These are thoughts that are in progress…

After a long weekend in Chicago riding trains and being buffeted by the wind I’m back. Back at work, that is. Last night was the first time this month I’ve actually earned any money. Recently I noticed that I’ve changed a great deal. I recognize the changes easily enough for what they are externally, but I’m not absolutely certain what internal changes are going on that are more than likely responsible for my external evolution. Perhaps I need to turn out the lights, huddle in a corner, and scribbled painfully introspective poetry (so as to give free play to my embattled soul); maybe another day…

Anyhow back to the idea: I was at work, in the kitchen to be precise, and happened to reflect on the terribly unoriginal pop-song that was forcing its way through the speakers. I’m sure you’ve heard it before; maybe not the specific song, but most terribly unoriginal pop-songs sound alike—and that is where the immorality lies. Is variation on a theme a bad thing in and of itself, or is it just bad when the theme that is being varied is bad?

There are a lot of renowned classical composers who have work that sounds remarkably similar to the work of other composers, a lot of great artists find a style or theme and create pieces that cohere along the common line, even poets and writers borrow forms and stories and craft them just slightly differently under their own name. Is that wrong? Does it hinder the work from being all that it could be if it wasn’t associated with other works?

The answer, I think, is no. For similarity between one sublime thing and another is merely an illusion. Each variation on a transcendent theme is forever exploring the infinite vagaries of a divine moment; each facet of the moment beautifully different than every other facet of a moment of infinity—similarity exists only on the surface.

It is when base themes are varied in a sort of clichéd meaningless repetition that immorality rears its filthy head over and over again; indeed, exploring the intricacies of worthlessness is a dreadful enterprise.