands or a frog tongue stretching out to draw a fly. This nervous need to hold his eyes on hers because he hardly even looked at her. And Ruby would be like don’t look at me, I have to be here because you are. I have to wear my mismatched button dress to show you we’re wearing mismatched buttons too, now. Ruby would hear her friends down the street tying a can to a dog’s tail, causing some cheap kind of ruckus, and dusty in the first hour after school, but she’d already taken her bath today and she’d have to go straight upstairs and try to read American History while the grown-ups got to listen to the lone ranger on the radio. So it would be a heavy half hour, a whole hour for Ruby, because she watched her mom cooking, cooking a boiled hen, and her mom didn’t like to let her help because of the time she burned her hand and the Judge scolded her. So the judge would show up after that interval with some candy for the girl and a magazine for her mother. It would astonish the mother since they were supposed to be overdoing their loss. Why would they be over-doing the loss? Because the judge pulled his money out in time, and because he owned buildings. But no one knew he pulled the money out, since they didn’t want people to feel angry at him. How did he know to pull his money out? He didn’t. He was fortunate. fdsakkkkk====

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Manifesto (in progress) for the Uptown Dallas Art Collective by Candace Elizabeth Brooks (a.k.a. Ariadne Phoenix Levinson), Uptown Dallas Art Collective Editor-in-chief

If I was going to turn this into a book, I would outline it as follows:

Introduction

Beethoven

Nietzsche

Ayn Rand

Socrates/Plato

Marx/Hegel

Dali

Sigmund Freud/Carl Jung

(Please note that there are many things that I am in the process of supporting in primary texts and with my own arguments, such as my discussion about the musical prophets in the Bible. For instance this is my interpretation of the role that the presence of King David serves in the bible. I also interpret Beethoven’s allusions to Songs of Thanksgiving as referring to King David, who also wrote songs of thanks.)

by Candace Elizabeth Brooks (a.k.a. Ariadne Phoenix Levinson), Uptown Dallas Art Collective Editor in Chief

This is the Manifesto for the Uptown Dallas Art Collective.

The purpose of the Uptown Dallas Art Collective is to demonstrate that the role of Art in our lives is more important to us than all other possible occupations and past-times. The Uptown Dallas Art Collective acknowledges the fact that life is a construct of creative expressions that exist with the intention of defining the limits and the aims of truth. Insofar as this is an accurate description of the tendency of the dominant powers of existence, we as beings who are capable of creative artistic expression, have a spiritual obligation to strengthen our abilities to express ourselves, and the workings of the world to which we bear witness, in music, literature, painting, dance, drama, and all of the sciences and humanities, if they could be incorporated into the single word Art, for the sake of the ethical discipline they require and the spiritual truth they seek to discover and preserve.

This idea is developed from the philosophical discussions of the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche, that truth is found through the making of Art, and reality is constructed upon the premises that are agreed upon as consistent for that perspective which dominates the experience of the observer of the events of life. In short, the Uptown Dallas Art Collective recognizes that Art has not only the ability, but also the inherent tendency to define truth.

In this respect, and others, the Uptown Dallas Art Collective follows the spiritual and philosophical contributions of thinkers and artists such as Nietzsche, Ludwig van Beethoven, Jesus, Ayn Rand, Socrates, Plato, Karl Marx, Georg Wilhelm Hegel, Salvador Dali, Sigmund Freud, and more. We feel as a collective that in order to be connected to our spiritually highest selves, it is necessary to appreciate the force of the creativity of God and acknowledge that, not only is God the highest of all creators, but that God is a creative Artist, a creative consciousness which defends that Truth is Love and that Love is Justice. Therefore, the dominion of Art is to give voice to the ideas and the ideals that demonstrate the injustices that cause this world to be imperfect and unequal. The purpose of Art is to defend love, brotherhood, to uphold individualism, collectivism, virtue, and glory, and to combat the forces of cowardice, idleness, and falsehood.

God is able to hold up individualism and collectivism at the same time because of the fact that in order to have a functional society, its members must work together as a group for the best interest of everyone who lives in the community, but at the same time, its members must be able to survive on their own. Individuality and collectivism reflect the nature of God because God is simultaneously unique and multifarious.

Beethoven is the patron saint of the Uptown Dallas Art Collective because we believe he defends the ideals of Art in a more heroic and triumphant way than any other artist or leader in history. Despite the deafness that stripped him of his ability to express his superhuman skill on piano, or his talents on other instruments, or his ability to hear the sounds of nature or of public musical performance of his works or those of others, or to participate in the conversational exchange of spoken words in social settings (as he had been known to do in his early adult years), Ludwig van Beethoven continued to compose music with the mindset and intention that it would bring joy to others. There is ample evidence to support the suggestion that Beethoven viewed himself as a role model for his own generation and future generations of artists and people who would face personal challenges in their lives, or those who would seek glory and sublimity.

Beethoven’s sometimes volatile personality might be shocking to those who would compare him to a statesman, to Buddha or to Jesus, for instance; there is the infamous time when he hit a waitress who had been encouraged to flirt with him[1], or the reported incidents of his throwing objects at people[2], or in general[3], as well as reports of his having frequented brothels[4]. Nevertheless in expressing his emotions, Beethoven might be speaking to those people who would be interested to know if something was troubling him. In his violent outburst, Beethoven demonstrates that something is causing him to be extremely unhappy, and that he is attempting to resist it, even though it might detract from his reputation.

In Matthew 21:12, Jesus is described as showing violent anger that can be compared to Beethoven’s displays of outrage:

And Jesus went into the temple of God, and cast out all them that sold and bought in the temple, and overthrew the tables of the moneychangers, and the seats of them that sold doves,” (Holy Bible, KJV) [5]

Beethoven’s emotional outbursts might be evidence to his admirers of the fact that he was not a passive-aggressive person, fawningly subservient to environments or people that he did not appreciate. And as far as we know, Beethoven’s tantrums never caused any serious injuries to people.

Although certain writers about Beethoven suggest that the allegations about his father’s physical abuse against the child piano virtuoso are unreliable, I believe that the “storm” movement in Beethoven’s Symphony No. 6 in F major, Opus 68, the “Pastoral Symphony,” provides an example of an instance where Beethoven has composing music that simulates the drama he experienced when his father became violent towards him during his youth. Popular myths about Beethoven’s childhood are that his father would wake him up in the middle of the night to force him to practice piano[6], or boxed his ears as a manner of controlling him[7], (and that this is what caused Beethoven to go deaf).

Talk about the cause of Beethoven’s deafness: (although no final conclusion has been deemed to be the incontrovertible cause of Beethoven’s deafness, many explanations have been posed which include syphilis, typhus, lead poisoning, or his frequent tendency to place his head in cold water in an attempt to stay awake.[8] Russell Martin’s 2000 book, “Beethoven’s Hair,” draws a connection between the high lead content in Beethoven’s hair and the fact that the cheap wines available during Beethoven’s time were laced with lead.

http://beethoven-s-lead-poisoning-harryamon.blogspot.com

http://www.academicwino.com/2014/04/lead-poisoning-wine-beethoven.html/

was this lead laced wine induced

Beethoven’s deafness and lead poisoning.

MOST LIKELY THE MEDICAL EXPLANATION WOULD BE THAT HE SUFFERED LEAD POISONING WHICH APPEARED IN TESTS OF HIS HAIR)

Nevertheless, in Beethoven’s letters there is more than one example of an apologetic personality, who cares what people think of him[9], a thoughtful minded individual who is capable of self-analysis and introspection, and for whom it is important that people trust his intentions. If we contrast Beethoven’s descriptions of himself in his letters to his moments of outburst and reputation for going to brothels with the fact that he went deaf and also had a reputation for being unlucky in love, we find an artist who was constantly under the scrutiny of public opinion, who was judged not only for his artistic output but for the way he lived his life. Beethoven’s redemption of his temper problems is resolved in the music that reflects his philosophical and spiritual purpose and in his writings that show his concern with doing the right thing and living virtuously[10].

Based on the testimony that Ludwig van Beethoven gives of himself in his tagebuch (his diary), and in his letters, he shows himself to be an artist who was self-aware about the vastness of his own talents, who thought about the moral implications of the decisions he made in his life, knowing that other artists would come after him who would look to him for inspiration.

Ludwig van Beethoven, aware of his extraordinary musical talents even before he went deaf, and then later, conscious of the supreme magnitude of the public test that he faced in being a composer whose onset of deafness was made known about to his critics and potential rivals, as well as his benefactors and supporters, claimed not to fear the creator who afflicted him. Rather, he was frequently known to demonstrate the high principles that guided the decisions he made and the way he lived his life, including the causes that he championed, such as human rights, artistic liberty, and freedom from political tyranny. Upon going deaf, the world’s pre-eminent piano virtuoso acknowledged the historical importance of his iconic life in regards to how his successfulness despite his debilities would positively impact the people of the world who could learn from his personality and his personal philosophy. Beethoven seemed to see himself as able to teach individuals by example not to allow themselves to be destroyed by their challenges, that also they should not fight or perform when they are absent of passion[11], that people ought to have personal pride no matter their social class or circumstance[12], and not let themselves be taken advantage of, or disrespected by others[13].

Few great artists or persons in history are so generous and open with words of personal advice as Beethoven, and this is a fact about the composer that deserves to be appreciated about him in comparison to other major iconic figures of the world. In addition to being a musical educator, Beethoven shows an extreme concern with representing himself to his admirers as one who wants to impart to them the secrets of his success, or the principles by which he governs all of the actions of his life.[14]

Modern scholars appreciate the manner in which Beethoven, as a composer of religious music, such as the Missa Solemnis, was also a student of religion, who consulted various translations and versions of important texts of the religions of the world. Ludwig van Beethoven was baptized Catholic at birth, but did not practice Catholicism because of his stated disagreement with its traditions. [15] Later in his life, Beethoven shows an interest in the investigation of eastern and western spirituality including Persian/Hindu literature and pagan mysticism, most evinced, perhaps, by his Symphony No. 9 (Opus 125), in which he orchestrates a clash and then resolution between eastern and western ideals (without having analyzed the score, my analysis of the conflict described by Symphony based on close listening suggests that the resolution is achieved by the outburst of song in the final movement, which happens in a musically groundbreaking way).[16] In his late phase, Beethoven is also found returning to the early church modes of music, in his writing of the Heiliger Dankgesang (translated, “Holy Song of Thanks to the Godhead from the Convalescent, in the Lydian Mode”[17]) in String Quartet No. 15, (Opus 132). [18] I also point to references to spirituality and prayer the in 6th variation of the 4th movement of Opus 131 (and possibly, though I don’t have my Div iii with me right now, there are scholars who agree with this assertion, or who have already promoted it).

My Division iii project at Hampshire College was entitled The Spiritual Beethoven of Opus 131, and building upon many of the advances made in the field of Beethoven Studies since the birth of the composer, it focused, among other things, upon the manner in which Ludwig van Beethoven used the facts of his personal biographical experience to express not only his conception of God[19], but also to define his ideas about the connection between Art (specifically, in the case of Beethoven, his music) and spirituality.

In addition to this, Ludwig van Beethoven urged artists who would come after him to become familiar with all of the important ideas of every age. In a letter written approximately 1820, Beethoven writes that

“it is certainly the duty of every musical composer to become acquainted with all the earlier as well as more modern poets, in order to select what is most suitable for his purpose for songs.[20]

I cite this quotation here because I believe that it reflects the convictions of Ludwig van Beethoven regarding the responsibility of the artist in knowing the most important ideas of every age (including spiritual ideas), which is what poets represent, and which the composer interprets when s/he sets their works to music or writes music of his/her own.

Alongside the spiritual questions that concerned Beethoven exist world philosophical and political ideas that he was uniquely qualified to appreciate from his perspective as a genius educated in the ideals of the enlightenment, yet who was bound to the servant class because he was a musician/composer.

The life of Beethoven and the attitude of the composer regarding the societal injustices that he perceived when it came to social inequality between the nobility and other classes in the Europe of the French Revolution is reflective of a seemingly constant personal struggle for power over control of his life, both over his finances and also over his creative/expressive freedom.

Even in the last year of his life, Beethoven is found still writing about the difficulties he faces in making a living from his music. In a February 22, 1827 letter to Sir George Smart in London, Beethoven writes:

“My salary is in itself so small, that I can scarcely contrive to defray my half–year‘s rent out of it.”[21]

(Should I mention his dispute with Prince Lichnowsky?)

No doubt the economic pressures that Ludwig van Beethoven faced in his life imposed not only upon his artistic output but also influenced his political worldview. In a conversation from 1801, Ludwig van Beethoven says that he believes,

“There ought to be but one large art warehouse in the world, to which the artist could carry his art-works, and from which he could carry away whatever he needed. As it is, one must be half a tradesman.”[22]

<<<(Napoleon and the “Eroica” Symphony)>>>

 

<<<<(Beethoven refers to himself as a military strategist?)>>>

<<<(Beethoven’s arrest by the police who think he is a vagrant until they are able to identify him)>>>

After his death, Ludwig van Beethoven left behind a corpus of musical compositions, letters, and conversation books, which, in reflecting a legendary artistic personality who leads others by example, also provide a guiding instruction to the aspiring artist who would come after him, to do one’s best and not let the concept of fate define the limits of one’s ability before trying.

We should appreciate Beethoven for the theoretical contributions he makes to the world in defining his artistic ideology. His theoretical interpretations of his artistic mission and world view make him not only a composer, but a philosopher also, whose influence, though not yet totally chronicled by cultural historians in the 188 years since his death on March 26, 1827, is nonetheless pervasive and appreciable throughout all the arts and sciences[23]. Beethoven, through total intention and determination forged his name to signify an act of will to freedom, creation, truth, clarity, and purity.

BEETHOVEN’S INFLUENCE ON THE OTHER MAJOR THINKERS MENTIONED

There is ample evidence of Beethoven’s respect for great heroes and thinkers through history. Beethoven claimed that his models in life were Jesus and Socrates,[24] and he also used a quotation that the (German?) poet Schiller attributed to Joan of Arc in a poem about her, when people asked him about the sketchbook that he carried everywhere[25]. This shows that Beethoven respected people who were devoted unto the end of their lives to the defense of the visions and ideals that they were charged by providence to defend, especially when their ideals championed the strengthening of the human spirit or the empowering of the human mind, such as these heroes. Beethoven also mentioned Apollo, he wrote music about Prometheus, and Coriolanus. There is a quote where Beethoven talks about Minerva, in addition to the phrase associated with Isis that was framed in glass on his writing table[26]. He was also a friend of Goethe.

NIETZSCHE

It is clear that Beethoven was influential upon the philosophical purpose of Nietzsche: to inform generations of artists and thinkers (“philosophers of the future” as Nietzsche calls them in Beyond Good and Evil) to live courageously, and to defend in the utmost way the values they believe are the most important. In “Beethoven in German Politics, 1870-1989,” David B. Dennis writes:

                  Early reservations notwithstanding, Nietzsche’s love for and comprehension of Beethoven deepened throughout his life. In philosophical allusions to Beethoven, he described the composer as having lived a Dionysian mode of existence. Especially overwhelmed by Beethoven’s depiction of the “starry canopy” (Sternendom) in its fourth movement, Nietzsche suggested in Human, All-Too-Human that one could use the Ninth Symphony to comprehend the philosophy of Dionysus. He made this explicit in The Birth of Tragedy: “Transform Beethoven’s ‘Hymn of Joy’ into a painting, let your imagination conceive the multitudes bowing to the dust, awestruck- then you will approach the Dionysian. Now the slave is a free man, now all the rigid hostile barriers that necessity, caprice, or ‘insolent fashion’ have fixed between man and man are broken.” Elsewhere, Nietzsche characterized Beethoven as having been himself an Übermensch. (pgs. 43-44)[27]

Some of the major themes of Nietzsche’s philosophical writings are: types of art, the search for truth, the importance of perspective, the nature of endurance under impossible or unbearable conditions, the mind/body relationship, the role of the concept of morality in a world that is “fated” to exist (and possibly by implication its opposition to a universe that has no fated course), as well as the question of the nature and construction of Time in the universe and the tendencies and characteristics of the forces at play in the world of science, in addition to the hierarchies to which they adhere.

Nietzsche also talks about the future and development of humankind. Along with Nietzsche’s questioning of the morality of a fated world comes a recognition that oftentimes one of the greatest achievements of a type of government that enforces systems of selective moralities is that it functions to create obedient bodies that are capable of being educated or put to work.

One of the major groundbreaking (in his own opinion) criticisms that Nietzsche offers is a critique of the relationship between the Catholic Church and the Catholic Government. Nietzsche seems to express a fondness for the historical figure of Jesus Christ and demonstrates a desire to redeem him or distinguish him from the reputation of the Catholic Church that succeeded his death.

One of Nietzsche’s achievements is to criticize the tendency of the Catholic Church (based on the teachings of Jesus Christ) to be overly moralistic, (perhaps one of Nietzsche’s assumptions here is that the Catholic Church should take into account the fact that if God is perfect, then all of his actions must have a demoralized explanation).

Another of Nietzsche’s implicit critiques of the overly moralistic nature of the Catholic Church, or his critiques of those who would be overly moralistic in their judgments of others, seems to stem from a kind of Nietzschean code for the acceptable manner for the battle of forces, which is somewhat comparable in its tone to “The Art of War, by Sun Tzu[28] wherein fighters and generals are concerned with the materials of war: In part I of the introduction to “The Art of War,” Sun Tzu writes that:

“3. The art of war, then, is governed by five constant factors, to be taken into account in one’s deliberations, when seeking to determine the conditions obtaining in the field.

  1. These are: (1) The Moral Law ; (2) Heaven; (3) Earth; (4) The Commander; (5) Method and discipline.”[29]

In the same way that it seems that Sun Tzu is concerned with efficacy in war strategy, Nietzsche as a philosopher concerns himself with efficacy in the search for truth.

Having been immersed in the Greek philosophical tradition, Nietzsche’s method shows a marked observance of Socrates’ intentions, which are the search for truth in existence. In my personal summation of Nietzsche’s philosophical strategy, I suggest that he protects as most pertinent the importance of personal perspective in the assessment of truth and value in all existence.

A reading of Nietzsche will remind the reader that personal perspective is the only truth that can be quantified or relied upon. His introduction to the book, “Beyond Good and Evil,” which serves as an introduction to his theory of the Anti-christ, Nietzsche unfolds the problem of Truth, which is one of the major issues in philosophy. Nietzsche talks about “THE GOAL TO AIM AT….” after a brief summation of the known wonders of the modern world. In the introductory section, it seems as though one of the purposes that Nietzsche achieves is a critique of social systems which deny personal perspective as one of the most important pathways to the discovery of truth.

After reading several works by Nietzsche, I suggest that for this philosopher, the word “truth” is a synonym for the word “justice.”

When Nietzsche describes his theory of the “Eternal Recurrence” of time, or “Amor Fati” as the attitude by which to overcome the threatened defeat of a fate that is defined or control by external forces sometimes impossible for the ego (a word that Freud uses, but which I think can be applied here, since the ego seems to be the focus of a specific perspective. I am not sure if Ayn Rand uses the word “ego.”) to prevail over.[30]

Part of “Amor Fati,” nevertheless requires some response from the awareness seeking to define itself as a force of power in the universe. With this awareness comes an assessment, an opinion which attempts on some level to define the conscious ego’s reaction to the forces impinging upon it.

As far as I can recall, I do not believe that Nietzsche asks people to be oblivious or ignorant to the forces at play around us. Nor do I believe that Nietzsche defines as a strong force of power one that is unaware or disconnected from the scope of known reality. Instead, it seems that what Nietzsche is trying to do is suggest that the strongest force in the Eternal Recurrence is the one that is self aware and honest even to the point of the recognition of its own limitations (which in every opportunity possible it should do its best to attempt to transcend).

When those limitations can be defined by a cognizant, observant ego, Nietzsche then suggests, in a very Buddhist type way, that those limitations which the ego cannot transcend must be embraced as though they will have to last eternally (CITE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE).

When those acknowledged weaknesses become part of the ego’s functioning self-definition, it seems that the will might then be given more of an ability to control itself, or at least the ego might be given another opportunity to find happiness in existence, because its self acceptance enables it to embrace its weaknesses, by being more aware of them.

This might seem a kind of mastery of force that Nietzsche introduces to us which allows us to know ourselves by truly testing how much we can tolerate and even accept about ourselves, and by extension, learning the difference between what we are able to control and what we have no control over.

By contrast, and in certain ways by compliment, Sun Tzu’s art of war is frequently concerned with the idea of hiding or manipulating truth.

BECAUSE TRUTH IS A KIND OF POWER.

It seems that one of Nietzsche’s primary authorial intentions is to focus on the importance of systems of hierarchy in the known universe.

IT SEEMS THAT THE LOGICAL TRANSITION BETWEEN AMOR FATI AND NIETZSCHE’S DISCUSSION OF THE DEFINITION OF TRUTH MIGHT BE ACHIEVED BY AN EXPLANATION ABOUT

HOW THE FUNCTION OF THE POWER OF TRUTH IS THE MANIPULATION OF PERSPECTIVE,

AND HOW OUR PERSPECTIVES ARE MANIPULATED BY THE POWERS OF THE PERSPECTIVES AROUND US, WHICH CONTROL TRUTH.

As a philosopher, he is concerned with traditions of the history of philosophy, but also with the known history of the universe. In Chapter I of “Beyond Good and Evil,” Nietzsche discusses the importance of an awareness that the fabric of reality seems to be constructed by a series of fictions.:

  1. The falseness of an opinion is not for us any objection to it: it is here, perhaps, that our new language sounds most strangely. The question is, how far an opinion is life-furthering, life-preserving, species-preserving, perhaps species-rearing, and we are fundamentally inclined to maintain that the falsest opinions (to which the synthetic judgments a priori belong), are the most indispensable to us, that without a recognition of logical fictions, without a comparison of reality with the purely IMAGINED world of the absolute and immutable, without a constant counterfeiting of the world by means of numbers, man could not live—that the renunciation of false opinions would be a renunciation of life, a negation of life. TO RECOGNISE UNTRUTH AS A CONDITION OF LIFE; that is certainly to impugn the traditional ideas of value in a dangerous manner, and a philosophy which ventures to do so, has thereby alone placed itself beyond good and evil.[31]

Nietzsche presents his book as an attempt to focus on the concepts of morality and good and evil in a way that might redeem value systems that are often considered negative (and some of the reasons for this, he claims, is that Jesus was not a moralist, or (elsewhere other works where he talks about the Eternal Recurrence of Time) that moral judgment or denunciation, in a system of fated time such as the eternal recurrence, is, like pity, a waste of energy, since all things that are fated, exist in the way they should or MUST exist). There are many evidences in modern history which cite the interpretation of Nietzsche’s “liberating” effect upon value systems that a much longer time ago might have been considered socially unacceptable (such as the conditions of Nazi Germany during WWII, or the news articles that talk about murders or suicides that have resulted after students have read the philosophy of Nietzsche, or popular films that focus on Nietzsche’s theory of the “Superman” as a license for man to take morality into his own hands in order to attain a perspective of supreme detachment from the control of other opinions).

OR: There is a lot of evidence in modern history of Nietzsche’s influence on the attempt to demoralize the articulation of certain value systems which ages ago would have been considered socially unacceptable (such as the conditions of Nazi Germany during WWII, or the news articles that talk about murders or suicides that have resulted after students have read the philosophy of Nietzsche, or popular films that focus on Nietzsche’s theory of the “Superman” as a license for man to take morality into his own hands in order to attain a perspective of supreme detachment from the control of other opinions)

In my opinion it seems to be by design that Nietzsche’s philosophical purpose would seek to give his audience the language by which to express the real truth in their hearts, instead of “performing” the functions expected of them in order to be acceptable members of society.

In this way, it seems that Nietzsche is honoring the chronology of the philosophical tradition that he is a part of, despite that Nietzsche frequently seems to portray himself to be a kind of maverick or “trailblazer” among metaphysical thinkers. For instance, Hegel (CITE) also interprets human history as always tending towards freedom and goodness, even in the midst of tragedy.

Returning then to the quotation cited above, it appears that Nietzsche’s purpose, given the context under which the quotation appears, after an introduction by Nietzsche, or a summation, of the philosophical quest for the definition of “Truth,” is to BEGIN (in a kind of chronological way, and in this way Aristotelian, by focusing on the inverse of what is sought after) with what he is ABLE to identify about the conditions of the universe in which he lives.

Although he begins by liberating falseness or deceit from a moral evaluation, he does so within the context of searching for actual truth. His search for truth is begun as a search for “un-truth,” by allowing his audience the perspective from which to appreciate the functions of untruth which hold social systems together.

Nevertheless, there seems to be something in Nietzsche’s tone which uses “triggering” language, to “dare” his audience to take the risk of invoking the powerful act of defending values, actions, or opinions, that are immoral.

“TO RECOGNISE UNTRUTH AS A CONDITION OF LIFE; that is certainly to impugn the traditional ideas of value in a dangerous manner, and a philosophy which ventures to do so, has thereby alone placed itself beyond good and evil.”[32]

It even seems that Nietzsche provides a cultural analysis which might seem as though it appears to give people the license or permission to USE manipulation and deceit as a method of control or expression of will. Nietzsche’s language seems to have the tone of condoning evil At least the historical use (Nazisim, casual murder) of Nietzsche’s philosophy appears to point to this interpretation of his words.

Elsewhere in his book, “Beyond Good and Evil,” Nietzsche talks about the importance of posterity in the evaluation of ideas or actions:

“Greece took a hundred years to find out who the garden-god Epicurus really was. Did she ever find out?”[33]

“42. A new order of philosophers is appearing; I shall venture to baptize them by a name not without danger. As far as I understand them, as far as they allow themselves to be understood—for it is their nature to WISH to remain something of a puzzle—these philosophers of the future might rightly, perhaps also wrongly, claim to be designated as “tempters.” This name itself is after all only an attempt, or, if it be preferred, a temptation.”

It is very important for me to stress right here that I believe Nietzsche’s philosophical purpose is to expose the truths that can be identified as the mechanisms that control human society.

But I think there are different points along the map of civilization that Nietzsche’s philosophical purpose is to show.

Nietzsche nonetheless demonstrates a preference for some values over other, since in talking about the importance of human perspective, he is also spends a lot of time engaged in the activity of the pursuit of thought, reflection, and opinion. These are actions which implicitly value some forces over others.

Pyramids that take many ears to build.

about the fact that in 50 years

Golden Laughter…..

that

effect of “liberating” value systems that

a closer reading of Nietzsche

some interaction with and engagement with the forces that define the perspective.

seems that Nietzsche’s method is to argue that

all the major philosophical schools through history  is able to distance

Don’t hate or pity your enemy, don’t consider your enemy your enemy, because it would put your enemy at the same level as you.

implicit critique of

also the criticisms of the catholic church for being ostentatious

but Nietzsche’s appreciation of the catholic church and the catholic system of government is that it creates workers who can be controlled by their government in various ways, including the fact that they can be made to put aside their their obsession with their possessions in exchange for the betterment/benefit of everyone subjected by the Nations who function by systems of government that are follow those of Catholic Rome (I think Nietzsche mentions Rome, but I have to research this to be certain).

Since a large part of Nietzsche’s philosophy is to question the supremacy of systems of morality and value, one of his purposes seems to be to influence his readers to take more active roles in the shaping of their worlds. Although Nietzsche has a historical reputation (cite sources) for influencing people to act recklessly or tyrannically, his writing does not expressly advocate immorality by questioning morals.  One answer to this stylistic choice might be that Nietzche the author is aware of a Hegelian kind of movement of the forces that push the development of the world. He might be using a kind of Reverse psychology that intends to push history forward by exposing its evils which he knows will be overcome by goodness. He might be luring his readers into a false sense of confidence in being able to reveal their true natures, meanwhile having the philosophical certitude that their wickedness, once revealed, will be defeated.

(Also government esp. his critique of Catholic government.)

“Nietzsche, Ludwig van Beethoven, Jesus, Ayn Rand, Socrates, Plato, Karl Marx, Georg Wilhelm Hegel, Salvador Dali, Sigmund Freud, and more.” HOW THEY HELPED TO SYNTHESIZE HIS MESSAGE AND WE CAN LOOK IN HINDSIGHT.

As a synthesis of the ideas above, the Uptown Dallas Art Collective represents the following principles:

The Uptown Dallas Art Collective agrees that the purpose of life is happiness, and that the initiation of force is something to be avoided. When it comes to questions about economy, morality, education, spirituality, or politics, the Uptown Dallas Art Collective recognizes that the only way for all of the members of humanity to be truly happy is if they are able to freely express themselves in a society that protects the sanctity of the institution of Art. The Uptown Dallas Art Collective believes (as Beethoven teaches) that this institution exists for the sake of reflecting the God-force of creation, which always tends towards Truth, Love, and Justice.[34]

The Uptown Dallas Art Collective believes that people should do what makes them happy, not what makes them money. People are sometimes fortunate when they find that they can make a living doing what they love. But this is not the case for everyone. The Uptown Dallas Art Collective appreciates that thanks to the technological advances of modern systems of industry, most of the tools and equipment needed for human survival and artistic creation have been invented and manufactured.

The problem of universal human education is no longer a question of the production and dissemination and distribution of books, or a lack of translations or educators. Thanks to the invention of the Internet, all of the classical canon can be downloaded and read by the percentage of the global population who is fortunate enough to be literate. The cost of an education is the amount of time that a person is free to devote to their studies.

What remains is not a question of whether there are enough supplies for our existences, but as Nietzsche implies in his writings, a desire to use these supplies, these literary and artistic tools, which have been achieved for the enlightenment of everyone.

<<<<FUNDING WILL BE THERE IF PEOPLE UNITE IN A COMMON ARTISTIC PURPOSE>>>>

The Uptown Dallas Art Collective believes that Ludwig van Beethoven, as its patron saint, is an example of a human being who is able to unite all of the individuals of the world in the common cause of the bringing about of a modern Renaissance which reinterprets the classical canon of literature through the lens of the biography of a single hero whose story remains to be mythologized by all the morally righteous people of the world: all races, ages, and walks of life. It is our belief that if everyone knew about the life and the legend of Beethoven, they would understand the importance of working actively to help immortalize him and affect the degree of his relevance to all historical ages by expressing how his impact has influenced them to be more heroic artists in their own lives. Many times, the true testament of a hero is expressed, as in the case of Jesus Christ, as a result of the strength of the testimonies that attest to the works of faith inspired by the hero being scrutinized.

THE WORK OF CHRONICLING THE LIFE AND IMPACT OF BEETHOVEN WOULD BE A TASK THAT UNITED PEOPLE WITH THE INTEREST TO USE THE TOOLS THAT WE HAVE FOR THE MAKING OF ART.

PEOPLE ARE SELFLESS AND LOOK FOR HEROES FOR INSPIRATION.

Opus 131

One of the major analytical arguments I proposed in my thesis about Opus 131 was that this piece, which stands unique from the other major works of Beethoven, was written in a narrative style that in many ways seems to parallel in theme and tone several of the major conflicts in the life of Beethoven, especially those that are spiritual in nature. I also suggested that that the manner in which the piece resolves these various dissonances resembles the biographical resolution Beethoven achieved in his own life in finding the strength to transcend his debilities by defining himself by his determination to challenge his destiny.

It is at the finale in this unique quartet where Beethoven’s triumphant, rhythmic, sweeping, characteristic style is revealed in its full force for the first time in the entire work. I suggest that one of the effects of this compositional decision is that to its audience it appears that this style is “achieved” by the self-analytical, self-revelatory techniques demonstrated earlier in the work.

As I have continued to study this piece after my time at Hampshire, it has occurred to me that Ludwig van Beethoven might be seeking for the artists/thinkers who would want to consider themselves part of his school to participate in the same kind of self-interpretative practices as him (especially as evinced in the compositional structure I offer in my summary of Opus 131 WHERE (FUGAL) NARRATIVE AND CONVERSATION (DANCE) AND SOCIAL STYLES OF MUSICAL EXPRESSION (PRAYER) ARE WHAT EXPOSE AND RESOLVE (FUNERAL MARCH) THE DISSONANCE OF THIS PIECE). This might allow them to order to be more representative of the search for Truth (and thus, of God).

Based on the teachings of Beethoven in his writings and in the structure I attribute to Opus 131, the Uptown Dallas Art Collective has successfully promoted several art activities that aim to harmonize and synthesize the various abilities required for the creation of myth and solidification of legend in a way that intends to prepare people for the task of becoming artists who could devote their lives to immortalizing the legendary German composer Beethoven.

These projects, in addition to helping people to become better artists who are self-fashioned after the teachings of Beethoven, also provide a way for the Uptown Dallas Art Collective to self-sufficiently generate and acquire resources such as art making materials, musical instruments, computers, and venues for art making and art performance. In addition, through the art-producing activities that the Uptown Dallas Art Collective involves itself in, funds may also be raised for members of the collective to travel to destinations that are relevant to art-education and appreciation. AND TO SHARE THE POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY OF BEETHOVEN.

The two ongoing typesetting projects: LettersofBeethoven, and ThusSpakeZarathustrainUptownDallas demonstrate examples of collaborative reading that give people the opportunity to practice reading and interactively typesetting classical text online. The LettersofBeethoven blog was created with the intention that laypeople and experts in Beethoven studies might have access to a new method of collaborative reading that highlights the importance of reading for personal enlightenment, alongside the triumphs that can be gained in group-reading environments. ThusSpakeZarathustrainUptownDallas also aims for a similar goal as the LettersofBeethoven blog, except that here the focus is on Nietzsche.

These projects demonstrate the options available to people in terms of access to literary works that are free of copyright restrictions on Project Gutenberg, but additionally they show an example of a good potential source of revenue for the Uptown Dallas Art Collective, a means to generate capital that could go back into the collective.  Project Gutenburg provides free access to important texts that should be studied by all people.

Typesetting activities, such as the ones mentioned above, and the practice of book publishing/binding techniques, would allow members of the Uptown Dallas Art Collective to create and publish special edition and newly mass published books from the Project Gutenburg collection. Project Gutenburg charges a 20% royalty fee when profits are made from the dissemination of the texts on their site.[35]

Book publishing, book binding, typesetting, and the use of a printing press, are important art forms of their own, and there are many opportunities for artists to express their own interpretations/experience of the texts they are publishing/binding, from the selection of specific paper to the design of new cover art and the decision to use certain fonts and text alignments/margin settings.

True scholars know that the love of a book is not exhausted only upon a single reading. There is no doubt that there would be book collectors willing to purchase special edition art bindings of classic texts. There is also every reason to expect that there are many schools and educational institutions in addition to consumers at large who would prefer to buy books published by a Community Art Collective that conducts itself according to the ethical and artistic principles of Beethoven.

In addition to the book-making project, the Uptown Dallas Art Collective also has a Public Domain Art Graphics Project, which gives people the opportunity to familiarize themselves with great works of fine art, but also allows them to receive a functional education in Graphic Design, which can be turned into a capital generating activity. This project allows people to use pictures of artworks that are in the public domain, via Wikipedia Commons, for the purpose of practicing techniques that will allow them to create new works of art based on the artworks that are no longer copyrighted. These works of art could include the manufacturing of materials (clothes, supplies) and advertisements that contain versions of the Public Domain artworks that are shown on Wikipedia. The revenue generated by this project could go back into the funding the collective as it acquires more tools for art-making and art education.

Children’s Book Series based on the lives of great heroines in history.

Earth Stewardship could be one of the practices of the Uptown Dallas Art Collective.

WITH THESE PROJECTS A COLLECTIVE COULD BE STARTED THAT WAS SELF SUSTAINING. IT WOULD BE A SAFE HAVEN FOR PEOPLE WHO WERE IN ABUSIVE ENVIRONMENTS OR LIVING UNHAPPY LIVES. A CAMPUS FOR THE UPTOWN DALLAS ART COLLECTIVE COULD BE BUILT. PEOPLE WHO HAD MENTAL ILLNESSES WOULD BENEFIT FROM THE PROJECTS OF THE ART COLLECTIVE. THE PROJECTS COULD BE INTRODUCED TO JAILS, HOSPITALS, AND NURSING HOMES, SO THAT THE COLLECTIVE COULD FUNCTION BY MEANS OF CORRESPONDENCE. PEOPLE COULD DEVOTE THEIR LIVES TO PURSUING THEIR OWN EDUCATION IN ART AND IN LEARNING ABOUT AND DOCUMENTING THE LIFE OF BEETHOVEN AND INTERPRETING HIS WORKS FOR THE SAKE OF FURTURE GENERATIONS.

Beethoven talks about a storehouse– this could cure world hunger.

Beethoven’s arrest by police who thought he was a vagrant because he had no way to identify himself.

What we can learn from the other great thinkers mentioned at the beginning of this mission statement, and the ways we can imagine that their biographies demonstrate Beethoven’s influence on their own lives. We can also argue that the Holy Bible demonstrates an awareness of musical prophets and poets like King David[36], who Beethoven might be referring to in his song of Thanksgiving Opus 132, as well as in the “Shepherd’s song” in the finale of the “Pastoral Symphony” (Op.68).[37]

If King David was immortalized for his musical and poetic praises to god, then an argument could be proposed that Beethoven’s must have had some self-awareness in assessing his own talents

(https://www.google.com/#q=Beethoven%27s+piano+performances+caused+audiences+to+cry)

https://books.google.com/books?id=fdSIBIyrsU0C&printsec=frontcover&source=gbs_ge_summary_r&cad=0#v=onepage&q=Beethoven%20Bible&f=false

This also talks about the translations of Latin that Beethoven consulted.

importance to the advancement of the dominant existing world religion.

Other questions that concern Ludwig van Beethoven

There are many reasons why the Uptown Dallas Art Collective is concerned with questions about social equality, which the study of the life and music of Ludwig van Beethoven brings to light.

His beliefs in equality.

His beliefs in fate.

BEETHOVEN’S RACE (according to Wikipedia Beethoven’s father was one half Flemish. They called Beethoven der Spagnol because of his dark complection?)

Psychological therapy from the creation of art as the overcoming of psychological trauma.

 

WE KNOW THE IMPORTANT IDEAS

SWAP ONE IDEA FROM A GREAT THINKER FOR ANOTHER FROM BEETHOVEN

BEETHOVEN AND REVOLUTIONARY SYMPHONIES

(using his full name again here consciously because I am trying to draw attention to the fact that he is a man. The name “Beethoven” now is too tangled in popular caricature, which is in my opinion an incomplete portrait of the composer when compared to the intentions of my project)

(I think I remember Ludwig van Beethoven might somewhere have claimed to hate liars more than anything. Possibly it was swindlers? Perhaps Kant is more appropriate a reference here.)

of these nuances are relevant to collectors

(with new cover art, new fonts, different paper quality)

or new mass published editions of

Because all of the Project Gutenburg (Gutenburg.org) works are free of copyright restrictions,

(I don’t know about the importance of non-profit organizations, in terms of a group identifying itself as a non-profit. But I do know that these are ways that the Uptown Dallas Art Collective could make things that it could sell which could then all go back into the collective for purposes of the collective to

labeling a group in this way)

to turn that education into

and to learn about graphic design.

but also to create graphic artworks

ADULT LITERACY PROGRAM

(Story about Beethoven punching a waitress in the face.)

(Story about Beethoven going to brothels.)

(Beethoven’s claims to military strategy.)

[1]https://books.google.com/books?id=q2T99ZNA2E4C&pg=PA97&lpg=PA97&dq=Beethoven+Waitress&source=bl&ots=aly22OG089&sig=ru1dS3blm5e7OJcIitu1moTm4do&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0CCwQ6AEwAmoVChMIhqfWxPDgxgIVFy6ICh2oogKS – v=onepage&q=Beethoven Waitress&f=false

http://www.good-music-guide.com/community/index.php?topic=239.620

https://books.google.com/books?id=7EluvjtL2aEC&focus=searchwithinvolume&q=waitress

[2]https://books.google.com/books?id=oLzdIh19x70C&pg=PA6&lpg=PA6&dq=Beetho

http://www.badeagle.com/2011/12/16/beethoven-was-a-revolutionary/

[3]https://books.google.com/books?id=oLzdIh19x70C&pg=PA6&lpg=PA6&dq=Beethoven+throws+a+chair&source=bl&ots=TgGFoSD-qC&sig=mEv6nRoV-X2zG4m3hRkMIAi8oTQ&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0CCQQ6AEwAWoVChMIguq6__HgxgIV0CuICh29eg4E – v=onepage&q=Beethoven throws a chair&f=false

[4] http://www.dailymail.co.uk/home/books/article-2769881/Rage-lust-Ludwig-brothel-creeper-He-lonely-frustrated-love-silence-Beethovens-sublime-music.html

[5] http://biblehub.com/matthew/21-12.htm

[6] http://www.midiworld.com/beethoven1.htm

[7] http://www.ralphmag.org/ES/beethoven.html

[8] http://www.beethoven.ws/loss_of_hearing.html

[9]https://books.google.com/books?id=KexJAQAAQBAJ&pg=PA172&lpg=PA172&dq=Beethoven+apologies&source=bl&ots=gofq4Q-T3X&sig=8f52vn7RUquC-MZkmwdJvEHPvpo&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0CCIQ6AEwATgKahUKEwiG8LOqhOHGAhXXLYgKHeSqCqM – v=onepage&q=Beethoven apologies&f=false

https://books.google.com/books?id=u5596V_Q9wQC&pg=PA3&lpg=PA3&dq=Beethoven+Apologies&source=bl&ots=bnnavsAEgq&sig=MRRtgNuXzQ39JAnphtMfiqq8cVM&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0CD0Q6AEwBmoVChMI3pnb14XhxgIVEEaICh3F2A8- – v=onepage&q=Beethoven Apologies&f=false

[10] http://thinkexist.com/quotation/recommend_virtue_to_your_children-it_alone-not/328000.html

[11] “In 1809 he fled from Grätz Castle, the summer home of Prince Lichnowsky, after refusing to perform in the presence of French officers.” (“Beethoven in German Political Culture,” page 29) This is an anecdote about Beethoven that has not been entirely proven, although it remains part of his legend.

https://books.google.com/books?id=CHZIRLA7YZ4C&pg=PA29&lpg=PA29&dq=Beethoven+in+the+presence+of+French&source=bl&ots=zKnFlLKq7G&sig=qD037T2ckMPHnDkILI_VzxA_gPo&hl=en&sa=X&ei=Dv6OVa6rKc7roAT7r6nACA&ved=0CDMQ6AEwAw#v=onepage&q=Beethoven%20in%20the%20presence%20of%20French&f=false

https://www.awesomestories.com/asset/view/Beethoven-Patron-Karl-Lichnowsky

https://books.google.com/books?id=v0597Beh43EC&pg=PP1&dq=Beethoven+and+his+world%2Bclive&cd=1#v=onepage&q=Lichnowsky&f=false

[12] When he says that the prince is a prince by an “accident” of his birth, but there is and will only be one Beethoven.

[13] Evidences in a summary of his letters which constantly seek to convince people that his music is worth more. Evidences in letters that show Beethoven’s disdain for swindlers, etc.

[14] His reference to a distant sun. https://books.google.com/books?id=9nMq7Z8992MC&pg=PT48&lpg=PT48&dq=Beethoven+distant+sun&source=bl&ots=dr4wKxLijV&sig=_vZXOLAHR9S6qHbuzircGwYLBzs&hl=en&sa=X&ei=oLaIVZOxJMfyoASu6YOwDQ&ved=0CCsQ6AEwAg#v=onepage&q=Beethoven%20distant%20sun&f=false 98. “The true artist has no pride; unhappily he realizes that art has no limitations, he feels darkly how far he is from the goal, and while, perhaps he is admired by others, he grieves that he has not yet reached the point where the better genius shall shine before him like a distant sun.”

 (Teplitz, July 17, to an admirer ten years old.) Beethoven, the Man and the Artist, as Revealed in His Own Words by Beethoven http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3528

[15] Spiritual Lives of the Great Composers, Page 60-61 https://books.google.com/books?id=fdSIBIyrsU0C&printsec=frontcover&source=gbs_ge_summary_r&cad=0#v=onepage&q=Beethoven%20Bible&f=false

[16] This is something that was discussed in the class at Amherst College, which was taught by Jenny Kallick, which I took in Fall of 2002.

[17] This is the translation that appears in “Lateness and Brahms: Music and Culture in the Twilight of Viennese Liberalism” by Margaret Notley https://books.google.com/books?id=JXpKgheIjZcC&pg=PA5&lpg=PA5&dq=Holy+song+of+thanks+from+the+convalescent+to+the+godhead&source=bl&ots=ddimWO_J4l&sig=i0sQGCd5239a0LPWofRJfXJrwHU&hl=en&sa=X&ei=40iLVYvlC4jboASl3pH4Cw&ved=0CCsQ6AEwAg#v=onepage&q=Holy%20song%20of%20thanks%20from%20the%20convalescent%20to%20the%20godhead&f=false

[18] “[Thursday] Classical Music Blogging Opus 22: Beethoven’s Hymn of Thanksgiving” http://www.dailykos.com/story/2010/11/25/923128/–Thursday-Classical-Music-Blogging-Opus-22-Beethoven-s-Hymn-of-Thanksgiving#

[19] His tagebuch has many allusions to God and an argument can be made that Beethoven’s concept of God can be ascertained by Beethoven’s manner of addressing him.

[20] https://beethovenletters.wordpress.com/2012/10/04/289-testimonial-in-favor-of-herr-v-kandeler/

[21] https://beethovenletters.wordpress.com/2015/04/12/465-to-sir-george-smart-london/

[22] Ludwig van Beethoven, from Conversations, 1801 https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Ludwig_van_Beethoven

[23] I would like to propose that Beethoven’s influence on the philosophical concept of Will deserves to be studied. At least Beethoven’s awareness of the philosophy of Kant and other philosophers show Beethoven to be discursive with them in a contemplative way, but that where Beethoven might not have been able to respond to them with treatises in their own disciplines, he responded to them in the music he music and with the actions of his life, in addition to the advice he gave to others about art and life. I also suggest that Freud’s concept of the “Family Romance,” seems influenced by the biographical account of Beethoven’s life, and Beethoven’s so-called “nobility pretense” where he did not deny that he was the illegitimate son of Frederick William II. The storm movement of the 6th Symphony sounds very much like a narrative of his youth, there is something about it that sounds like comedic opera of terror.  (“The Symphony: A Listener’s Guide” by Michael Steinberg https://books.google.com/books?id=lozBiI1ehiIC&pg=PA51&lpg=PA51&dq=Beethoven+illegitimate+son+of+the+emperor&source=bl&ots=m2N-KTlECq&sig=AwP-98Sv-RX46JR5uJKEKpA4fdQ&hl=en&sa=X&ei=F1WLVfW0MpL7oQTm77b4Aw&ved=0CD0Q6AEwBg#v=onepage&q=Beethoven%20illegitimate%20son%20of%20the%20emperor&f=false) Einstein(‘s theory of relativity can be compared to the opening sounds of the 9th Symphony), Nietzsche.

[24]https://books.google.com/books?id=mxSEKQZYKScC&pg=PA170&lpg=PA170&dq=Beethoven+Jesus+and+Socrates&source=bl&ots=uKWLHThXQN&sig=n-lQTaIkHWi6G9SP5UNv11DZmWs&hl=en&sa=X&ei=RxaXVbWeHJbmoASMrqT4Dg&ved=0CCwQ6AEwAw#v=onepage&q=Beethoven%20Jesus%20and%20Socrates&f=false “Socrates and Jesus [Socrates u. Jesus waren mir Muster] were my models:” those words entered in a conversation book for May 1820 show Beethoven’s identification with those who sacrificed their lives for truth and salvation.” (p. 170)

[25] https://books.google.com/books?id=2ZH3v2_-4F4C&pg=PA210&lpg=PA210&dq=Beethoven+without+my+banner&source=bl&ots=0oaeJuxn8s&sig=hVhF9yQnfkllx_zja4MGrpkKnmc&hl=en&sa=X&ei=NBeXVdfTJsrfoASRpbngDQ&ved=0CB4Q6AEwAA#v=onepage&q=Beethoven%20without%20my%20banner&f=false “And when he was questioned about the sketchbook that he invariably carried on his walks, Beethoven was wont to paraphrase Schiller’s Joan: “Without my banner I dare not go.” (p. 210)

[26] https://books.google.com/books?id=xPe_pN8lPc8C&pg=PA117&lpg=PA117&dq=Beethoven+isis&source=bl&ots=sCrXUvIlUQ&sig=5-Qtqg3D5dsuPg-4isTQK7_2g98&hl=en&sa=X&ei=bCyXVbeWJYnKoATlhZHYBg&ved=0CCQQ6AEwAQ#v=onepage&q=Beethoven%20isis&f=false   “Also subject to multiple interpretations are several ancient Egyptian and Orphic inscriptions that Beethoven copied out from Schiller’s essay, “Die Sendung Moses” (The Mission of Moses) and kept under glass on his writing desk during his later years: the first two are Saitic inscriptions, one allegedly taken from a statue of Isis, the other purportedly inscribed on a temple or pyramid at Sais; the third is from an Orphic hymn used in initiation rights of the Eleusinian Mysteries.” (page 117)

[27] https://books.google.com/books?id=CHZIRLA7YZ4C&pg=PA44&lpg=PA44&dq=nietzsche+beethoven&source=bl&ots=zKnFqPHnfO&sig=6YGdLc6xK8_xz_PF1bUGSJgmtmo&hl=en&sa=X&ei=4i6XVcOfLcOzogTci5jgBg&sqi=2&ved=0CEUQ6AEwBg#v=onepage&q=nietzsche%20beethoven&f=false

“Change Beethoven’s ” jubilee-song ” into a painting, and, if your imagination be equal to the occasion when the awestruck millions sink into the dust, you will then be able to approach the Dionysian. Now is the slave a free man, now all the stubborn, hostile barriers, which necessity, caprice, or ” shameless fashion ” has set up between man and man, are broken down. Now, at the evangel of cosmic harmony, each one feels himself not only united, reconciled, blended with his neighbour, but as one with him, as if the veil of Maya had been torn and were now merely fluttering in tatters before the mysterious Primordial Unity. In song and in dance man exhibits himself as a member of a higher community: he has forgotten how to walk and speak, and is on the point of taking a dancing flight into the air. His gestures bespeak enchantment. Even as the animals now talk, and as the earth yields milk and honey, so also something super natural sounds forth from him: he feels himself a god, he himself now walks about enchanted and elated even as the gods whom he saw walking about in his dreams. Man is no longer an artist, he has become a work of art: the artistic power of all nature here reveals itself in the tremors of drunkenness to the highest gratification of the Primordial Unity. The noblest clay, the costliest marble, namely man, is here kneaded and cut, and the chisel strokes of the Dionysian world-artist are accompanied with the cry of the Eleusinian mysteries : ” Ihr stiirzt nieder, Millionen ? Ahnest du den Schopfer,

Welt ?” * “ (Niezsche, Birth of Tragedy, 27, 28) https://archive.org/stream/thebirthoftraged00nietuoft/thebirthoftraged00nietuoft_djvu.txt

[28] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Art_of_War http://classics.mit.edu/Tzu/artwar.html

[29] http://classics.mit.edu/Tzu/artwar.html

[30] http://www.nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/literature/laureates/1949/faulkner-speech.html In William Faulkner’s Nobel Prize acceptance speech on December 10, 1950  in Stockholm, Sweden, William Faulkner says he belives “that man will not merely endure: he will prevail. He is immortal, not because he is alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance. The poet’s, the writer’s, duty is to write about these things. It is his privilege to help man endure by lifting his heart, by reminding him of the courage and honor and hope and pride and compassion and pity and sacrifice which have been the glory of his past. The poet’s voice need not merely be the record of man, it can be one of the props, the pillars to help him endure and prevail.” (the full lecture appears in “Nobel Lectures, Literature 1901-1967, Editor Horst Frenz, Elsevier Publishing Company, Amsterdam, 1969.)

[31] https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4363/4363-h/4363-h.htm

[32] https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4363/4363-h/4363-h.htm

[33] https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4363/4363-h/4363-h.htm

[34] Beethoven’s use of the “Ode to Joy,” and the revolutionary themes in his other works and writings.

[35] https://www.gutenberg.org/wiki/Gutenberg:The_Project_Gutenberg_License

[36] “Because of his zeal for Him and His Kingdom, God used David mightily as a prophet to flesh out many of those promises in his writings, the Psalms,” Richard T. Ritenbaugh, David the Prophet, http://www.cgg.org/index.cfm/fuseaction/Library.sr/CT/PW/k/1514/David-Prophet.htm

[37] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Symphony_No._6_(Beethoven) translation from Wikipedia: ‘Shepherd’s song. Happy and thankful feelings after the storm’