Window Mind Frost Design
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WINDOW MIND FROST DESIGN

(C) (P) by Paul Hall, 1987

WINDOW MIND FROST DESIGN, poem about windows of the mind, about minds clouded like blue frost on window, about mind clouded days without number, years without number, perhaps forever.  Poem about abundance or success not un-clouding the mind, poem about success causing blindness to danger, poem about youth, days of electric thought, loved ones causing preoccupation, pointing to career's end, bleak encounters, weary un-mending mistakes, the squanderer's victim's clouded mind, the heartless status quo, a frost designing murder's paradise.  It contains an unusual definition of an era of time thus: "when time was heart-beat's rust-red blood".  But the work also looks at an antidote: melting changeless with love.

I spent years in developing nations, pondering their situations, disturbed by the relative prosperity of the United States, uncomfortable in the disparity.  I discovered to my shock, that these developing nations, poor as they seemed, were actually doing better than the most developed nation.  America, it seems, should actually be hundreds of times more prosperous than it appears to be now and so should the rest of the world.  It's all held back by problems with the human mind. 

The painting is called Nightclub Violinist.  I painted it in a little dirt-floor basement hovel in an old house then an informal Staten Island commune during the cold New York City late Autumn of 1970.  A portrait of one long since dead, a look at the mind and it's connected muscle, the broken tools causing a mere disturbance that shortly dissipates as wispy filaments into the summer air and is no more.   In effect, have we become so preoccupied with star dust as to forget some greater essence as we confront so profound a silence looking for our necessary answers?  A little planet of tools destined to return to the dust of the cosmos.

Window Mind Frost Design

By Paul Hall,
Written in Paris in 1980
(c) (p) by Paul Hall, 1987

The windows of your mind
are blue with winter frost,
in days beyond horizons 
or ever you got lost.
Abound and in abundance
Oh, how many times they've crossed.
But still you never noticed, 
they're blue with winter frost.
-
When time was heart beat's rust red blood
and mingled with electric thought,
what soul once gave you all those smiles
for which your frame so bravely fought?
Ah, but now career's at queried end.
Your bleak encounters wandering.
Weary mistakes seem to never mend.
The wealth, whereborne, is squandering. 
-
And blue,  BLUE, with winter frost.
-
The heartless status quo 
is like a block of ice.
A frost designs the towers
of murder's paradise.
Take your heart beat's rust red blood
mingle it with love
Melt the frost of changelessness
like the spring time sun up above.
-
Melt it down with love
like the springtime sun above.
-
For the windows of your mind 
are blue with winter frost.

Economics is a useful tool as long as it's users recognize that most of reality cannot be measured economically.  Human beings are not intellectually equipped to enumerate their existence.  
        -
Let me explain that.  I remember as a four year old having a coloring book that had pages where there were dots.  When I drew lines to connect the dots the finished product was a very crude picture.  I soon realized that you don't get a very good picture by connecting the dots.  To get a real picture you had to make an effort to draw it.  All money can do is connect dots.  In reality a lot more is needed than that.
        -
Vision can get clouded by excessive economics.
        -
Economics will only work as long as you realize that it can only be an approximation or estimate.  So now I'm going to warn you of something, and I hope you realize that I'm not doing it off the top of my head (I was trained in information in the Army in the '60's and I then spent a good part of my life, over 20 years, traveling and investigating as much of the world as I could):  the developed world's preoccupation with monetary systems has caused it to choke off it's cultures, it's aesthetics, it's civilization.  The only way to make an economic illusion of everything measurable by money work is to revert to slavery.