Liberty and freedom are two proud words that have been executed from the political lexicon: they were frog marched and stood before a wall of blank minds, then forcibly blindfolded, and shot, with the whimpering staccato of ‘equality’ and ‘fairness’ resounding over and over. And not only did this atrocity go unreported by journalists in the mainstream media, they were in the firing squad.
The premise of this blog is simple: the Soviets thought they had equality, and welfare from cradle to grave, until the illusory free lunch of redistribution took its inevitable course, and cost them everything they had. First to go was their privacy, after that their freedom, then on being ground down to an equality of poverty only, for many of them their lives as they tried to escape a life behind the Iron Curtain. In the state-enforced common good, was found only slavery to the prison of each other's mind; instead of the caring state, they had imposed the surveillance state to keep them in line. So why are we accumulating a national debt to build the slave state again in the West? Where is the contrarian, uncomfortable literature to put the state experiment finally to rest?
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Tuesday, October 6, 2015
Sunday, October 4, 2015
"Marxism Today" published its last issue in 1991. It's never been more relevant http://t.co/mZ0B452iZ3— Arts & Letters Daily (@aldaily) October 1, 2015
@aldaily Right, so 'arts and letters' in the West = Marxism. About that agenda of Arts & Letters Daily ... #IrrelevantToMe— Mark Hubbard (@MarkHubbard33) October 1, 2015
@aldaily ... I should have said the once-great Arts and Letters Daily.— Mark Hubbard (@MarkHubbard33) October 1, 2015
As I say, we take this notion for granted, and yet as soon as one puts it into words one realizes how literature is menaced.
On a similar theme I've been receiving daily emails from LitHub (Google it) over the last six or so months: always interesting but up to a half of the links are to literary cultural Marxism, and its concomitant identity politics.
Wednesday, September 30, 2015
Sunday, September 20, 2015
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Their visits are the hardest of what must be endured (as I told Rangi the visits would be.) Yet how can I deny them? We sit across a table that could be from a school classroom, and likewise, school chairs, in a room surrounded by prisoners and their visitors: our going through the motions of the family that Once-Was, reminding me of all I've lost.
This lack of privacy Inside is wearing away the layers of Who-I-Was to a dying centre I’m encrypting (encasing) inside words as they forsake me (as I [also] told Rangi words would). I vainly hope they will be escaping back into the world and living as I cannot. For me, after the Last Word there will be nothing other than my mere sentence to be got on with. Although I’ve made an error of judgement (even) in this singular task left of
From: Bill Hamilton
To: "Daphne Smith"
Subject: FW: A.M.Heath Website Contact
The Great Gatsby is on my mind because I got it out from the prison library service, and have just finished reading. My initial interest was technical in it being a story told by near invisible Nick Carraway, not the protagonist. Mine is sidekick writing also, despite I’ve paid a price Carraway never had too. But the story itself soon took over from my academic interest, the last sentence imprinting itself to my memory whether I wanted it or not: ‘So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.’ I don’t know if I agree with that; at least, it’s not applicable to me. In my circumstances beating on, making of myself a dream Gatsbian other-life, something that I’m not, was never an option – Jesus, what a luxury that would’ve been: my life was surviving in a world over which I had no control, as choices were taken from me, paring me down to myself … but too late to save myself, with the past offering not defeat, but a desired oblivion. And so to turn that sentence on itself would be a comment on this age, yet that delivers me to the same precarious ledge my characters balance, in that despite creation is the art of concealing your sources, (Einstein, I think) such finer points in these litigious days would also likely be lost in the internecine trenches of copyright fair use regulations.
But does that really go far enough? If an 11-note sequence counts as infringement, how much do modern artists owe Pachelbel’s descendants? The four-chord sequence making up the core of his Canon in D has been repeated in dozens, if not hundreds, of subsequent songs. Should evidence produced by Australia’s Axis of Awesome be used in copyright lawsuits by anyone who can document that, ten generations back, Johann Pachelbel was a great-great- grandfather? It seems absurd.
Even from the perspective of a profit-seeking artist, copyright is a double-edged sword. Stronger copyright both increases the rewards from having produced a piece of work and increases the cost of creating new works. Artistic works feed off each other. New works build on older traditions, reinterpreting old folk tales and old folk tunes for new generations. The Brothers Grimm collected and published older folk tales like Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty in the 1800s. In the 1900s, Walt Disney brought those stories to life in a new form. In the 2000s, well, it is hard for new innovation to occur because copyright law, at least in the United States, has frozen the usage of most important works produced since 1923.
Why should copyright be limited? Because current creators draw on a global commons in their artistic creations. And future generations of artists deserve a commons too.