Saturday, April 4, 2015

Figures of the Live

-- By Paul Hall of paulhallart, paulhallart 00 and Hi Paulhallart ...

The Figures of the Live. song, oil paintings. What is "the live": the living, liveliness. Well, 1 picture's worth 1M words and here's 3.

The main title of the song is actually "Gratitude's Brisk Brim", performed by me, Paul, with my twelve-string guitar which I got just after I got kicked out of Fiji. The song was written in Indonesia (but might have been put to music in New Zealand) and the video features three oil paintings I did in Fiji that were stolen in Indonesia...visualizations of the "engine" of the universe ... and how information and meaning come into it, including with human beings.

Sometimes the reach of poetry helps you to do your best to describe things. Sometimes you can get close using pictures. Most never try, fearing to be buried and drowned out by a sea of trivia. Trivializing everything, because they're scared they might not be "cool", like any "in crowd" in history, they fade into oblivion.

I wrote the song in Jakarta, Indonesia, where everyday life was long ago disrupted by colonialism. But then, we all should realize this is not just everyday life. In the midst of it is an immense conflict as factions struggle to attain world domination, the "Nimrod Factor". The monoculture of plantations were forcing more Indonesian families into cities. If you could fix it, someone else would rip them off tomorrow. The basic pattern is simple: Abuse of mercantile freedom gets รข€œbusted" by empire, until empire gets global and that's when the fat lady sings and it's the end of the circus. And blue turbine gets erased.

I want you to survive. But to do so, you're going to have to get through some stuff. I don't think any will have time to live their lives out in the 'burbs.

-- the mountain waterfall of the purple river -- extra terrestrial flow of meanings and a song with poetry talking about: having wept in dust, having trod in the mud, hope budding like a cactus blume in rose and red, waiting to escape the dust's regret where the wind churns with wild freedom: where sunrise brings to sunrise
the gratitude's brisk brim.

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