AMERICONORMAN

From CUPID'S RETIREMENT By Jose Gainza X It is my turn to cook them candle meals, To clean the garments of his toil, To rub the back knots that he feels. I’ll hide sweet verses in his pockets, And await his landing with my garden roses, And clean the sofa where he lounges, I’ll be his torch’s thriving oil, And rekindle his eye sockets, When all he has to do is dream of me. Too, he’ll be my maid, and be my “Gieves”, He’ll be the ace that’s up my sleeves. My wings will now only swing for him.

Yes, when it comes to the Pope this IS how I want to portray myself. Maybe one day I will write a paper on how evil the guy actually is. I hate the Pope. Yes, of course I know that Rand did not approve of homosexuals ... but their premises are very divergent. I am actually surprised that I was sent to the trash can. Any Pope will always be evil and worth strong condemnation. This is very interesting, I must say. I will repeat, again, that I am actually glad that he is dead. Maybe I'll be sent to the trash again for this. The leader of the Catholic church deserves to die as soon as he dreams of aspiring to such a position ... because he is in the power to change so much ... And thus I must say, that Jesus is evil. I'm glad he's dead! Americo.

This one is for Brian Faulkner since he appreciated this poem but requested better punctuation--it is finally finished. Beauty—By Jose Gainza Even before the first ancient idylls that uttered your graces— Your were there; Before the eyes of men to delight in such harmony faces— Oh so fair! In their dreams you re-emerged in fluttering traces— Hard to bear; So you branded the lines of many countless races. We still stare At the likes who emerged from your ancestral basis— Oh so fair! Then some genius found the means to paint your picture— Everywhere; Even in the shadows of the clouds’ changing fissure— He does dare, Despite the torment that ensues from his passion rupture— Shooting flare— Signalling the wooing of his muse from a lofty juncture— That none compare, To the combination that he sees without a fracture— Oh so fair. Now today and on this phone I have the way— I do fare, On this line where your voice will always stay— Some fanfare— I can always flip the cover everyday— And I stare Once the highlight pinpoints beauty without delay— And I dare To kiss your face that is a screen—I say, “Hey!” You’re so fair! Then I call you with impatience for you here, Us a pair, And you promise to run to me like a deer— This you dare— And I’m certain of your passion I do steer— Now you’re there, And those brown eyes pierce within me, oh my dear … And your hair Tangled ‘round my fingers while I kiss you without fear: You’re so rare!

Ah ha! This is the mistake I made in highschool. I chose to get good grades at any price so I could get into University because I always wanted to be rich. What I should have done was gotten 60's and 70's, read Ayn Rand, and anything else I wanted with the extra time. Since I found out while in University that I wanted to be an artist, I still feel like I wasted some crucial years by trying to get A+'s in highschool. An artist cannot always make it without higher education. I often wonder at the boy I would have been if I would have read Rand at 14 instead of 18. I am not prescribing what you should do. I am just relating what I wish I would have done. Americo.

Don't worry, Leonard Peikoff met Ayn Rand at 17 with the same problem: the dichotomy between the moral and the practical.

From CUPID'S RETIREMENT By Jose Gainza VIII I am glad to say that I’m in love, Yes, cupid is in love. He has these small brown eyes, And black long waving hair. He stands so tall and fair, Without a hunch as “posture lies” (As they in shame of their great height). He stands with pride, this guy— He grins so wide, this god— His sculpted muscles must be tight, I guess, For I haven’t seen him nude— Only in my dreams have I had this dude. IX The thing is that he’s like Leona: He won’t accept he wants me yet. He thinks that I will interfere With the working of his life. Losing him I do not fear— I think he’s turned on by the strife. Seeing him he still won’t let But I will win a date, I bet. I’ll still compose my verses sweet But only for his sole gusto. It’s time to park away my fleet And save them for the battle with my sweet.

From CUPID'S RETIREMENT By Jose Gainza VII But they are but the highlight of All the lovers I have fused together— O so many clients of me, Love. There’ve been those who found So soon, upon one glance, that forever They will surely live together. I’m sad to say there’ve been a few Who praised me with a hemlock flask: Those dolts! They thought I lived in heaven. But it is where they dance— or where I write my brew. And so it’s time to end the task Of shooting folks with sheets of heaven. (VIII will follow tomorrow ...)

My last year of highschool, my english teacher recommended that I read The Fountainhead for an independent project on Individualism. I was obsessed with Ayn Rand ever since. Then when I saw the professor for Business school economics class, I saw an aura that I never saw before in another human. I soon found out that he was an Objectivist whose main passion was intellectual history. The next year he was my tutorial leader for his course on understanding social change by understanding philosophic ideas. Then I discovered that I wanted to be a novelist. I found out that Ayn Rand gave a course on her craft in the 50's. I dropped out of school, got a full time job, bought the tapes ...and the rest is history ...and my future. Americo.

Actually I just noticed that I made a mistake about the location of my story, AFTER WORK. It is in the Culture-Productivity section. Sorry and thanks, Americo.

From CUPID'S RETIREMENT By Jose Gainza VI I promise you they will get married, Though she thinks she wants to see, Him lying in some gutter, wearied. And even on her honeymoon she Will scorn me still, “no this can’t be!”— How blinded was this dame to think That life was made from pain, And man walks always on the brink— That tempter god I have to slain. For she will feel the power that is love Within her loins and on Justin’s face, While I send them both to ecstasy.

So I finally saw HOUSE. Dr. House is a joy to watch. Funny as hell ... has me shaking my head all through, yet smiling. The new tension with him and the billionaire chief is very amusing ... the show will suck if House loses in the end. By the way, how did house get his cane? Americo.

From CUPID'S RETIREMENT By Jose Gainza V And yet we love Leona, Justin and I, Even when in snub she passes by. But we know she does read our verse When sent to her in, oh, so various ways. Surely some are folded in her purse. Surely we remain with her for several days. She awaits our praises, though she won’t admit That I am nearing her sole ideal, That my Justin she will want to fit Inside her life like some big deal. And once she lets him in her whole being, It is me that she will keep on seeing.

The phantasms presented in the later works of Picasso cannot be in reality and thus shouldn't be. A "stark realism" portrait of the inside of a Nazi gas chamber would be preferable and more romantic. It would be a twisted mind to paint what could be and should be by such a chamber. It would still be more romantic if it was painted as what could be and shouldn't be. Romantic Realism grasps an Aristotelian universe, judges it as benevolent metaphysically, and judges man as an efficacious agent worthy of happiness, thus what should be is what is, as is what could be. One will have trouble understanding or approving of the Objectivist Aesthetics without understanding Rand's adoption of Aristotle's phrase. Good art should be guided by the idea of the proper functioning of a rational mind, either implicitly or explicitly ...to accept this idea of Objectivism is a mother load and perhaps its most contraversial aspect. Americo.

I remember seeing an autobiography on Pablo Picasso on A&E. In the beginning, he was a master in representational painting. I remember seeing Vermeer previously on my own, and immediately identified him as someone I found amazing. Yes, Rand's mention of his use of light helped but the clarity and luminosity was identifiable. The early work of Picasso seemed similar by my standards. It is still a mystery because of lack of his deeper biography to explain what made him paint the way he did. Was he inferior to other painters and thus had to hide it by the later work. Or, was he just as good and thus rejected his own genious for being genius. But the way I envision the art of painting is by the following example: A beautiful man or woman, beautiful by a certain standard, but not a copy of an actual person, but like none the artist for sure has never actually witnessed, and thus is a creation of his imagination. And when it comes to the theme, it will not be some historical figure in an act of heroism. But a man never known of but the expression on his face, the clothes he is wearing, the position of his body, the background objects and climate--ALL THIS expressing the theme ... And to have that time period modern, like of the time of the artist ... or to project into the future ... thus imagine an architect as painter or an engineer as painter. This is what painting is ultimately for me--at its best. Americo.

My apologies, so maybe Rand would like flamenco too. It is not my favorite at all. When I said tribal I meant the types of dances of South American indians. I think flamenco is quite sophisticated, it just doesn't near my favorite. Maybe I will check out those companies. Americo.

From CUPID'S RETIREMENT By Jose Gainza IV And I won’t deny her eyes did pierce— They showed a conflagration fierce. This type of woman can surely love a man, But me, the abstraction great, she vows to hate. She doesn’t think me of life’s plan And yet Justin she would surely date. The woman thinks I cannot be because the swine Roam around as if they’re drunk on wine— And call it love, and pray that passion will return. But I am passion, so I know how I can burn— Exhaust and waste without right fuel— Feed and warm—oh, this ironic duel!

When you say spanish dancing, she probably meant flamenco or something more tribal. But I believe she could appreciate ball room dancing, and many of those dances are "Spanish", like the Tango. I'm confident that she would appreciate a clean salsa since it could easily incorporate ballet and tap. I remember an old professor of mine, once asked Ayn Rand to dance, and she replied that she would have more fun watching him and his wife dance (since they were somewhat professional ballroom dancers). Now folk music I could understand ... because it seems easy ... much easier and thus less expressive than a classical concerto ... but I know nothing about music. The point I think is, if you realize the intellectual stature that Objectivism promises you in the field of aesthetics, one's tastes, over time, will be refined, and thus one will laugh at one's previous tastes, as being now below you. Americo.

Romantic Raalism claims superiority in every art. But such art in any other art except for novels and plays, is hardly seen. In painting there is some good stuff. The thing is that in art, it is usually good to be a genius. If you look at novels, for example, and if you look at a modern romantic realist drama, compared to romanticists drama, to classicism, and to Shakespeare, you will see the Romantic Realism correcting and improving certain areas of the drama. To dramatize a benevolent philosophy has hardly ever been done except with Ayn Rand. Americo.

It is possible to have an idea one wants to express but as Burgess said you have to own it. In this area, basically said, one needs to see the hierarchy that one's events will dramatize. It is usually best to pick a scene that one wants to get to. For example, the short story in this section was conceived from the idea of keeping them from having sex on one day of work. I wanted them to want it, make the desire believable, but have them wait. It was a very inductive process ... and even stream of consciousness. I do not adhere to conscious rule of literary writing except as those ideas are automatic in me. The goal was that scene, and a goal of 10 pages. Another story that is longer and which I am more proud of I had no page limit. I knew that I wanted someone to fall off his balcony in the name of love. In the process of writing I realized that I could not possibly make him jump off. So at a certain point I realized that I could make him not jump off, and thus his love would be possible on this earth. A moral question still open is one of forgiveness--Objectivism might not advocate the forgiveness over attempted suicide ... but I know that Romanticism would, i.e., it would still be a good story ... and the best that I could do. Yes, central purpose is the key. When writing, the story is the central purpose of one's life during the time of writing, any secondary financial job serves that. That has always been my view. And if this is the case, then one is usually more serious at the money-paying job because of the crucial place that creative writing has in one's life, i.e., one's happiness, and thus the fuel for any other endeavour. Now publishing, I know nothing about. Maybe someone has some good advise. Writing has to truly be about the writing, the final unity of one's best creativity, and not about the publishing. The work should matter in relation to eternity, and not in relation to the current market. Americo.

From CUPID'S RETIREMENT by Jose Gainza III Call me cupid; call me Eros … Who will unite all stubborn lovers. Beware my shot that hovers, lovers! There is one who fights my love with “no”. I follow so that she can say just, “Go. Go!” But in her eyes I see the truth that sneaks Past the anger in her face that shrieks. Incessant I love her for once showed she That really, truly, she loves me: It was a day she found some verses in her mail— Then she shook Justin’s hand but sunk a nail: The scar from which he cherished so.

From CUPID'S RETIREMENT--By Jose Gainza II “The noble soul has reverence for itself,” Said Nietzsche, that madman German poet. One’s ego, everyman should own it, Everyman should learn to worship that. But how easy men do forfeit— And seek to love to love themselves, And then love blindly as a bat— Or seeking trophies for their shelves Making love seem but a game, Having sex that turns out lame, Then trying not to feel self-blame. Thus I chose to be a guiding poet.

The theme got me. Rhyme is crucial. However, ironically, you succeeded in keeping me hopping. Theme was good. But some rhyme is sacred. However I heard it in a song, not rap, but something rap-like but right. If you have an operaetta ready then I apologize because I know nothing about music. This is the type of "stuff" I want to hear from "Objectivists". Americo.

Sure. But you may notice that I didn't get to space the paragraphs, and I do apologize for that. Though, it is still possible, for almost every paragraph, to distinguish where the next paragraph begins. Enjoy, Jose.

This poem is sweet. I will post "II" tomorrow. CUPID’S RETIREMENT—By Jose Gainza I Call me cupid; call me winged Eros For daring to arouse sweet love in men With verses piercing souls as arrows. If they could only find their number ten More inventive gifts would follow then. For love inspires work in men, I know. And this is what I gladly show When my hearty verses flow Off the page and into them—them, them. Childish hate I toil to stem— I cut such weeds with an edged sword, So my dear lovers receive their only Lord.

Re: The Man Who Laughs. Another thing, We are introduced to a boy of 10, who exhibits a herculean strength in the face of nature at its worst. We see him tortured and win. When we first see him smile, it would seem that it is because of the relief that he feels from escaping the storm, and tasting some food, and the benevolence of a stranger. But it is not, the boy is not laughing, he has been the victim of some surgery. We are told of the name of the procedure ... Then the boy is never seen again. Never have I felt the frustration, and so it turned out to be suspense, of leaving a character when his growing up would promise to be a spectacular spectacle. But that is skipped, and we are delayed by the introduction of a group of scoundrels. When the boy returns to us, he is 25. So we will not see his childhood. So who is he now and who did he become. I think by Hugo's standards he is happy, but because of the boys position and the custom of privilege, it seems to be a veil with a promise of doom. And then we realize why those scoundrell are necessary. And then we laugh in irony, and expectation of how the boys life will be from here on end. It's Hugo, so one knows what happens at the end. The Delight, is that it is because the boy is pursuing what will make him happy. And because of Hugo's talents, we almost believe he will be. Americo.