Subject irreverence is sometimes serious (but not always)
DateCreated 1/13/2007 11:15:00 AM
PostedDate 1/12/2007 8:47:00 AM


                          Gabriel Aresti, 1963


Esanen dute




baina nik

esanen diet


mailu bat


the universe provides... and thank you Quasar and z0tl and Serenity... Basque poetry rocks... but before we get to that, I was wandering the web as I usually do in the wee hours of morning or anytime I happen to have a few moments to sit down at the computer which could be anytime of day any day of the week except, of late, the mid-day hours as I've not to long ago returned to the world of day trippers and, though quite flexible, basically a 9 to 5 schedule for the purposes of earning money to pay the bills of living in this sweet and funky (and rather fragile) culture when I came across the news that 30 Seconds to Mars are supposed in town on March 10th and the venue doesn't have any info yet (weird) and I just found out that Warped Tour will be back on June 25th  (funky) and in between making lists (though checking them twice wasn't happening at that particular time) and the good folk at tickle dot com give me a free 15 page in-depth analysis of my brain after I took their IQ test in my sleep one night and my dear adorable genius cute thing reminding me of years gone by when I would stumble upon the brilliance of brief thoughts and diary celebrity and I asked myself, what would bobby burgess do?...

actually, aside from all the name dropping I did over in the daily babble (where you will find me writing freely if you want to), if you are really curious about ric, the person (that would be me), then there are two starting points I would try before passing judgment on what you see here in myspace (because this is more performance art than autobiography) and the first would be the back door (sometimes actually referred to as my website) and the second, for more detail, would be RealTime™ where real people and touchable (offline) friends go to keep in touch with me because there I actually attempt to write brief entries about the daily life I enjoy (most of the time) in the offline world...

this myspace has a mind of it's own because I let it (and you) lead me wherever the next click may lead (and ooooo baby baby, it's a wild world) cuz I do not believe in censorship by an individual (and I am but one individual, no matter what the many voices in my head might try to tell you as I smirk at the parentheses that leave us wondering, and while I will delete a comment if the sales pitch is too redundant or I do not like what they are selling, I see myspace as the world {as opposed to a small web space with specific purpose way off the beaten path} and I am exploring the world, not creating (and there is a world of difference I wish more people would see and actualize in their own lives on and offline}, so fault the reflection I offer all you wish, but judge me after you see me, not just the reflection of the world I paint in words here, m'ok?)... if you get that, then maybe you get this translation of the poem I started out with here today:


        Gabriel Aresti, 1963

They'll say

that this

is not



I tell you

that poetry


a hammer.


 Translation: Toni Strubell

Original version: POESIA

the Beatles know and told us through Maxwell, for anyone listening, but then, that is all ancient history now (so I might as well quote Socrates or Faust or some other long dead writer for many of you who judge the wrapper and consume the contents without even tasting it), but the TV generation is all around us (and I've been one too), so I fault none and judge less and reflect and enjoy as much as I can (with others when others are open to play, and in words when others are vegetating)... it keeps me from falling into the traps of empty minds...

or we could watch Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure for the forty third time (though unless you are looking for topical political satire, for truly timeless irreverence pass Airplane! and move along to Monty Python and Robin Williams)... but that aside was brought to you by Rasputin, who turned on the TV and found Bill and Ted talking to Socrates and forgot he was channel surfing... he'll be nodding off with the remote in his crotch soon enough...

meanwhile, speaking of speaking in tongues (and remembering that when irreverence gets too irreverent, is becomes serious... and vice versa), back in my head (and my web surfing), I bring you yet another Basque poem, dude...



Egia bat esateagatik,


hil behar bazaizkit,


bortxatu behar badidate,



berdindu behar bazait;

Egia bat esateagatik,

ebaki behar badidate

nik eskribitzen



nik kantatzen



Egia bat esateagatik,

nire izena

kenduko badute

euskal literaturaren








many might call that harsh, but then, history has been harsh more than a few times... since the dawn of human time people have been afraid of their shadows (and many other things and non-things) and of course, words... sometimes we give so much power to words that we forget where the power comes from (we give so much power to words) and seem to act as though the words have some power over us, in some cases, as if we are helpless to do anything and feel threatened by the words... I can only imagine why we do it (if you find me doing it, please laugh and point this out to me... or maybe point it out and then laugh, in case I'm deep in defense posture or something)... I mean, if you care and all...

of course giving words meaning is a large part of the fun or excitement of life (take vows, promises, blessings, or curses, for instance)... and there are many words I have empowered in my head and life that give me great pleasure and passion for life... here, in my myspace blog, I play with words... sometimes I find words that I wish to empower in my life... sometimes I find words that are meaningless fun for the moment... and that's just my interpretation... you create your own... for instance, this translation of the second Basque poem this entry was built around:


                                          Gabriel Aresti, 1963


If for telling the truth

they must kill

my daughters,

rape my wife,

pull down

the house

where I live;

if for telling the truth

they must cut

off the hand

I write with,

the tongue

I sing with;

if for telling the truth

they must rub

out my name

from the golden pages

of Basque literature,
never in any way
nor in any place

will they be able

to make me shut up.


 Translation: Toni Strubell


I always do my best to remember that there are at least two relatively polar, and often many sides to everything... for someone who believes in truth and asks, what good is life without truth, this poem might have very different meaning than it does for someone who's life is dominated by fear... I've rarely met anyone who's life was not dominated by fear and dearly wish I forged more permanent bonds with those few, but then, the natural freedom of living without fear allows us to accept the drift of lives and the smile that comes from what will be, will be... those who see dichotomy may begin to understand, those who see contradiction may not, but if I write these words for you I do not know this, for I do not know who you are or even if you are out there... I write these words for me because I am the only one here and if, by chance, you come along and find some worth in reading here, then I am not alone...

I hope you find a way to express yourself and occupy your alone time that brings you joy and fulfillment... and I hope your chosen way does not include trying to change others ways unless they ask for help in changing their ways... cuz from my perspective, that's the way to survive, not just to get a little crazy, not just to live and let live (or live and let die), but to focus on creating the best life you can live by doing what you do and letting others do the same...