A Time for Poetry

Politics is dead in this country: there is no creativity, merely whose oxen may be gored by whose bulls and how many dirhams must they pay; there is death in politics. Here we stand on the steps to the Future, and politics is on its last legs.

Literature is dying. The only fiction alive and well is detective stories and first novels from friends of friends in the publishing business.
A lot of cinema is friends of friends, but that's how one gets started, I guess.... we are being blown  by mighty winds and the future is rumbling just over the horizon... and there's not much going on; not much that's new, that is; there's a lot of old stuff and covers and re-makes.

It is a time for poetry: bold words and ideas
Something like New York, New York, Big city of dreams!... but everything in New York ain't always what it seems!  The Rap before there was the Posture of Rap, the Pose of Rap, the Vogue of Hip Hop...  a love song and a song of indictment, but most of all, a song of hope, desperate hope... now everything is a Byronic pose... or a Gaga imposture and disguise... and Grandmasters have passed on, and the voices from the heart of the city have been silenced by the deafening noise. Or something like Nirvana before it became a fashion and a film called Last Days! Straight from the heart without a turn into the alley of Top 40.
Echoes from the old time streets glide through the windows, slipping into your dreams, coloring your days into a masterpiece; for indeed, we are on the threshold of great times; we sense it in our very bones; we intuit it within our souls.
We yearn to be free of the dross of rotting wars and rotting politics and dismal economics!
Free yourselves in language and music and dance and art, then learn from that freedom to strike the chains of violence and poverty and desperation which are the true Economic Doctrines that power the modern world!
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