Monday, March 28, 2011

A Woman with a Sword


Frankly, swords are the answer. 
What's the question? It doesn't matter.

I picked up a sword in Scotland (the place to buy swords, obviously) and for some reason had to take it home with me. It could have been the ambiance of the armory, the racks of weapons, the extremely knowledgable Scotsman selling them, the deathly beauty of the glinting blades or a combination there of. Regardless, a sword came became mine to have and hold, forevermore. There is something about possessing a sword that goes beyond the mere practicality of having a weapon.






Seriously, though I think bringing back swords as  both an accessory and personal weapon of choice is the answer to many of this country's if not the world's current socio-ecomnic issues.


Just consider it, a new law is passed requiring all citizens to purchase, carry and be instructed in the use of a sword (daggers perhaps for children and the infirm). Crime problems? Solved. I think random crime would decrease if everyone was sporting over 12 inches of steel on their hip, don't you? Weight issues? Solved. Swordplay, is excellent exercise that also can double as entertainment. No Jobs? Solved. New industry just opened up, make swords, sell swords, repair swords, clean swords, teach about swording — the possibilities for creating capital endless. 



Swords are also stylish. So, this endless folderol concerning fashion could be dampened if not ceased. I am of the persuasion that clothing should have function as well self expression. And I think a sword is the thing.  It worked for Zena (warrior princess), do you think she could have pulled off that outfit without a sword over her shoulder? I think not.  


Sparing with the opposite sex would bring on entirely new and exhilarating meaning in this context. As one could actually cross blades. How effective would that be in finding your match? Invaluable, I say. Not to mention that swords exude an unidentifiable sexiness, especially for the fairer sex (Ex; refer back to Zena, Warrior Princess).  There's just something about a woman with a sword that is immensely intriguing to the male psyche, merely the possession of one peaks interest - even more so if the lady knows how to use it. 

Swords are so the answer to life's persistent questions. 








Friday, March 11, 2011

Et tu Brute?

Frankly, politics hasn't progressed far past the bloody knife laden plots of Rome. Surely, I jest, you say, we've civilized democracy in the western world. Are you quite sure? Seems like plenty of people are feeling the sharp pains of betrayal these days . . . 


Julius Caesar, the play penned by William Shakespeare is my guide to politics. If you haven't had the pleasure to view it on the stage somewhere, I highly recommend it as possibly the most accessible and still culturally relevant play in Shakespeare's folio. I know Shakespeare isn't really everyone's native language, but luckily I speak fluent Shakespearean. So, I'll translate.

The plot is as follows; power incites fear from the loyal, creating political struggle, political struggle begets action, action spurs a public reaction, public reaction evolves to public unrest, public unrest is resolved by political rhetoric, political rhetoric sways public opinion, public opinion is used to amass power. Repeat. 

The political wheels of our dear modern age turn in very similar ways, I've noticed. Granted the modern version generally has less knives and murder involved, which is a definite plus for us. I would like to bring the focus to the political rhetoric spokes of these wheels and its' effect on inciting, resolving and swaying the public (that's us). Brutus was lost as Anthony spoke his first line "Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears." Brutus had swayed the public, incited them to action,  but he hadn't learned that having the right words is just as valuable as having the last ones. 

This is what I like to keep in mind when we, the public, are incited, swayed, enraged, to display our unrest with the political leanings of the time. These are old wheels, that have been turning for thousands of years, on the cart of democracy; and we, the public, are neither the horses that power it nor the road on which it treads, remember we sit in atop that cart holding the reins. 

Thursday, March 3, 2011

For the Love of Hermits

Frankly, I am perplexed. I am well aware that I'm an odd person, odder than the regular allotted portion of oddness allowed by social norms. But, is it really so weird to love hermits?

Okay, it's not like I have a hermit photo collage on my wall (even if I wanted to I probably wouldn't, it's hard to get photos of hermits for obvious reasons).  I've got a bit of a crush on the lifestyle, not any individual hermit, per say. The more I think about it the more I'm convinced that the hermit way is a good one.

The secret is in the solitude. The traditional hermit has been reduced to an image of a crusty, bearded character-usually missing teeth,  but the allure is not in the hermit but the hermitage. The place which the hermit resides, alone. The solitude. Solitude in not loneliness. Solitude is being content with your own company. There is something about being alone that is extremely frightening to the modern world. 

I find this fear everywhere. As if social networking, and the invention of the "status update" weren't proof enough. As a society we are so afraid to be alone we will connect with complete strangers, just to connect. Even if that connection is meaningless.  I hear it particularly related to those of my friends that are single, or rather trying to avoid being single. Solitude is the answer. If you don't want to hang out with you, than why should any one else? 

But what's the difference, if the result is still - alone?   Fret not, it's simple. Loneliness is something forced on you, you choose solitude. In that choice is the magic of being able to be by yourself without feeling that something is missing. I find my optimum solace in the dead of the night, when my house is sleeping. I can curl up with book, a cup of tea, a sketchbook whatever pleases me and just swim around in my own thoughts. Try solitude in small doses, it's quickly addicting. 

I'm not thrilled with the entire cabala of the Hermitage, while I will delight in my solitude stolen in the gloaming hours of night and continue to day dream of a hermit's life, you won't find me wandering the woods in rope sandals just yet.