31 July 2010

there are thirteen ways

there are thirteen ways of
looking at infinity and
half a dozen empty
beers on the counter to
days left behind and left
still to finish too
many things to see you who
laissez-faire so much you
who live with someone so
crazy but the
sun-fall on them
ship-bare shoulders there the sum
total of
arithmetic and
all truths.

27 July 2010

America our age

America our age of plastic is
erica the weedless ghosts of our
stripmall parking lots and three
billion headless chickens will
haunt the
arid steps of our
great great
grand children's grand

26 July 2010

Check this

Hey Chris Macalino wrote this,

"He was satisfied with a B+ while everyone around us in art class opted for an A. I compared my self to this older brother of an artist, I realized that my portrait of not giving a damn did not phase him and he saw right through me, the respect being there. This man is Dan Saidman and he changed my style, gave me room to be more honest, lose the shell of anger and gain protection that saves culture. He was so cool that the barriers I created in school began to weather away, I knew the man before me was a patriot. He always had class."

We had seconds of being alone together. It was heading for Intro To Film, and I thought it would be easy watching movies and talking about them. I also knew that that was an illusion, but even seeing the movies became very serious, and I had to prepare for each day. If only they could know what those moving pictures do to me I thought and I also thought of what they did to them. Not that all frames are paintings but what if they were? That each think was jam packed with berries of golden locks. It seems that my understanding of cinema has always been a little half-baked, the professor totally took my naivete and made love the advantage. The view of film was over analyzed and then restored. Very different from drawing class were I met the man.

It was difficult for me to draw those days. I don't know why but let me try and figure it out. Maybe it was because I was basically drawing to learn more about painting. And we had a good prof, that was the thing that I had problems with. I wanted the prof to know that I really love drawing almost as much as breathing. To breathe in a series is being close and a good drawing class is intimacy. Drawing is not only fundamental to a good looking artist, it's crazy not to consider it outside of training. An artist's life without drawing is like a spring season without rain. We need drawing. We have to draw sometimes just to see if we are really any good, for some it cleanses and there are cases where this practice makes children sing!

Each room in a school has a seating arrangement if seats exist there. The drawing class arrangement depends on the lesson plan. If there is a model present then the students place themselves at a proximity relative to the proportions of the subject. If there is no model then the subject space exist in a collective that was doomed by an assignment, it is interesting to think of a subject that is right above our heads, the students sit in workplaces and this is where all theory of personal studio space comes from. We must breathe each others air and to cross the line means that those two artists are sharing.

To really share yourself to the art world means starting your own gallery and showing your friends their art. Whoever agrees to these terms makes a promise them self to be forever grateful, this attitude is more important than perfect memory. When I heard there was going to be a new gallery my productivity turned to politics but it always works out, that the power of creation was really a celebration. I made my deals into proposals and I believe that was a good decision, I was no longer burning and destroying my career into a desperate attempt at risk. All those guys in the gallery were the gambling type but considered each other winners anyway. So I kept submitting for shows and that is how we play it nice, I really began to see a change that people actually bought all the professionalism. The first thing I did was figure out the tie I was wearing and keep getting better at it.

I tried to make some money. I couldn't go the gallery for a few months but when I came back for a visit the console was gone and was replaced by more artists. Label had shows every week now, music and photography to name it. Now some of my writer friends were there too and the poetry readings began. I mean the posters were just right, the balance of a little boy, the balance my father taught me.

"It was good to see the man on stage, with a poem that was very personal. He spoke of love for a special man in his life, someone who touched and inspired him. Without that person we would have never been reading poetry that night. And Dan really could perform, it wasn't so much that it finally happened, it was more of the opening he created. Through the sensitive words he said, we became more like flowers. Some poets turn such things into people but this man, made flowers out of all us."

We all came around. People have told me that there were moments when going through all the creativity, they felt the blessed. I get that too. I look up from the page and see what is around me and then forget that I've even asked a question. There she is, so beautiful, surrounded by her adoration. He is there too, making peace with brothers. It is like this, as more shows were shown, the plan and whatever it could be was working. Our paintings were becoming better and their age would reach new levels to us, taking those pictures to keep that idea of rest or feast. Your eyes on this must be wondering, how could our place be changed and still be our place? I know when you move a seat, your view of the television changes, and usually moving back to the original place change has made your experience wish. Perhaps this gallery was the thing that says your chair changes, just as must as the view, and we can rest on this idea too. The place: looks innocent enough and part of a community, drew people closer by making it fun, and without moving and without considering the gravity of being a study, changed the people inside it to the degree that those who came saw a difference.

There is the musician, tuning his guitar. In playing it, he maintains his listeners their minds. The great one is attracted to this and knows what happens inside even when he outside there. Look at all the people with an art appreciation that defies the outland of costumes and creates a circus to see attractions. As time passed by, we were all wondering if there is a next announcement from him. Will he turn the gallery into something else? Maybe he was going to keep it the way it was changing and let it run its course, forever unlocking the safe.

When I heard Label Gallery was going to close. I was wondering about Dan and all the things he's done. I redefined my sadness into happiness. There he was, satisfied that we finally understood, we understood that it was fine art. Then it was time for Last Call, where I tried to be an ace in his sleeve, and to try was all he asked for. Even if it was a secret to a joke. The part of me that wondered if they were serious about me just about stopped wondering, and then painted - something respectful to earn.

"When he told me it was the best show he had done, part of me remembered that I already heard the words, and his voice solidified the moments together. My silence was true as I listened to that. The fear of coming inside to see what he had done was not really fear, I redefined it, and felt honour. It was his turn to smoke and my turn to go inside. The most beautiful of white space embraced every piece that hung, walls of education. It seemed to me our little gallery was not only home it was also like a chapel, something I compare the best spots to. I do confess, that what I saw was a great show and that people were going to love it. You ever go into a place and lift your heart? That is when your eyes sing, with your heart, I almost carved my initials into the wood. Whatever worries I had about regrets died, not only could I see the future and it was true we are meant for things great and more like this."

I remember going to one of our shows and the poet was there, and writing like the wind at a christening. I could have sworn there was an angel. When you look at a man that way it's not only love, it's not only gay, it's also divine. This poet has the talent of the great one skating through his ice cold calculations. There are schemes of light in his verses and beams of emergencies that take bulbs from sirens to make them seen.

A master of magnetism could seduce the lack of iron from my blood and fill it. It was another instance when I raised something of myself and saw the atmosphere. I took off the fishbowl and a terran landscape was inside, but to paint it meant to shade my view of the building. I prefer to cherish nature, and my own ideas, they're just going to wave at you. In order to see you come in gingerbread.

"We are always concerned with the speed of light but when think of its speed we obsess the furious. I don't mean to say that light is slow but it takes its time and we are forced to wait in situations. He must have seen the darkness and really looked at it. He must have seen us and had faith in knowing what we needed and believed, he could provide the light. Those windows touched me and cured what illnesses simplified my troubles to a damn permanence. Those windows that come from heaven, part of his vision. I liked what he had done with the place. I have never seen a better process than darkness to light, this is what happened across the University Of Winnipeg and he created that beauty so let it be known. In passing where it was, still feel the estoria and recorded."

Stephen Jackson Art Show

The family and I attended Stephen Jackson's latest art exhibition on Sunday where he hung his paintings all over his property in Roseisle. Some really beautiful landscape work and only rivaled by the beauty of his gardens. The big surprise for me was seeing for the first time a portrait he painted of Shawna and I. It brought tears to our eyes, what a wonderful surprise! (Al Simmons, Wally Landreth, and Jeff Funnell were also in attendance!)

25 July 2010

Link: Jacques Derrida On Love and Being

Charlotte Posenenske

The things I make are
as simple as possible
They are components of a space, since they are like building elements
they can always be rearranged into new combinations or positions,
thus, they alter the space.
I leave this alteration to the consumer who thereby again and anew
participates in the creation.
The simplicity of basic geometric forms is beautiful and suited
to the demonstration of the principles of rationalized modifications.
I make series
because I do not want to make single pieces for individuals,
in order to have elements combinable in a system,
in order to make something which is repeatable, objective,
and because it is economical.

[ . . . .]

They are decreasingly recognizable as artworks.
The objects should have the objective character of industrial products.
The former categorization of the arts no longer exists. The artist of the
future would have to work with a team of specialists in a development laboratory.
Though arts formal development has progressed at an increasing tempo,
its social function regressed.
Art is a commodity of transient contemporary significance, yet, the market is minute,
and prestige and prices rise the less topical the supply is.
It is difficult for me to come to terms with the fact that art can contribute nothing to solving urgent social problems.

Statement [Manifesto], Art International no. 5 (May 1968)

21 July 2010



The convoluted
in my

you know
it, the feel
to your
their pressure
into you

Dinner with the cuckold's family

We sat at the table
wondering if anyone
knew the secret
About the way
you slipped
into mine
the body
knows what's
There was a moment
that I stared into
your lover's eyes
and we knew
what game was being played
And with all his grace
he shook my hand
in honour and
courtly gesture
the dual would be played
His mother
the banquet
knew who we were
If we
were nothing
but confusion
that never
made a decision
So similar the wants
so vacuous the knots
and I couldn't see
even though I
at once to let go
and my pretend
was over


It comes with a blessing
that gives nothing in return
and all that it's hoping for
is for you to love its dominion

ditty in 'd'

ditty dee
dum dee doo
datum data
dig dredge drudge
dumbfound dazzle
dedication delectation
data ditty dee


Did you realize that if you look at Winnipeg from satelites, the city forms one giant Golden Boy?

I dont want to Spam Beta too much with this idea, but I really need to hear from you guys.

Over the past couple of weeks since folk fest, Ive talked to most of the key players we need to make this event happen. Heres a rough layout.

Thursday night- multi media art expo
friday night- element circus
saturday night- party by the Triple Threat
Sunday- Fashion show

This is a four headed beast. (The fifth head is still the missing link, I need to connect with the NEW AGE community) I cant organize everything, each night has its own organizational body which covers its particular facet.

But OUR facet is the Art Expo. And Obi Wan Kenobi, you re our only hope. I need YOU to help me organize this art expo. Just think people, this is the chance we ve all been waiting for to come together using our various talents to put together a really slick event. The key thing here is that I want this event to be great but my main skills are RALLYING, and my weakness lies in EXECUTION. Plus if I try to organize everything, when will I get a chance to work on my ART? We need to form voltron. Here s a delegation of tasks based on abilities that I envision:

Lorne Roberts, Carlos Quinonez, Culleton, Waterman, Macri- Curators, graphic designers, fundraisers. Buddies, this is yer skill sets. Even the out-of-towners can organize the facet having to do with professional writing, and the creation of the catalogue. The Catalogue is where the major expense lays. To do it up right we ll need a solid little bundle of $. This may need to be fundraised for. However, one of the primary purposes of this catalogue is TO SELL ART AND THE ARTISTS. I want to sell my shizzle. We all do.

Those are the HardCore ex labelites I can think off the top of my head. Of course, I have a lot more Rallying to do in order to find an officer for every particular media featured in the expo. Fo example, obviosly Pancoe would be in charge of ceramics and sculpture etc, cyrus smith officer of grafiti, Mr X officer of video, Micheal Dudeck officer of performance etc.

Please guys! Lets talk about this! Time is running out!

15 July 2010

Winnipegasus Solstice Festival 2012

Sorry guys, Maybe I was unclear or too Bizarre.
Here s the unpoetic official version:
Please let us discuss! This isnt my baby I think im going to call my role the humble initiater. We need to come together to make a super sweet something happen! This is our chance! Lets do it! What do you think? Are you with me? 

Salutations Citizens of Winnipeg and Beyond

Ive got an idea for a show that Id like to organize for our fair city. The concept is a big multi-day art expo to celebrate the winter solstice in december of 2012. Lets come together to make a truly unique and magical event like never before seen in this city. A transcendental extravaganza of truly legendary proportions.

Envision a first annual massive multi-disciplinary art show featuring video, painting, drawing, photography, performance, food, coffee, dance, craft sale, fashion show, sculpture, poetry reading, all loosely based on the themes of evolution, revolution, apocalypse, metamorphosis, ascendance, transcendance, ecology, mythology, religion.

The event, called The Winnipegasus Soltice Festival would be a first annual 4-5 day showcase and sale, generating money for the artists and vendors, with local and national representation, featuring a full color catalogued price list and artist bio. 

We will be celebrating the prophecy of Louis Riel;

-My people will sleep for 100 years and when they awaken it will be the artists who give them their spirit back.-
Media sources and entertainment have created an apocalypse "buzz". I'm aware that many scriptures (and Aztec calendar, yada yada) foretell the end of time, but I've always thought of that as a sort of reoccurring metaphor of cycles, each generation/age witnessing its own decline. Now with mass consciousness progressing telescopically, with the aid of modern media (of course including movies and TV), we may be ensuring the destructive outcome, like a typical self-fulfilling-prophecy. Or even worse, a scripted endgame. Either population control has begun on a new level, and the manufacturing of despair is intentional, or we have collectively made some terrible oversights. Today a nine year old girl told me told me that in 2012, god would judge the sinners, and the earth would burn. I didn’t know what to say, but gave it a whirl. I tried to explain that there are different interpretations to the bible (her reference) and that no one REALLY knows what will happen.  I told her not to worry about it, and to not watch movies like 2012 (which apparently disturbed her deeply). I explained that the movie was not any more real than Shrek, and yet, far less enjoyable. At that point, she cried tears streaking through her butterfly face paint and class was over.

14 July 2010

To Ye folkens del alpha y omega
hi guys I miss u
e festival was perfect as usual
Id hate to brag
but we are beautiful

here s some letters I found in the scram when I woke up from folk fest

letter to jedi master:

jedi master,

This message may sound confused and I apologize for such. But truly I just spent a most magnificant weekend at the festival and my kundalini has never ever been so happy go-lucky proud.

Sorry to gush, but now and here I must pay to you the utmost of acknowledgements for the trandscendental training you bestowed upon me during my most transformative years. Alchemaically, yourself and your retinue of outstanding players (our freinds and training partners) were the scourging fire to my burgeoning, base metal. 


may the force be with you

Letter to Titania

The Pleasure is all mine milady. and yers
Cheers to the Lady of the Lake and all her retinue
Everything worked out

The pyramid has a permanant home overlooking lake winnipeg, Im scheming to build another wider level maybe out of something that can grow. Building underground levels, winterizing, solar panels, hay bales, ground water heating, wind turbines, bat cave, dilithium crystal, gigantic portrait of the queen, alignment with the four directions, Louis Riel is buried underneath and his ressurection is due in 2012.

Which reminds me, I feel we should collaborate on an assingment for 2012 to celebrate the prophecy of King Louis:

my people will sleep for one hundred years, and when they awaken, it will be the Artists who give them their spirit back.

Im sure you ve heard some of the mumbo jumbo surrounding the date december 21 2012 circulating and gestating around the interdimensional interweb and elsewhere. All Poppycok Im sure you will agree. But why not capitalize on this tidal wave of attention with an intergalactic equinox party of truly 
chip and pepper magnitude right here in the centre of the world 

Multi day, art expo, fashion show, craft sale, rock concert, rave party, red river rebellion, ballet, darts etc.

It seems early to begin preperation but my  beloved, I say nay, the time is exactly right. 
first 2 objectives: Very soon we need to have the location nailed down and a superslick call for submissions-invitation sent out to the fairierealm ambbasadors and beyond.

What do you and all those sacred earthen and aetherial spirits think about this idea?

My name is Andrew but my freinds call me nij and the gods call me the Smoky Tiger

return this message to my good astral messenger kitty yukdugu s neck in reply

I wish you and yers nothing but the sincerest of respect.

Letter from God:

Congrats on the prize! I'm hoping everything worked out. let me know if it got out ot you or what needs to be done to make it happen. We can talk more about your ideas of what you'd like to do to colaborate. I'm happy someone who can apprrciate our work now has a peice of it.

I Found this message scrawled in glowstick ink in the bathroom

poem festival 2012:
for titania
walked to folk fest
solved the riddle of the pyramids
meditated on the sacred pope stone for 5 hours
saw every fire pixie dance
witnessed sun rise from popes hill 6 days straight
sobbed buckets at the words -rise again- during finale
lost my shit, then found it better than it was before
gave gumbi water
didnt cross the streams (until the marshmellow man came)
got my moccasins dirty
scared Andrew Neville with barret s privateers 
found the secret REAL shady grove
announced the True Leprechaun King s arrival on the hill (oberon)
dispelled 9 death knights w sonicheavenlyvibrations (softies on the inside)
almost got duped by 7 yr old boy to pay 25c rental fee for devil sticks
saw boba fett
8 year old boy swinging 50 feet up over a crowd of folks
stole the missing hieroglyphic bricks from the trading post (hoarders)
found the helm of awe (pink eared black bear with matching pink puffies)
lost the sacred box of the eye of ra (finders keepers losers weepers)
sung so pure that the whole camprground could here (even the quieters)
brad roberts has an enormous head (great job, yer always welcome buddy)
joined the leaugue of champions, and the owl society
rolled down popes hill 13 times 
obeyed the code
found a lance
discussed 2012 with Basil and a drunk guatamalan who wanted to fight me 
realized the actual nature of space and time (what they said was true)
all of history culminates RIGHT NOW
holy lord of clowns and jesters
warped to level 8
parked the scram in the tow away zone for 5 days straight
9 poutines
remained yer humble servant
was accompanied by only the best (you know who you are)

brought to you by

Holy Dinah Guys. I would expect to feel a headach after all this festing but actually I feel pretty good.
Off to bed. 

signing off

13 July 2010

I am

To move in all directions qua knowing presents the imminent consequence of epistemic relativism.
But the fact that it appears that we can extend from a base, presents ontological imminence as well.
I believe.
So it is not that:
Since things can be known in many different ways they become difference in themselves, or meaninglessness, otherwise a lack of a hold on what can really be.
Things more accurately contain a multitudinality in themselves, at once containing a singular essence and hinging in all directions in relationality.
So, it is that:
What there really is, is what is being known, regardless of how many ways it can be known.
And this appears to be stratified, holographic, fluid, and changing.
Again, the more useful conclusion is that something most definitely is.
Descartes doubt of things was thus not the best way to approach our deep questions.
Faith is.

It is too bad though, because a long time ago, when he lost to love, and couldn’t let go, the narrator sold his soul, just to let go .

12 July 2010

Inside the lightcone

Marie-Pierre Arthur with Chic Gamine, Studio 12

This is the super awesome Qu├ębecoise singer Marie-Pierre Arthur doing a live recording of her song "Elle" for a Radio-Canada TV show called Studio 12. Our good pals Chic Gamine do a killer job on vocals.

You can't really see it in any of the shots, but she's about six or seven months pregnant here.

I was sitting in the front row, and had a deep chest cough, so I spent the entire recording silently gasping for breath.

Book part 5 or 6 or something

So, uh... do you like this? You, uh... you... like tree plant planting? Adam is asking this of Lyn, side of mud-road next to tarp-covered trees in grey rain.
Oh... not so much, Lyn says. But I'll live. I mean, it won't kill me.
Yeah, I guess you got, like, good gear and stuff... Good gear and stuff?, he thinks. What are you, six?
Yeah, it's pretty good, I guess. I'm mostly dry. She laughs.
He nods. Yeah, my gear sucks.
So I see.
I guess as soon as we get an advance, I'll buy some better stuff...
Thatsa good idea she says, eating a carrot stick out of a plastic baggie. I mean, it seems like we're gonna suffer enough in this job without having to be wet all the time too.
Come on he thinks to himself, come on man, think of something to say. Anything.
So, uh... do you like this?
She smiles, chews her carrot . You just asked me that.
Oh yeah.
What made you decide to come planting?, she asks after a brief pause, looking at him then back out across the clear-cut to where the other five rookies struggle along, struggle along.
Well, a guy I worked with--
--in Winnipeg, yeah?
--yeah, he had done it, and so he sort of got me the job, but then he decided at the last minute not to come back, and so I just kinda came out here by myself and, like, so far I think it sucks.
She laughs. Yeah it's no picnic, that's for damn sure. I came out because I, like, heard it was fun? Parties and stuff, cool people?, being outdoors all the time and all that? I didn't think it'd be quite like this, though. I expected something more, uh, I dunno. A bit more fun.
Yeah, me too. I also, uh... He stops.
You what?
He's silent for a few moments. I guess I wanted to try to make some money for school, and I'd heard you make lots of money doing this, so...
She nods. Where you go to school?
I don't. Yet. Well, I did for one year, but now I don't. But I'm hoping to do, like, something at U of M this year, and...
Uh, Manitoba?
Yeah, but I'm not sure what, exactly. Something with money.
Oh yeah? Money, eh? That's your thing? Money?
I dunno. Maybe. Sort of, yeah. He laughs, laughs in spite of his wet feet and his general misery. I wanna be rich, he says. And what about you? How'd you end up out here?
She's silent for a few seconds. She's reacted to what he said, but he's not sure why. I, well, she says, I was in school too, but then I dropped out a couple years ago, so...
Me too. I dropped out too.
Oh yeah? Why?
My... well... He digs the toe of his sloppy wet boot in the rain-dirt, looks out to where the other rookies are. He doesn't know what to say. He's miserable out here. He likes her. There are things that are hard to explain to anyone, let alone to virtual strangers on an isolated rainy mountainside, things about how certain kinds of holes are left inside of the bone-cage, left in the spaces where someone else used to be. Left by someone who has fallen into shadow maybe. He thinks of he and his sister beside the Assiniboine River on a sad day of shadow smoking cigarettes and sharing a joint, behind the girls school there in the trees. I dunno, he says finally. I guess it just wasn't the right time for school.
Me either she says, shrugs, tries to look carefree. Too many other things I needed to learn maybe. Or take care of first. I dunno. She thinks of times spent checking morgues, police report and newspapers, scouring internet forums just for some sign of The Missing, but she manages to smile at him anyway. I, uh, I guess we should get back to work, eh?, she asks, thinking to herself I wonder what he was going to say.
I guess so, yeah, he says, wondering to himself where her mind went for that second, having recognized just as she did in him that subtle blip in the force that we soft-eyed mammals all seem to recognize in one another, the look of recognition between man and dolphin and dog, between cat and deer and doe, between woman and child, the look between long-ago Wolf Boy and his doctor, and no not our doggie friend Wolf Boy but in fact an earlier version, a feral kid pulled screaming out of the trees, age 11, no known family, no known human contact. Wild-haired and deep-eyed like a goddamn caveman, even he'd known it too.
And so they put trees into their bags, a hundred each, and they trudge back up into the long grey-brown slope, put their shovels in, try to start planting more trees. Hank is there with them now, showing up just as they start.
Hey dudes, he says. How goes the battle? Where you at? And they answer, and explain, or try to, and he shows them a few things, shows a few quick tricks and then they're back at it, back to planting what we learn is a few tree lengths apart. Three or four tree lengths. They don't understand this, or even have these words yet, because to them it's still twenty-five feet or eight metres or something, not tree lengths, which was almost the only useful form of measurement out there besides the sky and the vibrations in the life-force, but as they turn to follow the line of trees towards the other rookies they drift apart from each other, so that the awkward but promising moment between them, whatever it was, is lost now.
No. Not lost. Like The Missing or those in shadow, I guess, some energy of it had to be remaining still, pulsating, at least in the fact that these two tree planting people, just now, had thought about those in shadow, and so maybe those in shadow had taken up form, the spectral and sheeted dead given flesh through these words, taking up the body they have so often laid down and speaking out of the mouths of the living. And so something of that moment that had passed just now must have remained, some actual and real whatever real means piece of physical energy since their brains were energy, or were using it, or something.
Anyway, the rainy day ends. Day Two. Day two of a fucking million, Keith says as they're all settling into the van, racous and rain-wet, soaked with the grey-woolen heaviness of it. Woooooooooo!, he says, and everyone laughs.
Roxie is back with them again and she's driving, and the rain has eased up a just a little as they wind down the roads towards camp.
Adam is so sore, so tired, so miserable that he can hardly believe it, but at least this day, finally, is over, and he doesn't look completely beaten just yet. He puts his head back on the seat-back and it starts a bounce with the rhythm of the road, his eyes close, mouth falls open, he's sound asleep.

You were the one along the tree line there, all those years. I saw you. Staring! You were the ghost!

Adam wakes up with a start, subway city and forty six years old.


09 July 2010

Thankful to the very end

Legendary and awesome Canadian filmmaker and actor Don McKeller (Last Night, Roadkill, Highway 61, The Red Violin) allowed the email he sent to friends and family after the death of his wife, actor Tracy Wright, to be published in Maclean's Magazine this week.

Read it if you want to cry (and be happy).

Thankful to the very end - Arts & Culture - Macleans.ca


‘Do you know you’re dying?’ ‘Now?’ she replied, in surprise. Don McKellar on Tracy Wright’s final hours.

06 July 2010

intimate atrocities

[D]eath made its appearance under the guise of an atrocissima inimica, as something unjust and "unfair," without which, however, life itself could not be adequately explained. - Ferrater Mora