Turning Vision into Action....at least hypothetically

Strike up the music of the band
We're blazing a trail for the promised land
Heaven on earth is within you.


Through the writing of stories, poetry, essays, and a novel, I’ve creatively contended with the consumer culture and the problem of the ideal in the modern era. This preoccupation in time would lead to a vision of cultural transformation and where I believe our democratic society needs to go to truly progress beyond the modern era. Conceding my limited credibility, this blog provides a synthesis of recognized visionaries, poets, and writers with the objective of making a credible argument. Ultimately, it is a certain feeling the project strives to inspire and sustain on a certain level, making more vital use of poetry and the arts; consequently whether one agrees or not is less important than whether one senses it and feels it over time.

Friday, May 28, 2010

Confronting the Truth: Crossing into the Realm of Dostoyevsky

In some respects, the heavenly ambitions of the Promised Land Project are not that far fetched: it’s merely a question of confronting the truth about our human nature then working to creat a society that promotes the best of our nature while minimizing the worst. But much of the problem comes from confronting that truth. At this point in our journey, we cross into the territory of Dostoyevsky. In my mind, Whitman and Dostoyevsky seem complementary, in part due to the writings of D.H. Lawrence and Henry Miller. If I were to create a reading list, I'd set Whitman's "Song of Myself" alongside Dostoyevsky's Notes from Underground.

Dostoyevsky’s genius is such that it highlights an unpleasant side of our nature that we can recognize in ourselves. Though we all may be attracted to the ideal, in some way or other, if we’re to progress, we must confront the truth. Only when we can do that can we then harness those redeeming qualities of our nature capable of blazing a passage through to the Promised Land.

Some years back I read with some interest an essay on Dostoyevsky by a writer of my own generation, David Foster Wallace. As I finished the essay I became saddened at my fate. In my mind, there is the possibility of danger in appreciating Dostoyevsky while failing to appreciate Whitman. While Wallace achieved some renown, my own novel, a comic parable that attempts to convey some of the poetic spirit of Whitman's poetry, languished at the bottom of the slush pile (I would later learn that the same literary agency that had accepted Wallace had rejected me). Following Wallace's suicide, I'd read an article on the renowned writer who's writing seemed to have trajectory similar to my own. But I don't know that as to date I've only read that one essay.

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