Mind Fields: Human Times

Mind Feilds

Are we living in a creative golden age? Is there an explosion of artistic expression happening, or are there simply more people around who have better tools? I think the answer lies in both directions. I can spend entire days online investigating any subject imaginable. I can revisit my childhood, walk the same streets. I can go to the same school again, throw baseballs from the outfield. I explore my memory without needing to go to those places that are thousands of miles away. 

It’s a truism that the Arts thrive during troubled times. Of course they do! Nothing drives us to greater self inquiry than social turbulence. Art is built out of the bricks of self-inquiry. There is nothing more comforting than making beauty when there is wreckage all around. Human beings are talented at making messes, at leaving and repairing wreckage. 

During my lifetime the world’s population has doubled. Now there are seven billion people to make messes and I can feel it in my guts that things are getting more and more strange. There’s an antic quality to the upheavals of our time. The world is populated by failed standup comics, obscure book writers, cowboys, aging ballerinas and kids. Lots of kids.

When I was young there was more room. Today there is a squeezing quality, as if the entire world is a photo of that numbing rocket block of apartments in Hong Kong, with their laundry drying on thousands of railings and TV discs perched like gargoyles at every angle and corner. I’m tempted to call them Living Legos containing numberless thousands of other humans. But I won’t call them that: Living Legos. I’ll call them miserable sub-par toxic environment overpriced low cost housing. This stuff wouldn’t exist so massively in a world with half the current population. 

What are we going to do? I think “we” won’t do anything at all. I think the spirit called Gaia, in which I believe, will take care of this problem by killing off a few billion people before the end of the 21st Century. This is going to be a lethal century. It will recall The Black Death of the 14th Century. 

Gaia has a contingency plan. You may ask “What if I don’t believe in a thing called Gaia? What if there is no Gaia? 

It doesn’t matter what you believe. We will lose three or four billion people regardless. Earthquakes, volcanos, floods, hurricanes, plagues: no fun at all. If I were twenty and not seventy I would be pissing my pants.

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Arthur Rosch is a novelist, musician, photographer and poet. His works are funny, memorable and often compelling. One reviewer said “He’s wicked and feisty, but when he gets you by the guts, he never lets go.” Listeners to his music have compared him to Frank Zappa, Tom Waits, Randy Newman or Mose Allison. These comparisons are flattering but deceptive. Rosch is a stylist, a complete original. His material ranges from sly wit to gripping political commentary.

Arthur was born in the heart of Illinois and grew up in the western suburbs of St. Louis. In his teens he discovered his creative potential while hoping to please a girl. Though she left the scene, Arthur’s creativity stayed behind. In his early twenties he moved to San Francisco and took part in the thriving arts scene. His first literary sale was to Playboy Magazine. The piece went on to receive Playboy’s “Best Story of the Year” award. Arthur also has writing credits in Exquisite Corpse, Shutterbug, eDigital, and Cat Fancy Magazine. He has written five novels, a memoir and a large collection of poetry. His autobiographical novel, Confessions Of An Honest Man won the Honorable Mention award from Writer’s Digest in 2016.

More of his work can be found at www.artrosch.com

Photos at https://500px.com/p/artsdigiphoto?view=photos

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