“Fake news”

“Fake news”

About “fake” news: Never surrender the concepts of true and false. Words are important. How we use words is important. When someone mounts a campaign to conflate false with fake, his goal is to conflate true with real. When you surrender false for fake, you surrender true for real, and when you’ve surrendered true and false—when you’ve accepted real versus fake as the standard—he has you where he wants you, for then he needs only your acceptance of what he asserts as real, with asserted reality having become more important than truth, with accepted reality becoming what is asserted.

Never surrender true and false, if you value being able to identify what’s truly real, if you don’t want to fall for the false reality of a fake.

We allow conceptual lines to be blurred, to be erased, to be forgotten, at our peril. Beware the conceptual sleight of hand, the misdirection — the con artist’s tool. When someone assiduously avoids using the terms ‘true’ and ‘false’, and dislikes one of them so much that he works to replace it with a different term at every opportunity, ask yourself why that might be.

Also relevant: Identifying a second-hander ~ https://www.facebook.com/quent.cordair/posts/1409578702498677

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My novels, short stories, poetry, and plays are available on Amazon…. Thanks so much for reading and for all your comments and reviews ~

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Enabling

Enabling

You probably know what an enabler is. The term is all too familiar to those who have been in therapy or counseling for their role in a co-dependent relationship, for their role in enabling the destructive behavior of an addictive and/or abusive loved one.

An enabler forgives, excuses, evades, rationalizes, being too fearful of what might be lost, too dependent on the relationship with the abuser to hold him fully and adequately accountable and responsible for his destructive actions. And so the enabler continues to support the abuser in a seemingly inescapable cycle, enabling the cycle of abuse, excuse, apology, the improved behavior until the worse behavior comes around again. The co-dependency and enabling is unfortunately common in relationships with abusive children, spouses, significant others, friends, parents.

Some exhibit a similar psychology in relation to what they believe to be their “heavenly father,” a parental figure praised and worshipped for whatever occasional joy, security, and affection he might provide – while whatever grief, loss, sickness and horror he causes or allows is suffered and endured. Any positive is praised and treasured, while all negatives are forgiven, overlooked, excused, rationalized away. Someone who is psychologically and emotionally dependent on such a parental figure believes he cannot afford to make the parent angry, cannot afford to reject the parent, must defend the parent, feeling utterly dependent on the parent for love and life, no matter how abusive or neglectful, no matter how deaf to the child’s cries the parent may be. In such a relationship, one endures all, justifies all, for the sake of the occasional demonstration of what is interpreted as love and affection, for the occasional “good day” between all the bad, for the parent’s protection, for the parental security. But it is a relationship of utter dependency.

The same psychology and behavior is exhibited by many towards a religious leader, an employer, a führer, a king – a president. The only full and lasting cure is independence: intellectual independence, physical independence, psychological independence, emotional independence. Until independence is fully achieved, the bruising will continue, the enabler finding it necessary to keep the makeup and excuses handy while hoping to keep the abuser sufficiently mollified and distracted, hoping that the bad never becomes worse, while the abuser never lets the enabler quite forget, by how he treats or threatens to treat others, how much worse it could be.

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My novels, short stories, poetry, and plays are available on Amazon…. Thanks for reading, and for your comments and reviews ~

WORDS, WORDS, WORDS

“The words always flowed though, somehow, as though they were hidden in some old dusty chamber of my mind, a treasure-chest of thoughts, connected, somehow, to my fingers -knowing exactly when I held a pen, or touched the keyboard- to come rolling down, like precious pearls and rubies, and be embedded in ink forever.

“Ah words– beautiful words; old words; heard words; forgotten words; dismissed words; loved words; lost words; new words; magical words; this word and that word… rushing out on paper to fulfill their destiny, to be read, to be heard, to be felt and to be honoured.

“Words can beautify the everyday ugliness, mask and sugarcoat the humdrum of routine, brighten the dull and silver the grey… Is there anything more exquisite?

“And that is precisely why the writer writes, robed in words, to be undressed by some insightful reader who beholds the raw, pure truth behind the veil of words, and loves it in all its ugliness, and all its eloquence; knowing every secret, and extracting every ounce of wisdom from it; knowing every fear, and taking heart from it; knowing every darkness, to believe in the light; and seeing every bit of reality, covered in fiction and sweet rhyme; for words connect souls, and it is only through words, that one can be vulnerable enough to be truly known, truly understood and truly loved….”

Ishaisms

I read somewhere that one should never sit to write without an idea of what one is going to; yet ever since that really young age, when I began letting my demons out in ink, I always found myself venturing out on the journey of words without a predetermined thought, or a preconceived destination, or any clue as to what I was really on to… I do not know if that makes me a really brave or a really stupid writer- maybe both; the line is pretty thin anyway.

Maybe it was the smell of printed books, the exhilarating shuffling of pages, the feel of ink-stained fingers that goaded me on – the inner me, the core of my soul, always knowing what she was doing – I being just the physical channel.

The words always flowed though, somehow, as though they were hidden in some old dusty chamber…

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New year, same resolve, same banner

New year, same resolve, same banner
New year, same resolve, same banner.
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A Call to Stand
 
One man at war with Man’s deprecation
Calls out to all men to seek no salvation,
To pick themselves up from self-immolation,
To turn from the gods of their own creation,
To stand up and face the day —
To reclaim their birthright to say —
I am that I am, before nothing I kneel;
I mastered the fire, invented the wheel;
I cast the bells true and set them to peal;
I am Man, for whom all else is clay —
I am Man. I make my own way.
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My fiction is here.
My paintings are here.
My art gallery is here.

And Again the Angels

And Again the Angels

Again they called to heaven
When around them rose a hell;
Again the angels came from earth
In answer to the bell.
While flesh and blood fought smoke and flame
And kept the black line manned,
Their thanks went to the god by whose
Own breath the fires were fanned.

 

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The original “Again the Angels” is here …

For more of my published fiction — shorts, poetry, novels & scripts, available in ebook, paperback and audiobook — please visit my Amazon page.

Individualism

Individualism

A good blog post by the Hyacinth Girl, in which I’m quoted. It opens,

“Scrolling through my Twitter feed the other day, I came across this picture posted by the History in Pictures account. It’s a box of wedding rings found by liberators at a concentration camp in 1945. Each ring belonged to a person, and each person disappeared into the camps….”

http://www.thehyacinthgrrrl.com/2017/12/individualism.html

 

None more wondrous or impressive . . .

None more wondrous or impressive . . .

Never has there been a god or goddess more wondrous or impressive than the wondrous and impressive beings after whom they were modeled. Man is quite incapable, thank goodness, of inventing an entity more remarkable or exalted than himself. The gods are nothing more, nothing less, than creations molded from Man’s own characteristics, his own virtues and vices, his own qualities reconfigured and remodeled in effort to answer his own hopes, longings, fears, and uncertainties. The gods are, at best, reflections of Man’s own essence, distillations of his own actuality, glorifications of his own potential. At the end of the creative day, however, though he may fervently wish or believe otherwise, no creation of Man can be Man’s master. Though the creator may bow and worship the creation, the creation is not, and could never be, the creator’s superior. The creation can be nothing more than the creator’s servant, a means to his end. If the creator chooses to kneel before his creation, he is free to do so, but he cannot blame the creation for staring back at him in mute wonder.

~ Quent Cordair, on Idolatry

The Idolatry story opens in the twilight of the Roman Empire. As the darkening forces of mysticism descend on Western Civilization, the daughter of itinerant traders is falling fast for a local boy—the apprentice and adopted son of a sculptor. The old master, concerned for the boy’s future, recalls his years as a younger man in bustling Alexandria, where he had found the love of his life before having to flee the threat of religious persecution. Now, having finally rebuilt his life and career in a village far away, an enemy from the past reappears, threatening all he holds dear….

Parts I & II of Idolatry, *Genesis* and *A New Eden*, are now available in ebook, paperback, and audiobook editions on Amazon. Part III is being written.