Robot-Made Art

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about robots making our art. By 'art' I mean everything from writing novels to playing music, painting, and filmmaking. I’ve been wondering how good robot-made art will become, how dominant it will be in the marketplace, and whether all human-made art will eventually be relegated to a pastime or hobby. The most important question, though, is what will happen to our sense of humanity and community if the art we consume is, overwhelmingly, machine-made.

Of course, much of art-making has already become a pastime. Painting, once a viable profession supported by academies and apprenticeships, has been economically unsustainable for most practitioners for at least the past seventy-five years. Image-making technologies played a large role in that decline—but technology alone isn’t to blame. Advances in recording, for example, created an economic boom in music for musicians, songwriters, and concert promoters. In writing, print technology made authorship a profession.

Still, technology does seem to be the story. Once applied to art-making, it eventually replaces the professional artist. Mass-market economics demand it.

Advances in AI have now reached the point where machines can produce virtually any kind of mass-market art as professionally and more efficiently than humans. The economics clearly favor machine-made art, just as factory-made furniture and clothing displaced handmade production. The concern today isn’t so much about quality, but about how to tell the difference between human and machine creation—because the machine-made is getting that good.

Here's an example. This song is described as “Discovered on a forgotten mono tape marked ‘Handle Me – May 1952.’ This juke-joint scorcher captures the unstoppable blues powerhouse Bertha Mae Lightning—a woman who could outplay, outsing, and outdrink half the Delta.” Only at the very bottom of the description does it add: “Disclaimer: A lost-session tribute—written, arranged, and composed by a human, brought to life with AI in true blues spirit. The backstory’s fictional, the music’s real.”

The music is real, only in the sense that it was generated by AI from scraped samples. It’s undeniably good—very good—and most listeners, judging by the comments, have no idea it’s artificial. The packaging is designed to fool.

What’s happening in music will soon happen in books, films—everywhere. And since streaming platforms control access, they’ll inevitably promote machine-made work over the human. There's more money in it for them.

So does it matter if Bertha Mae Lightning is real or not? How about Elijah "Hollowfoot" Turner?

I think it does. No matter how good it sounds—or looks.

Art-making has been faked before, especially in painting, and we’ve always drawn a firm line between the counterfeit and the original. That line must exist in all the arts. Admittedly, it’s trickier in music, where performance and reproduction blur. But even in the visual arts, where a canvas or sculpture is one-of-a-kind, there have long been marketed facsimiles—prints, for example.

Still, knowing that a real person produced something matters. It’s part of what makes art art.

The artist’s presence is so integral to the experience of art that we’ve always struggled to separate the artist from their work. Often, the work itself is sublime and deeply human, yet the artist turns out to be a scoundrel. Art history is littered with such examples—from the Baroque painter Caravaggio to filmmaker Woody Allen. Should the fact that Ezra Pound and Roald Dahl were avowed antisemites change how we value their poetry and stories? The point is, it matters; it makes some of us deeply uncomfortable that the author of the beloved children's book "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" unrepentently hated Jews.

Whether it 'should' matter is a debate worth having—and part of what makes art so compelling. Art reflects the paradoxes and mysteries of the human journey, both the tasteful and the unsavoury. The nature of art is artifice to be sure, but it's artifice in the service of truth. 

The knowledge that there is no real experience behind Bertha Mae Lightning’s lines—I shine too bright, I cut too deep/ They talk that love, but they don't keep, means the essential component is missing. It changes the way it lands for me. I hope others feel the same way, once they know the truth.

What if

What 

What if

What if no

What if no one 

What if no one paid 

What if no one paid attention

What if no one paid attention 

What if no one paid

What if no one

What if no 

What if

What.

Ahead of his Time

One of the major regrets in my life is that I didn’t get to know my grandfather Sam better. I’ve written about him once before. That blog post was mostly about him as an artist. But Sam was best known as a businessman. At one time, his company, Sample Manufacturing Corporation, was the largest producer of ladies’ dresses in Canada. In addition to innovating by applying an assembly-line model to clothing manufacturing, he was a pioneer of private labeling—selling slightly altered fashion designs to mass-market retailers under their own labels.

Sam passed away in 1989 when he was seventy-six and I was twenty-five. I had just finished graduate school and started my first full-time job working at a library when he got sick. He succumbed quickly to his illness after only a few weeks in the hospital.

As children, we didn’t actually see our grandparents too often. They lived in Florida during the winter and came back to Montreal in the summer. We’d fly down to visit them for two weeks during Christmas and Easter vacations. During the summer months, when they were back in town, my brothers and I were away at sleepaway camp. The only time of year we were really in the same place was at the beginning of the school year, before they returned to Florida for the winter.

My grandparents divorced in 1975, and by the time Sam’s business was winding down in the mid-1980s, he was spending even more time in Florida. By the time I graduated high school in ’81, and my parents’ marriage had come apart, we weren’t visiting Florida as a family anymore. We didn’t see much of Sam in the last decade of his life. My two older brothers saw him more often because, for a period of time, he let them use some of his empty factory space for the kitchen cabinet business they were trying to get off the ground. I, on the other hand, had no interest in business.

What I do remember about Sam has stuck with me—and, oddly enough, become more resonant with age. So many of the things I remember him talking about fifty years ago seem even more relevant today.

Sam was an autodidact. Despite never graduating from high school, he loved books and read widely. He read about politics, economics, philosophy, psychology, and art. When I was at university studying political science I can remember having discussions with him about some of the theories we were learning. I can remember him incisively shooting them down as ivory tower nonsense. 

I remember Sam being deeply interested in the writings of Freud and Marx though. His interest in Freud, I believe, was partly personal—he had underwent psychoanalysis for many years—but also connected to his work as an artist and his belief in the dominant role of the subconscious in life.

He was also interested by psychology as it relates to spectacle. One of his favorite phrases was “Bullshit baffles brains.” What he meant was that people could be manipulated, diverted, or gaslit. He was fascinated by American culture, and especially by the popularity of megachurches and televangelists in the South. On a portable cassette recorder, Sam used to tape the Sunday morning broadcasts of the charismatic preachers—the “Holy Rollers,” as he called them. He loved it when they made their pitch for donations, the psychology of salesmanship.

He was highly skeptical of politics and politicians, and despite his own success as a businessman, he didn’t believe in the future of capitalism. I remember him saying that “capital and labour are in conflict.” I presume much of his economic skepticism came from his difficult experience negotiating contracts with garment workers’ unions. He also said, “The banks own everything,” expressing his doubt in the very concept of private property that underpins the capitalist system.

I remember one time he drew a circle to illustrate why capitalism cannot work in the long run. He said, “Let’s say you have a circle of ten people, and you give each one $100 to sell a product or service to their neighbour in sequence. According to capitalism, each person must make a profit on their transaction. Logically, after a number of cycles, one person will end up with all the money.” (The exact number of cycles depends on the profit margins, but the principle stands.)

Today it seems like Sam was right about everything. Nothing about current events, thirty-six years after his death, would surprise him. Capitalism has failed in the way he foresaw—all the money has ended up in the hands of a few. Politics has proven that “bullshit baffles brains”; people are easily diverted and gaslit.

Sam was ahead of his time.

The truth is, I’m not sure what Sam actually thought, because I never had the depth or maturity to ask him. That’s the source of my regret. I’m just sewing together fabric swaths of memory to create a complete garment he might have worn.

Smoke and Mirrors

This week has been one of mixed emotions for me.

Elation that the final living hostages have been liberated — tempered by disgust at the triumphalism surrounding trump. Watching him bask in the praise and glory he’s been receiving in Israel made me feel sick to my stomach. It was like watching a drug addict take his fix. In trump’s case, the addiction is narcissism, and the drug is adulation — heaped on him not only by Israeli leaders and the public, but also by analysts and media commentators, which has been confounding to watch.

Yes, trump deserves some credit for helping secure the release of the last twenty living hostages. But not the standing ovation we’re seeing. A little perspective is in order: the Biden administration managed to get 110 hostages released. The so-called “trump plan” is, in fact, a rehash of the ceasefire framework negotiated earlier by Biden’s Secretary of State, Antony Blinken.

Of course, timing is everything. In every film, it’s the ending people remember. And humility rarely earns applause in politics. If there’s one thing trump truly excels at, it’s hyperbole — turning minor accomplishments into monumental ones and claiming credit for what others have done. I'm just tired of watching people fall for it.

Still, let’s clarify what actually happened. No “peace deal” was signed — and the media should stop calling it that. What was agreed to was a ceasefire, and it’s already starting to unravel. Instead of demilitarizing, Hamas is doing the opposite. They’ve claimed victory and taken to the streets of Gaza as a self-styled “police force,” re-establishing control through public displays of power and executions.

The document signed in Egypt wasn’t signed by either Israel or Hamas. It was called a “joint declaration,” slightly more consequential than a communiqué, and was signed by Egyptian President Abdel Fattah el-Sisi, trump, Qatari Emir Sheikh Tamim bin Hamad Al Thani, and Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan. In other words, it was mostly PR.

If there was any doubt about the decline of western democracy, that was put to rest in Egypt, watching trump humiliate all the other leaders - their sycophancy together with the media's complicity.   

My question to Americans is this: At what point do you begin to see that the trump presidency for what it actually is, little more than smoke and mirrors — a performance designed to conceal the most corrupt presidency in U.S. history?

According to Forbes, trump’s personal net worth has jumped by nearly $3.4 billion in the first ten months of his second term — about $2 billion of that from cryptocurrency ventures, the untraceable currency of choice for crooks and corrupt politicians (read: bribes).

The rest of the trump family has profited handsomely as well. Jared and Ivanka have become billionaires in their own right. Jared has raised $4.6 billion from investors in Qatar, Saudi Arabia, and the UAE, and has already invested more than $2 billion in twenty-two companies. Eric and Don Jr. have joined in too, enriching themselves by roughly $750 million and $500 million respectively, much of it from crypto and real estate licensing deals across the Middle East and Asia. The family’s total enrichment from the presidency is estimated at more than $7 billion — and we’re only ten months in.

How do Americans not see that under trump, the office of the presidency, like every cheap product he’s ever slapped his name on, is for sale? Accepting the “gift” of a $400 million jet from Qatar wasn’t enough of a “for sale” sign? And what did Qatar get in return? Among other things, reportedly, a base for the Qatari Air Force — on American soil.

Meanwhile, trump has shut down the government while collecting billions in tariff revenue — effectively raising taxes on ordinary Americans — even as he cuts taxes for the wealthy and slashes benefits for the neediest. Does this get the public’s attention? Not so much.

What does raise Americans’ hackles? Apparently, the release of files on a wealthy, well-connected, dead pedophile. Maybe. Unless trump can keep the smoke-and-mirror show running long enough to distract them indefinitely.

And honestly, I wouldn’t bet against him. He knows you can never underestimate the American appetite for distraction — or the media’s willingness to go along with it. In the post-truth attention economy, spectacle is all that matters. 

Just Put The Phone Down

CLICK HERE TO HEAR THE SONG

Just put the phone down,

Don't follow the flock.

Just put the phone down,

And maybe we'll talk.

Don't look it up,

Don’t need to know why.

Don’t want the answer,

Meet me eye to eye.

Let's have a moment,

Share some head space.

Leave questions unanswered,

Inhabit one place. 

The screen doesn't give, 

A genuine impression.

Except of a person's,

Unhealthy obsession.

It's honesty I need, 

Now more than ever.

Not some stranger's comments, 

That makes him sound clever.

Don't care about the memes,

That try to make you laugh.

Don't need to be outraged,

By a dumb photograph.

Just put the phone down,

Don't follow the flock.

Just put the phone down,

And maybe we'll talk.

Don't look it up,

Don’t need to know why.

Don’t want the answer,

Meet me eye to eye.

Don't need further details,

On the Middle-East.

I have more concern for, 

The problems on my street.

The rivers of chaos,

Vulgarity and greed.

Vapidity, conspiracy,

On the misinforming feed.

The uncontrolled addiction,

The digital affliction.

The venal exhibition,

Of every politician. 

Hypnotized, mesmerized,

Anesthetized, lobotomized.

Paralyzed, desensitized, 

Our future is jeopardized.

Just put the phone down…

Hostage Release - Shehecheyanu

שֶׁהֶחֱיָנוּ וְקִיְּמָנוּ וְהִגִּיעָנוּ לַזְּמַן הַזֶּה

Shehecheyanu v'kiy'manu v'higiyanu laz'man hazeh

Blessed is the One who has kept us alive, sustained us, and brought us to this moment.

It’s the Hebrew blessing we say at moments of significance — family gatherings, holidays, birthdays, anniversaries. It signifies celebration and gratitude. But, as with all Jewish celebrations, it carries a certain heaviness — a shadow of memory and regret for those who are only with us in spirit. It’s a reminder of how much we owe to those who made our present moment possible.

I can hardly think of a more appropriate time to recite the blessing than today. There are inevitably mixed feelings. We celebrate the return of the living — their freedom from the dungeons of captivity. We mourn the more than two years they spent suffering helplessly, enduring mental and physical torment at the hands of the most depraved, sadistic individuals. We rejoice in their reunions with family. We grieve for those who could not return safely to theirs. We celebrate the end of a nightmare. We regret the 465 Israeli soldiers — most of them in their late teens and early twenties — who gave their lives in the war, and the tens of thousands of innocent Palestinians killed and wounded, along with the hundreds of thousands who continue to endure deprivation and inhuman living conditions.

I am grateful to the politicians who finally reached a deal. I blame the politicians for taking so long — for the unimaginable toll their delay has taken.

Shehecheyanu, yes — but this should have, and could have, happened much sooner.

Almost two years ago, on October 29, 2023, the Montreal Jewish community gathered downtown to call for the release of the hostages. My wife and I attended, and we brought home a bright yellow sign that said, “Release the Hostages.” That day, I stuck the sign in the window of our front door and vowed not to take it down until every hostage was released. I never imagined it would remain there for almost two years.

I thought I was taking a small risk. Ours is a quiet, affluent neighborhood. Many Jewish families live on our street, though it’s a mix. What worried me most was the bus stop directly in front of our house. I feared someone not from our neighbourhood might see the sign, take exception, and throw a rock at the window. I figured the worst that could happen was the cost and hassle of replacing some broken glass. Taking a public stand, however meagre, was worth the risk. My worries grew as the war dragged on, the Palestinian death toll rose, and antisemitism in the diaspora intensified. Still, I kept my vow to myself. 

In those two years, we experienced only two clear responses to our sign — and perhaps two more, if you count the ambiguous ones.

The first was direct but civil: someone stuck a pink Post-it note to our door, on the sign itself. In neat cursive it read, “And stop killing the children of Gaza.” Hard to disagree. It was a restrained gesture, considering the hatred and vitriol that were exploding online.

The second involved my wife’s small business. She sells vintage housewares online and by appointment from our basement. Once, a customer who had arranged to pick up an item failed to show. Later, she messaged my wife to say that she had changed her mind. We’re fairly certain that she came to the house, saw the sign, turned away, and decided not to go through with the purchase.

I might also add that more times than not, the sign elicited positive and considerate reponses from some of my wife's customers. One time, my wife went to the door for a customer and saw through the window that she was removing her keffiyeh, presumably so my wife wouldn't be offended.    

The remaining two incidents are more speculative. One week, our recycling wasn’t collected. Normally it’s picked up from the curb, right near where the sign is visible from the street. I’d put the blue bag out early; all the other houses’ bags were taken, except ours. It was picked up the following week, so our house wasn’t blacklisted — but I still wonder if the driver decided that day to make a quiet protest gesture of his own.

The last incident was stranger — and unsettling. One summer weekend, while mowing the lawn, I found a large kitchen knife planted upright in the grass near our walkway. I had no idea why it was there. Perhaps someone waiting at the bus stop had found it on the street and stuck it in the ground absentmindedly. But this happened during a time of vandalism and violent acts against Jewish institutions and on university campuses, and for a brief moment a chill ran through me — as if it were meant as a threatening message. Within a few minutes, I dismissed the thought as paranoia, pulled the knife out of the grass — it was perfectly good, maybe even expensive — and brought it into the house. We still have it. There was never any follow-up, and I’ve come to think it was pure coincidence.

Today, the last 20 living hostages have come home - I must settle for the living for now. I am taking the sign down. I’m relieved it’s gone.

Shehecheyanu, indeed.

On The 2025 Nobel Peace Prize

María Corina Machado, who won the 2025 Nobel Peace Prize for “promoting democratic rights for the people of Venezuela,” is literally the anti-trump.

As everyone in the world knows by now—because trump announces it every chance he gets, which is almost every day—he wants desperately to win the Nobel Peace Prize. It’s a pathological obsession. He thinks he can sell the Peace Prize Committee on giving it to him, as if it were one of his cheap ties or overpriced watches, by repeating the exaggerated lie that he has resolved seven conflicts around the world since coming into office (sometimes it’s as many as eleven).

Well, now we know what we’ve always known: the people in Norway are not as gullible as his merch-wearing MAGA yokel supporters.

You’ve likely never heard of María Corina Machado. She is Venezuela’s main opposition leader, and unlike trump she is relatively inconspicuous in international headlines, because she has been forced into hiding by the murderous Maduro regime. The Nobel Committee cited her decades-long “tireless work promoting democratic rights for the people of Venezuela and her struggle to achieve a just and peaceful transition from dictatorship to democracy.”

So while trump is ordering his military to blow up Venezuelan fishing boats and ratcheting up tensions by moving seven U.S. Navy warships and a nuclear-powered submarine off the coast of South America—giving Maduro an excuse to tighten his grip on power—Machado has been working to “mobilize both domestic and international support for a peaceful resolution to the ongoing electoral fraud crisis” and to “bring attention to the human rights abuses occurring under the current regime.”

Personally, I don’t much care about the Nobel Peace Prize. Ever since they gave it to Obama for no apparent reason—saying it was for “extraordinary efforts to strengthen international diplomacy and cooperation between peoples”—its meaning and prestige have been downgraded in my view. But of course, the fact that Obama got it makes it that much more desirable for trump. As the leader of a neo-Confederate, racist political movement, trump feels desperately that he must not be outshone in any way by his Black predecessor.

Still, I’m relieved the Nobel Committee didn’t fall for trump’s song-and-dance routine. Part of me feared they might give it to him anyway, as a way of reminding him that he’s not actually on Putin’s side and encouraging him to behave more like a Western leader.

But I don’t think the folks in Oslo have given up on using their platform to send a message. It’s as if awarding the Prize to Venezuela’s Machado was directed at trump. The message is: this is how you pursue peace—not with warships. And also: the Peace Prize is not about ceasefires, it’s about democracy. Because without democracy, there is no peace. No politician in U.S. history has done more to damage democratic principles and institutions, at home and abroad, than trump. Giving him the Prize would have been a travesty.

It’s why he will never deserve it. And all the talk lately by pundits and analysts that it may be merited for the Gaza 20-point plan misses the mark. There are plenty of reasons Netanyahu and Hamas have decided now is the time to cease hostilities—most of them having nothing to do with trump. The supposed “trump plan” is largely a rehash of the Biden plan that failed last January. Now, the timing worked out favorably: Hamas has essentially been defeated, and Netanyahu is thinking about his positioning as a “peacemaker” ahead of Israeli elections less than a year from now. 

We’ll see how much of the plan actually gets implemented. My guess is that phase one will go through, the hostages will be released, Israel will release prisoners and retreat to the agreed-upon line. Aid will start flooding in. After that, it's anyone's guess. I can't imagine that Hamas will de-militarize.   

Nonetheless, clearly trump’s recent push to bring the parties together was part of his campaign to win the Nobel Peace Prize. And if so, the prestige of the Prize worked in trump's narcissistic mind the way it had to. 

The rebuilding of Gaza will take a very long time and the sustained efforts and resources of the US. I hope trump remembers that for the Nobel Prize, like a trophy at his golf club that he's won a dozen times, there’s always next year.

Projection

Projection. Human beings are experts at it. In all likelihood we are the only creatures that do it—though that would be hard to test (but I suspect not impossible). Projection bridges the existential gap between our inner thoughts and feelings, which we are sure of, and the outside world, which we can never be sure of.

Projection is both conscious and unconscious. We anthropomorphize and personify. We project motives, thoughts, and feelings onto other people, animals, events, and even inanimate objects. We merge our own points of view and beliefs with the outside world so completely that we often cannot distinguish between the real and the imagined.

I think this is part of the reason our screen activities merge so seamlessly with our lives—because it is so natural. We have simply substituted the screen of our minds with the screen we hold in our hands. In fact, projection is precisely what the technology is designed to do, but in reverse: to understand our beliefs and desires, and to project a curated world back to us that reflects them. And then the world we inhabit digitally becomes pure projection.

Psychologically speaking, projection has utility. It has both positive and negative aspects. On the positive side, it is necessary for sympathy and empathy. To empathize with others, we must imagine that they feel (and suffer) as we do. On the negative side, projection can be a source of self-delusion and denial—an evasion of truths we find uncomfortable to confront.

Projection is also a form of identification. It feeds our powerful need for belonging. It reassures us that we are not alone, that there are others like us—and who like us. On another level, it aligns us with a seemingly indifferent and unknowable world. We want the world to make sense, by which we mean a world congruent with our personal thoughts and feelings. Nothing is as threatening to our sense of safety as lack of control, and projection offers a kind of control, however imagined. At its base, it is a product of fear, will, and desire—a denial of the true agency and independence of others and of the world itself.

In his talks, the Hindu sage Nisargadatta Maharaj spoke of moving beyond illusion. Illusion, by definition, is false—and the false is the source of all suffering. Freedom from suffering, the only true freedom, requires clarity of mind. This begins with recognizing that there is an unchanging reality to which we may have access, but which is obscured by the projections of the mind. Mistaking this projected world of illusions for reality, we are not fully conscious or aware.

Nisargadatta gives the example of the world as a screen and the self as a projector of images upon it. The screen is real and unchanging, but blank—one might say disinterested. The images are projections of the mind. The energy that animates them—the light—is the energy source of all life.

We have, he says, the capacity to discern the difference between the screen, the projections, and the light itself. Through stillness and self-examination, we can attune ourselves to the workings of the mind. The more attuned we become, the more elevated our consciousness, and the closer we draw to the unchanging light source—what he calls Love, Reality, or Truth. He uses these words not religiously, but as expressions of awareness and connection to the only thing we can truly know: our own mind.

For those of us shaped by Western thought, the first step is to accept that the universe is indifferent and uncontrollable. It doesn’t care about us; events happen. Believing they happen 'for a reason', as the old self-comforting adage goes, is projection and therefore false. Any notion that the world was created by a well-intentioned deity for our benefit is the epitome of projection. It is no mystery that our conception of the Creator is expressed in human terms—merciful, wrathful, jealous, loving.

Yet the universe, though it may not “care,” has produced us out of its own energies and forces. We are inseparable from it. Perhaps this is what appeals to many about Eastern thought: it acknowledges our innate connection to the universe without the need to invent a Creator or intermediary. It offers a practice of mindfulness that deepens that connection.

And as the falseness of projection and illusion dissolves, what remains is a quieter kind of happiness—a generosity of being. Perhaps this is all that enlightenment means: the light that remains when we no longer insist that the world mirror us, but let it simply be.

Some Time

CLICK HERE TO HEAR THE SONG

Those days were pretty wild,

We went to all the shows. 

Knew every verse by heart,

Had nowhere else to go,

Wore the future like a charm,

Danced to incantations.

We were mystics immune from harm,

Princes of provocation.

Our bodies had no limits,

Except to test the imagination.

We moved in sync like spirits,

The night was our education.

There was no giving up,

No matter how we got knocked down.

Always another chorus,

Always another round.

The hour may be late,

And I may not be in my prime.

But I'm here to tell you, girl,

I've still got some time. 

The ingredients are still there babe,

Not as fresh as they used to be.

But I can still remember, 

All of the recipe.

Don't call me nostalgic, 

Don't say I'm old fashioned.

If you're willing to go there, babe,

I don't have to search for my passion. 

The hour may be late,

And I may not be in my prime.

But I'm here to tell you, girl,

I've still got some time. 

I've still got some time... for you.

Belonging

CLICK HERE TO HEAR AUTHOR READ

We wear the weekday hats 

and costumes, 

in the stores, the factories,

the offices,

and weekend gatherings,

baseball 

and football,

warrior games,

flags and anthems;

and at night

in the bars,

the face paint, tattoos, dances; 

and on weekends

in churches and synagogue, 

the skull cap and fringed shawl, 

psalms and tribal chants, 

and every refrain means 

we belong, we belong, we belong.

Beneath the melodies,

between the words,

a silence, 

a nakedness

covered by the caps

and uniforms, 

stillness

like the moment 

we were born,

helpless and beheld -

on the edge between

death and life,

being and longing to be -   

when we witnessed  

that before anything

there was only

love.

The Power of Love

In the 1960s the Beatles told us that love was all we needed.

A decade later the British glam band Sweet compared love to oxygen: “You get too much, you get too high / Not enough and you’re gonna die.”

By the 1980s, Howard Jones was already asking the more skeptical question: "What is love anyway? Does anybody love anybody anyway?"

But perhaps it was composer Sammy Fain and lyricist Paul Francis Webster who said it best back in 1955, as sung by Andy Williams: "Love is a many splendoured thing. It’s the April rose that only grows in the early spring… the golden crown that makes a man a king."

Admittedly, looking for guidance on the meaning of love in pop music may seem strange, but together the songs testify to love’s eternally puzzling and multi-faceted nature. Romantic love is beautiful, intoxicating, and transformative. Spiritual love is defiant, transcendent, and awesome.

Poet Dylan Thomas assured us that love endures even beyond mortality:

"Though they go mad they shall be sane,

Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;

Though lovers be lost love shall not;

And death shall have no dominion."

Even the pop refrains point us in the same direction. Huey Lewis & the News declared in 1985 that love is a power beyond explanation: "Make-a one man weep, make another man sing… And with a little help from above, you feel the power of love." Even here, love is not just a fleeting emotion. It requires “help from above,” suggesting something eternal and transcendent.

And love has long been recognized as the cornerstone of Western morality. Leviticus 19:18 commands us: “Love thy fellow as thyself” - ve’ahavta l’re’echa kamocha. One of Judaism's greatest sages, Rabbi Akiva, called this a klal gadol, a great principle of the Torah.

This insight is shared in the East as well. In the non-dualist teachings of Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj, love is not selective but boundless — not an emotion directed toward one individual, but the very connective tissue of existence. When the ego dissolves, desire and fear give way to an inexhaustible energy of giving. “You are neither the husband nor the wife,” he taught. “You are the love between the two.” True love is not confined to bodies or personalities; it is the space of shared consciousness.

Seen this way, the journey of love is really the elevation of consciousness — the realization that beneath our separateness we share the same being, the same life. This is the universalism behind "love thy fellow as thyself": love as recognition, not preference. Or as Nisargadatta put it: “Love says: I am everything.”

From the Beatles to Dylan Thomas, from Huey Lewis to the Torah, the message converges: love is both mystery and power, both intimate and universal. But the essence of love is actually as simple as it is transcendent: act with kindness and compassion. The rest, as they say, is commentary.

When We Stop Creating

I used to feel proud to be part of humanity.

It felt good, because human beings had done wonderful things. We created majestic works of art, wrote magnificent books, sang joyous songs. We built cathedrals and pagodas, carved temples out of stone, and raised cities from the ground. We eliminated smallpox, split the atom, and stood on the moon.

Of course, we have also done terrible things. Atrocities, wars, cruelty beyond measure. But you cannot deny the Sistine Chapel, Saint Peter’s Basilica, the Taj Mahal, Angkor Wat, Machu Picchu. You cannot deny the poetry of Emily Dickinson and Yeats, the novels of Dostoevsky, the music of Bach, Beethoven, Gershwin. The songs of Joni Mitchell and Leonard Cohen. Humanity has proven itself capable of staggering beauty.

Growing up, I felt part of that story. When I read the books, visited the sites, sang the songs, I felt I belonged to a lineage of creators. It seemed to me that I was part of a species with limitless creative potential, because of what we had already achieved. Surely there was so much more ahead of us. And maybe—just maybe—I could play some small part in it.

Lately, though, another thought troubles me: What happens when we stop creating? What happens when the machines do it for us—the image-making, the music-writing, the story-spinning, the thinking itself? What happens to humanity’s sense of itself when we outsource the very acts that once defined our spirit and soul? 

In the film The Social Dilemma, technology critic Tristan Harris speaks of a paradigm shift. For the first time, he says, we have invented a technology that is not merely a 'tool'. From the wheel to the printing press, from the telephone to the personal computer, technologies have historically been designed to help us accomplish tasks more efficiently. They extended human agency. The printing press spread ideas. The telephone allowed voices to carry across distance. These were tools that worked for us.

But social media—and now machine learning systems—work on us. They use us as much as we use them. Algorithms learn our preferences and in turn shape our thoughts, desires, and behaviors to serve commercial or political ends. The more we rely on them, the more they influence us.

In some sense, this is not entirely new. Newspapers, television, and radio were always used to persuade and to sell. But the intimacy of today’s technologies is unprecedented. Our phones are not just media channels; they are companions, advisors, decision-makers. They mediate every aspect of life: work, shopping, travel, communication, entertainment.

And now, increasingly, they mediate creativity itself, which is troubling to me. 

Art is not just another domain of human activity. It is where we meet our own soul. Through stories, music, paintings, films, poems, we connect to one another and to the depths of our humanity. Art is not decoration. It is recognition: the proof that someone else has felt what I feel, seen what I see, longed as I long.

What happens when machines make the films we watch, the music we listen to, the stories we read? What happens when the mirror of human experience is replaced by the reflection of aggregated data scraped from the internet and optimized for engagement, but untethered from lived life?

I fear that as we outsource creativity to machines, we risk losing our faith in ourselves. We risk ceasing to believe in the potential that human beings are capable of. If beauty no longer carries the weight of human struggle, love, or imagination behind it, then it will not connect us to one another in the same way. It may dazzle us, but it will not bond us.

And without that bond—without that sense of belonging to a lineage of creators—we become disconnected, apathetic, and lonely. Just as great art once elevated our sense of humanity, machine-made art may begin to flatten it. If we consume only the reflections of algorithms, we will become their reflection: soulless, mechanical, cut off from our own depth.

The danger, then, is not simply that machines will replace us. It is that we will forget who we are and care less about each other. The moment we stop creating for ourselves, we risk losing the very thing that once made it feel so good to be a member of the human race.

Cart Pulls Horse

CLICK HERE TO HEAR THE SONG

You might think I'm anxious,

Did everything that I could.

To make you think you're mine,

Never thinking that you would.

I dressed the part and I said the words, 

But couldn't offer any proof. 

I was shy and quiet, half-scared to death - 

Hoping you'd approve.

Just tried to get my chance,

At something better than I've got.

Not trying to be the type of guy,

Who's someone that he's not.

I'm going all in with nothing to lose,

And I swear I really care.

Not saying it makes any sense,

But I've got this soul to bear. 

Won't try too hard,

Won't use much force,

Hope this time it works,

When cart pulls horse.

There are times when one and one, 

Don't add up to two. 

I'm going to put it all out there,

Ignore all the old rules.

I've decided if I can't be cool,

I just won't bother trying.

The birds with the brightest feathers,

Don't use them for flying. 

Won't try too hard,

Won't use much force,

Hope this time it works,

When cart pulls horse.

I'll get the order wrong,

Reverse the way time flows.

Do it cock-eyed and backwards,

Declare my love then watch it grow.

Because whatever we may have,

It begins and ends with hope.

It ends and begins with hope,

Horse pulls cart, cart pulls horse.

Won't try too hard,

Won't use much force,

Hope this time it works,

When cart pulls horse.

Whither Canada

One more brief word on the recognition of a Palestinian State. In my last post I focused mostly on why it was counter-productive. This time, I want to add a word that’s more emotionally motivated, as a Canadian.

Despite the speeches at the UN General Assembly about how recognition would benefit the Palestinians and advance a two-state solution, the real drivers are domestic politics and performance. Britain and France want to placate their growing Arab populations. And what better place to do this than on the world’s biggest stage, the UNGA? It’s also a form of political “virtue signalling,” reflecting the growing influence of social media on international politics. From their perspective, it’s understandable.

But why Canada? We don’t have a particularly large or influential Arab community. The answer, I think, is Trump. Canada wants to send a signal, also on the biggest stage: that it’s distancing itself from the U.S. and aligning more closely with the EU, economically and politically.

In other words, these moves are less about what’s genuinely best for the Palestinians, and more about how countries are positioning themselves in the shifting international order. Once again, the Palestinians are being used.

What we’re witnessing is not a peace process or a step toward resolution, but countries staking claims in a new geopolitical game.

Cart Pulls Horse

How does the recognition of Palestinian statehood by Western allies make any sense? A political entity without clear borders, no means of defense, no independence, and no capacity for self-sustainability—how can such a state be recognized? It's putting the cart before the horse. Recognition doesn’t create a viable state, it merely offers a symbolic gesture that lacks substance, and that's counterproductive in a number of ways.

The argument that recognizing Palestine will encourage a two-state solution is flawed. Israel, the more powerful actor in the equation, has made it clear they’re unwilling to participate in such a solution. How does recognizing Palestine when one side refuses to negotiate advance peace? Recognition, in this context doesn’t promote a two-state solution, it widens a growing divide.

The western allies argue that recognition lends legitimacy to the Palestinian Authority (PA). But the PA’s legitimacy is questionable, even among Palestinians, many of whom view it as corrupt and ineffective. How does this "legitimacy" support the creation of a state when the entity being legitimized lacks the internal credibility to govern effectively?

A key concern is what recognition of Palestinian statehood would mean for Hamas. If the October 7th attack is seen as a path to statehood, it sets a precedent that violence can lead to political gains, undermining the importance of peaceful negotiation. Furthermore, Hamas’s influence within the Palestinian political landscape is growing, and recognizing a Palestinian state at this moment could empower Hamas, making them more relevant to the Palestinian identity, not less.

Given that Hamas and the PA have fought for control of Gaza, it’s hard to see how any future Palestinian state can be unified. Recognition is likely to exacerbate internal divisions and lead to further civil conflict.

From an Israeli perspective, external pressure for Palestinian statehood will harden opposition. After the October 7th attacks, many Israelis view negotiations with groups like Hamas as dangerous. Any move towards Palestinian statehood, particularly without a unified Palestinian government or clear intentions, risks deepening Israeli mistrust and resistance. This makes any genuine two-state solution even more distant.

The Palestinians themselves are not united on what statehood means. Some factions view it as the first step toward eliminating Israel. Until there’s internal consensus among Palestinians on what statehood entails—whether it’s peaceful coexistence or the total rejection of Israel—recognizing a state that’s divided on its purpose is premature and counterproductive.

Recognition of a Palestinian State when none exists also does further damage to a UN that has shown itself to be impotent on matters of international security and terrorism, and misguided in the way it handles human rights and international justice.

The most egregious aspect of this happening at this time is that Hamas continues to hold Israeli hostages, releasing them was not a condition of recognition. So recognition is worse than just political theatre, as the Israeli ambassador to the UN has said. It puts a stamp of approval on the use of political violence, further divides the Palestinian leadership, and further hardens Israeli resistance. 

A meaningful peace process, built on mutual understanding and compromise, cannot take place until the Palestinians can agree on what they want. And by handing over, free of charge as it were, the critical incentive of international recognition, the net result is the exact opposite. 

A New Man

CLICK HERE TO HEAR THE SONG

Bump stocks and automatic guns,

Volleyball and video games.

Cruise ships and particle physics,

Fashion brands and User names.

American Football and Taylor Swift,

Comment sections and mineral baths.

Crypto-currency and NFTs,

People who vote for sociopaths.

There's still so much, 

I don't understand.

But trust me when I say, 

I'm becoming a new man.

Jesus Christ and McDonald's meals,

Billionaires and content creation.

Tik-Tok influencers and school shootings,

Anabolic steroids for recreation.

Los Angeles, Late Night talk shows,

Pole vault and Biathalon.

Coltrane's album 'A Love Supreme',

Greek frappé and Ozzy Osbourne.

There's still so much, 

I don't understand.

But trust me when I say, 

I'm becoming a new man.

James Joyce and machines that learn, 

By artificial intelligence.

Plastic surgery, music streaming,

The epidemic of loneliness.

What some people call patriotic,

The fuss made over diversity.

Feeling at home with so many homeless,

Cancer, famine, and poverty.

There's still so much, 

I don't understand.

But trust me when I say, 

I'm becoming a new man.

What it means that I was born,

The distance to the closest star.

Manic-Depression and gravity,

Love, hate and peace and war.

There's still so much, 

I don't understand.

But trust me when I say, 

I'm becoming a new man.

Today I saw

CLICK HERE TO HEAR AUTHOR READ

Today I saw 

an injured songbird

lying on the pavement—

probably 

a car.

I was walking to work,

through the parking lot,

about to slip in 

through the exit 

next to the garage door

of the building,

when I noticed the small body—

a Yellow Warbler,

curled like a fist,

wings folded tight

like fingers.

The morning sun shimmered

across its feathers,

flashed green and red

with each strained breath.

I stopped.

Wondered what to do:

Should I pick it up?

Hold it 

in my cupped palms,

carry it inside,

try to save it—

How?

I bent low,

close enough 

to see the beak,

sharp as a syringe,

trembling,

a tiny bead

eye.

The bird was afraid—

not of death,

not of pain,

but of me.

I wished it well,

went inside.

Forever Is Now

CLICK HERE TO HEAR AUTHOR READ

The pursuit of happiness 

takes you away from happiness.

The pursuit of meaning

takes you away from meaning.

The pursuit of wisdom

takes you away from wisdom.

The pursuit of authenticity

takes you away from authenticity.

The pursuit of modesty

takes you away from modesty.

The pursuit of love 

takes you away from love.

To approach, stay still.

To find, 

refrain from seeking.

Everywhere is here.

Forever is now.

Whatever We're About

CLICK HERE TO HEAR THE SONG

I was always wrong,

In most everything I thought.

So don't listen to the things,

I said when we fought.

Yeah I may have meant,

Everything in my head,

Still, pay no attention,

To whatever I said.

The future was for me, 

Part of some fascination.

No way it could match, 

All my expectations.

We’ll marry and have kids,

Or maybe we won't. 

They'll decide to have kids, 

Until they don't.

It's all okay, it's all okay,

I promise it’ll all turn out.

It’s all okay, it’s all okay,

We’ll figure out,

Whatever we’re about. 

There are no big storylines,

So don’t look for a saviour.

Just ask a friend,

To do a little favour.

Maybe just maybe,

Someone will come through.

And some of your wishes,

Might even come true.

I’ll play you a song,

Nothing too fancy.

You might get inspired,

To do a little dancing.

You’ll tell me a story,

Cause we all have a few.

I’ll drink to your health,

And you’ll drink to mine too.

It’s all okay, it’s all okay,

I promise it’ll all turn out.

It’s all okay, it’s all okay,

We’ll figure out, 

Whatever we’re about.

The Danger of a Weak President

Charlie Kirk's assassination was foreseeable. Not his assassination in particular, but political violence in general, because it was already on the rise. It follows the assassination attempt on trump, his pardoning of the violent Jan 6 seditionists and the leaders of the Oath Keepers and Proud Boys, and an uptick in a number of other acts of political violence since he took office. 

Political violence is symptomatic of the deterioration of rule of law and democracy. It happens when people lose trust in the institutions that support law and order. No American President in recent history has done more to undermine law and order than the convicted felon-President. 

Political violence increases when: 

a. It's outwardly and implicitly encouraged by leaders against political rivals. Violence is rhetorically normalized.

b. There is a breakdown in the rule of law. The law enforcement and criminal justice system are weaponized and politicized. The guilty get off scott free, or get unearned clemency, and the innocent go to jail.

No President is recent memory has done more to weaponize politics, demonize political rivals, and tacitly or actively encouraged political violence, as Donald J. Trump. This has the impact of encouraging violence among his supporters as well as among those who oppose him, a vicious cycle. Violence is contagious. 

This is a perilous moment for America, but for trump who thrives in chaos, it's political gold. An opportunity to crank up the heated rhetoric, when any normal politican who actually cared about his country would be doing the opposite. Predictably, in a statement from the Oval Office he blamed the 'radical Leftists', implictly encouraging further violence. The politicization of this tragedy feeds trump's agenda of consolidating authoritarian power and militarizing the streets. A very weak president, which is what trump is, weaker than ever, is an even more dangerous president because the only way he can maintain power is to further divide the country and radicalize his supporters.     

I would hope that Americans understand the political dynamic underway and resist it. I'm not terribly encouraged that they have the capacity or will.

Strike On Qatar?

Israel bombed Qatar. 

Actually they bombed a residential building in the capital city Doha, purported to house the headquarters of the internationally-recognized terrorist organization Hamas, with whom they are at war, and who holds their non-combatant citizens as hostages.

The international community is almost unanimously wringing its hands or outright condemning the attack. The Prime Minister of Canada called the attack 'an intolerable expansion of violence'. Trump said he was 'very unhappy' with the attack, impotent as usual.  

Netanyahu said that the decision was made to attack the day Hamas gunmen attacked a bus stop outside Jerusalem killing six people.

So let's think about this.

What we see happening in real time is the unravelling of the international order. The power vacuum left by the weakness of the United States is being filled, by new alliances - China, Russia, North Korea, and India in Asia, and in the Middle East, Israel asserting itself as the preeminent military power in that region. In Europe, the power vacuum issue is being fought out in Ukraine. 

UN Secretary General Antonio Guterres condemned the attack, saying “I condemn this flagrant violation of the sovereignty and territorial integrity of Qatar.” He is saying this because the Israeli action is also endemic of the abject failure of the UN to deal with terrorism. 

At the heart of Israel's action is a question: Do we live in a world where terrorism is acceptable or not? Will we accept countries (member states of the UN) providing safe haven and funding for terrorism?    

On the respected podcast The Rest Is Politics, Alastair Campbell said that if Israel was planning this attack all along it means they were negotiating for the release of their hostages in bad faith. An astonishingly naive comment. So, the government of Israel is in bad faith doing whatever it can to get its citizens released from captivity? Is there no distinction between the government of a nation-state acting on behalf of its citizens and a terrorist organization? Terrorists holding hostages is the very definition of bad faith.   

After strongly condemning the attack, which of course they had to do, the Qatari PM said that it would not deter them from acting as mediators for further negotiation. I read this as a wink and a nod. They either knew or at least expected the attack was coming and tacitly consented.  

I am in favour of attacking terrorists. Even if it means attacking them in sovereign countries who give them safe-haven. And especially if the terrorists hold your hostages. This was not an attack on Qatar, and the Qataris know it. It was not an attack on the sovereignty and territorial integrity of Qatar, as the UN SecGen said. It was Israel acting in defence of the international order against terrorists who want to undermine it. 

Because Israel realizes that if they they aren't going to do it, no one will.    

Rick Davies 1944-2025

Supertramp gets very little respect. For a band that has sold 60 million albums worldwide and had one of the bestselling albums of the 1970s (Breakfast In America, 18 million sold), a decade bursting with classic albums, it’s sort of mindboggling how this band is never in any conversation of the greatest rock bands. 

It’s not about the musicianship. Rick Davies, who passed away this week at the age of 81, was as gifted a pianist as Elton John or Billy Joel, but is never mentioned in that company. Songs like Dreamer, Bloody Well Right, Give A Little Bit, The Logical Song, Goodbye Stranger, are catchy, melodic, lyrically meaningful and expertly crafted. The songwriting duo of Davies and Roger Hodgson, the former a jazz and blues influenced Yin, to the latter's hipppie-folk Yang, has been compared to Lennon and McCartney. Supertramp albums like Crime of the Century (1974), Crisis? What Crisis? (1975), Even In the Quietest Moments (1977) and their massive selling Breakfast In America (1979), are some of the best sounding albums of all time. As a concept album, Crime of the Century must certainly be considered a benchmark of the genre, and yet it didn't make Rolling Stones' top 50 list. 

 

So what gives? I have a theory. 

But first a personal anecdote. Crime of the Century was the first album I ever bought, I may have been 14 years old. I’m sure I’d heard the single Dreamer on the radio - it was ubiquitous on Montreal FM radio - but that was not why I bought the album. I bought it because of the artwork - the image of two hands gripping jail bars, floating through dark space, spoke to me. I didn’t know it consciously at the time, but those hands were mine. I felt locked in the emotional prison of adolescence: I was lonely, not taken seriously by my parents, didn’t care about school, and resented all the crap the teachers were trying to stuff into my daydreaming head. I brought the album home, set the needle down on the stereo, and started reading the liner notes. By the end of Hide In Your Shell, I was a weeping mess. 

Too frightening to listen to a stranger

Too beautiful to put your pride in danger

You're waiting for someone to understand you...

Don't let the tears linger on inside now

Because it's sure time you gained control

If I can help you, if I can help you

If I can help you, just let me know...

It was the first time in my life that I felt like a song was written specifically for me. In fact, I can remember having that strange feeling, the very first time I heard the song, like I’d heard it before, as if in some mysterious way the song had always existed. It seemed perfect.  

That mysterious feeling kept happening on every Supertramp album I bought, and I bought them all. There was one or two songs that reached my very core in that indescribable way, like it was somehow fundamental, like it was part of nature itself. It happened on the orchestral Fool’s Overture, a song that contains the epic beauty and majesty of history. It's a song about Britain during The Blitz, and uses a recording of the famous defiant speech of Winston Churchill marshalling his compatriots during its time of existential crisis to 'fight on the seas and oceans whatever the cost' and ‘never surrender'. If that song doesn’t count as a masterpiece of classic rock, I don’t know what does. 

So why don't people ever talk about Supertramp in the same category as they talk about other progressive/art rock hitmakers like Pink Floyd or Yes or Genesis or Steely Dan? Incidentally, of the preceding list, only Genesis had more Billboard top 10 singles than Supertramp.

My theory is that Supertramp, according to the critics, commits the cardinal sin of rock n' roll: Their music doesn't offend enough. The one defining characteristic of rock in all its permutations and combinations, from hard rock to progressive rock, is edge, and Supertramp's music has very little. Rock and roll is the music of rebellion. If it's not blatantly offensive (like Punk), or ironic (like New Wave), it has to at least push musical boundaries (like Prog). But even when they are singing about serious subject matter, like the pressures that society puts on a child growing up (Crime of the Century, The Logical Song), Supertramp does it with depth, sensitivity, sweetness and consolation. 

Take a song like Bloody Well Right, a Rick Davies penned tune on the edgier side - Davies had the working-class perspective of the songwriting partners - he sings:

So you think your schooling's phony

I guess it's hard not to agree

You say it all depends on money

And who is in your family tree

  

It's an indictment of the British class system, and yet, the round timbre of his voice almost croons, and the carefully arranged horns and Wah-Wah guitar make the song sound almost too neat. Don't get me wrong, there's much to appreciate about the polish of Supertramp's songs. But there is such a thing as being too polished, and that's a rock n' roll no-no. It's also part of the reason their music defies the standard categories. It's not quite as Prog as Genesis or Yes, and not quite as Jazz/Blues as Steely Dan. Supertramp's biggest hits, like Give A Little Bit, have a melodic catchiness and straightforward message, like many Beatles songs (obviously they were a major influence on Hodgson), but none of the Beatles experimental tendencies. Supertramp always stays tightly within musical and lyrical boundaries, and that's part of the reason they fall through all the cracks and are overlooked.

I also think it's the earnest child's point of view that works against Supertramp. It figures in so much of their music, accompanied by Hodgson's almost child-like soaring tenor. At a certain point you grow out of that perspective. Not coincidentally, I lost interest in Supertramp at Breakfast In America, just as they were achieving their major commercial break-through, and I was graduating high-school. 

It's sad to lose Rick Davies, more so at a time when irony is dead, some say rock music is dead, and we can all stand to share a little more goodwill - Give A Little Bit seems written for exactly this moment:

There's so much that we need to share

So send a smile and show you care...

I'll give a little bit

I'll give a little bit of my life for you

So give a little bit

Give a little bit of your time to me

See the man with the lonely eyes

Oh, take his hand, you'll be surprised

A Spoke In The Wheel

"Just a spoke in the wheel."

It’s a line uttered in the operatic, multi-layered 2000 film Magnolia, written and directed by Paul Thomas Anderson. The words come from a barfly played with wry perfection by Henry Gibson. If you’re my age you remember Henry from the late-60s sketch comedy Laugh-In, where he played “The Poet,” reciting verse while holding a giant artificial flower. In Magnolia he appears as Thurston Howell — a name lifted from Gilligan’s Island — itself a nod to the absurd collisions of class and circumstance. That’s what Anderson’s film does too, only here it’s not castaways on a remote Pacific island, but lonely souls adrift in Los Angeles.

At the center of the film is a game show, "What Do Kids Know?" The answer the movie suggests is: far too much. Anderson shows us how children absorb more than we’d ever admit — the anger, shame, and regret of their parents. They inherit the fallout.

That’s why Gibson’s line stuck with me, especially when paired with something I heard this week from a dry-witted YouTuber who calls himself The Functional Melancholic. In a post titled "America Alone: How We Lost Connection", he observes, “This is what happens when you have 10,000 Instagram followers, and not a single person to pick you up at the airport.”

Magnolia is about connection. Family, society, love, hate, denial, reconciliation. It insists there’s no such thing as living independently. We’re bound together whether we acknowledge it or not — just as the past binds itself to the present and the future. Anderson hammers this home at the end of the film with a biblical plague of frogs falling on L.A., smashing through car windshields and rooftop skylights, the bloody slimy amphibian carcasses littering the pavement — a warning about the cost of refusing responsibility for each other. 

The movie was released at the dawn of the 21st century, before Facebook (2004), before the algorithms fully rewired us. Today the film almost feels quaint, even naïve, in how seriously it took human connection.

Anderson clearly had scripture in mind. The “spoke in the wheel” line echoes Ezekiel’s vision of a wheel in the sky, a symbol of divine presence and power. Wheels moved by cherubim, in a city named Los Angeles — the City of Angels. That’s why Gibson’s other line in the bar cuts so deep: “It’s dangerous to confuse children with angels.”

Our children are no angels, indeed. They’re not even spokes in the wheel these days. They’re test subjects in the largest uncontrolled social experiment ever attempted. And the results are plain: adolescent addicts, suicidal teens, isolated incels.

If only they were still just spokes in the wheel.

But the wheel is gone.

Always Between

CLICK HERE TO HEAR THE SONG

I've got me a job,

I guess it's okay.

Don't care very much,

But it's worth the pay.

I got me a girl,

Yeah, she's alright.

Watch movies, have dinner, 

Almost never fight.

Sometimes I think, 

There's another way.

Choices I could make,

Before I go gray.

Take myself down,

A different road.

Where the sky is wide,

The air not so cold.

Ain't as young as I was,

Or as old as I'll be.

It feels somehow,

Like I'm always between.

My girl ran away,

Took a part of me.

All she left behind,

Was a mountain of lonely.

Used to have buddies,

Shared a game and a beer.

They're off doing something,

Or so it appears.

My folks worry 'bout me,

Say my life's a dead-end.

I'm happy they're talking,

Since their marriage did end.

I may not go far,

Whatever 'far' means.

I'm heading somewhere,

I'm always between.

Ain't as young as I was,

Or as old as I'll be.

It feels somehow,

Like I'm always between.

Dangerous Delusions

On Friday Bob Rae, Canada’s estimable Permanent Representative to the UN, a man whose decades long political career includes being Premier of Ontario as a New Democrat and a federal Liberal Member of Parliament, was interviewed on the CBC. The topic was Canada’s plan to recognize a Palestinian State on the first day of debates of the UN’s General Assembly this month, specifically when the Prime Minister will be in attendance on September 22nd. I’m not sure he could see the irony - that day also being the beginning of the Jewish New Year. Although he might, seeing as Mr. Rae is married to Arlene Perly who is Jewish and a past Vice President of the Canadian Jewish Congress. Rae also raised their three daughters as Jews, and perhaps the family will be celebrating the High Holidays at the venerable Holy Blossom Temple in Toronto where they are members. Rae himself was raised an Anglican, but as an adult learned that his paternal grandfather was a Lithuanian Jewish immigrant to Scotland.

In both his personal and public life Rae has expressed a strong affinity for the Jewish people and staunch support for the State of Israel. So I was a little more than disappointed listening to him defend Canada’s decision. He didn’t hedge, as I expected he would, by saying that Canada’s decision was conditioned on the Palestinians reaching several benchmarks, which they haven’t reached and are unlikely to.

Rather he doubled down on the decision, saying that it was long overdue, and harkens back to the UN’s original 1947 Partition Plan, only half of which was ever fulfilled - no mention of the fact that it was the Palestinians who had rejected it and the surrounding Arab states who attacked Israel after they declared independence with the aim of destroying it. He rather obliquely (and shamefully) said, “out of battle and war came one state.”

Rae argued that Canada’s decision was well thought through, and the result of a great deal of discussion and coordination with a number of other countries including France and Britain. He said, the move would in no way reward Hamas terrorists for their October 7th attack, but rather achieve the exact opposite. Instead of wiping Israel off the map, which is Hamas’s objective, recognition of a Palestinian state would be predicated on two states living side by side to ensure the peace and security of their respective peoples. Rae offered no further details about how exactly that would happen, under the current dire circumstances. He said that it would be the PA (Palestinian Authority) which would be supported to provide the new interim government and elections would have to be held within a certain reasonable delay. Hamas would not be permitted to play a role in the new government, he said, although he didn’t provide any idea about how to ensure that would happen. 

Rae, and one presumes France and Britain, are convinced that this maneuver is a logical step to bringing peace and security to the region. The approach appears to be that if the Palestinians have demonstrated over and over that they are utterly incapable of creating responsible and rational political governance themselves, do it for them. It’s never worked before, but hey, we’ve tried everything else. 

Rae even went so far as to suggest that it was Israel who was preventing the Palestinians from self-governance. No mention that Israel left Gaza unilaterally 20 years ago and we see the results. If today there is zero appetite within Israel to let the Palestinians give it another try, maybe it’s because they’ve learned their lesson.

To his credit CBC host David Cochrane pushed back a bit saying with Israel’s operations to take over Gaza City, settlements expanding, and no will in the Netanyahu government, there doesn’t seem to be any capacity to have a state. Rae’s answer: We can’t let that prevent the Palestinian people from exercising their rights. 

Say what? In other words don’t let reality get in the way of our fantasy. I have never heard Bob Rae sound so muddled and delusional. 

Rae ended by saying “If we succeed (in creating a Palestinian State) you know who will be the most unhappy… the people who preach hate… Hamas.”

I think he may have unwittingly admitted why the fantasy he is living in (and Canada’s approach) is so dangerous. 

___________________________________

PS. No sooner do I post the above commentary and Israel suffers the deadliest terrorist attack in two years. Six were killed at a bus stop outside Jerusalem when gunmen opened fire. The perpetrators were two young men from West Bank villages close to Jerusalem. Unfortunately, I fear we are in for more of this kind of terrorism. It should be a signal to the western allies that any move for recognition of a Palestinian State is at the very least premature.    

Rogue Regime, Journalistic Malpractice

The CNN headline reads, “US military kills 11 in strike on alleged drug boat tied to Venezuelan cartel, Trump says.”

I’ve seen several reports on the incident, but not one asks the most basic questions. Since when can the United States attack vessels in international waters and kill their occupants—on mere allegations? No arrests, no trials, no due process?

Even if we assume the boat was filled with narcotics, and further assume those drugs were bound for the United States, do drug dealers suddenly lose their legal rights? In America, being suspected of a crime—even a serious one—does not carry an automatic death sentence.

Trump himself took public responsibility for the strike. “We just, over the last few minutes, literally shot out a boat, a drug-carrying boat, a lot of drugs in that boat,” he told reporters at the White House. And yet not one journalist in the room pressed him on the legality.

The administration is trying to frame the incident as an act of self-defense, calling the occupants “narco-terrorists.” But that’s a sleight of hand. International law permits interdiction of stateless drug vessels under certain conditions, but it does not authorize extrajudicial executions at sea. Standard practice is seizure and arrest, not summary killing. Even the U.S. Maritime Drug Law Enforcement Act—often criticized for its overreach—envisions prosecution in court, not military strikes.

Reuters at least called the operation “unusual.” Adam Isacson, Director for Defense Oversight at the Washington Office on Latin America, put it bluntly: “Being suspected of carrying drugs doesn’t carry a death sentence.” Meanwhile, Secretary of State Marco Rubio admitted, “These particular drugs were probably headed to Trinidad or some other country in the Caribbean.” In other words, the supposed threat to the U.S. homeland wasn’t even credible.

This action raises broader concerns. Domestically, trump has already deployed federal troops into Democrat-run cities under the pretext of combating “rampant crime.” Now he’s sending warships into Latin America to combat drug cartels. What’s next? Every time he wants to distract from scandal (Epstein) he seems ready to conjure a new “war” that expands executive power and erodes the rule of law.

This incident alone should be grounds for indicting trump. It was a deliberate killing outside combat conditions—an extrajudicial execution in violation of international and domestic law. But it’s also an indictment of the press, which failed in its most basic responsibility: to question government power and defend the principles of law. By uncritically repeating the president’s talking points, the media normalizes actions that in any other context would be called what they are—rogue state behavior.

In Praise of Gidget

I’ve been watching a lot of classic movies lately, mostly from the forties and fifties—the post-war period. You might think the attraction is nostalgia for a more ‘innocent’ time, but these were far from innocent years. Many post-war films wrestled with difficult social and personal issues, often rooted directly or indirectly in the experience of war. Noir, the era’s most popular genre, depicted the underside of urban society: crime-ridden cityscapes and the toll of human cruelty. Its protagonists were often returning soldiers, quietly tormented by what we now call PTSD. The war may have ended, the economy may have been booming, but many veterans didn’t feel like winners—or free.

One film I watched recently is 1959’s Gidget. Yes, that Gidget: the much-maligned CinemaScope cultural phenomenon that launched the careers of Sandra Dee and teen heartthrob James Darren, inspired a wave of 1960s beach party movies, spawned a Sally Field TV series, and brought surfing into the mainstream.

Most critics have dismissed Gidget as fluff—the story of a 16-year-old girl reluctantly discovering boys and pulling away from her loving, conventional parents. This isn’t James Dean’s Rebel Without a Cause (1955), Blackboard Jungle (1955), or even Splendor in the Grass (1961). For one thing, the protagonist is a girl—bookish, nerdy, tomboyish, not particularly interested in romance. For another, her struggles are played for laughs, not tragedy. This is a feel-good movie where all turns out well in the end—which may explain why critics dismissed it. They prefer tortured characters, paying in blood or sanity for their lost innocence. Getting dunked while learning to ride a wave hardly seems dramatic enough.

But there’s more to Gidget than critics admit. At its core is a character who places the film squarely in the post-war tradition: the rugged Cliff Robertson as the “Big Kahuna.” He’s the leader of the surf bums, charismatic and unapologetic, living free in a ramshackle hut. Idolized by teenage boys, he represents the rejection of school, work, and parental authority in favor of endless horizons.

Yet Kahuna is no simple hero. We learn he chose this life after returning from the Korean War. Nothing specific is revealed, but the scars are visible. His real name—Burt Vail—hints at the tragic secrets he is keeping. His decorative “tribal” mask, supposedly a gift from a chief, is later revealed to be store-bought. By summer’s end, the fantasy collapses. The teens return to class, and Kahuna to his airline job. He is the tragic figure of the film, emblematic of both the end of the 1950s and the unrest that will erupt in the 1960s.

Inspired by Gidget—a story about a girl struggling to separate from her parents as her society struggles to emerge from its own post-war adolescence—I see a larger theme: the tension between individual freedom and the pull of social and familial attachment. This describes the dynamic of history itself. The pendulum swings: from individuality, the period from the late 19th century to the Roaring ’20s, for example, to collapse (the Great Depression and the World Wars), to conservatism (the 40s and 50s), and back again. Today’s American authoritarian turn can be read as a reaction to the social upheaval and rampant individualism of the ’60s, ’70s, and ’80s. The pendulum swings again, from post-war liberalism and globalism to tribalism, nationalism, and isolationism.

So no, Gidget is not just beach-party fluff. It’s about the most important force in our lives: the struggle between individual freedom and attachment. Zen thinkers tell us attachment is the root of suffering, and so we should resist it. But from birth we are wired for attachment—it literally ensures survival. Alone, we perish; together, we endure. But we attach ourselves not just to other people, but also to material objects, and even to ideologies. The problem isn’t attachment itself, but what we attach ourselves to. After all, what is meaning if not a form of attachment?

It Happened To Us

CLICK HERE TO HEAR THE SONG

It happened to us,

We called it love.

It came from below,

It came from above.

When we first met,

You had something in mind.

Because you believed,

That I was your kind.

There were things that you wanted,

But you weren’t in control.

It didn't take long,

For it to take a toll.

The mattress has gone soft,

On my side of the bed.

Most times when we talk,

It's all in my head.

It happened to us,

Like it happened to them.

It happened before,

It’ll happen again.

I won’t feel alone,

So go do your thing.

I'll build an altar,

For your next offering.

I'm down for this trip,

Wherever it goes.

Cause half the fun,

Is that we don't know -

But I will admit,

I'm pretty damn scared.

To hand my heart over,

I'm so unprepared.

I'll remember the saying,

Nothing new under the sun.

When one cycle is over,

Another's begun.

It happened to us,

Like it happened to them.

It happened before,

It’ll happen again.

People Who Don't Care

CLICK HERE TO HEAR THE SONG

Government that doesn't govern.

Leaders who don't lead.

Representatives who don't represent.

Politicians who don't make policy.

Laws that don't make sense.

Legislators who don't legislate.

Judges who aren't impartial.

Courts that don't adjudicate.

Police who don't protect.

Borders that aren't safe.

Institutions that don't serve.

Universities that don't educate.

Doctors who don't heal.

Professors who don't teach.

Media that doesn't report.

Advisors without expertise.

Churchgoers who don't worship.

Clergy that doesn't have faith.

Companies that don't make things.

Jobs that don't pay a living wage.

Artists who don't create.

Communities who don't share.

Citizens who don't vote.

People who don't care.

People who don't care.

People who don't care.

What a good poem does

What a good poem does 

is make you feel 

alive -

reminds you 

but not in your head

in your body

how it feels

to be alive -

because we die 

a bit 

every day 

and barely notice

we work

and barely notice

we eat 

and barely notice

we talk

and barely notice

make love

and barely notice;

a good poem

like a laser pointer

helps you 

notice.

Diplomatic Tetherball

Does anyone actually believe trump is mediating an end to the war in Ukraine? 

Honestly. Has trump ever mediated anything in his life? Does he have anyone in his staff who knows anything about mediation? 

And yet, if you go by the volume of serious press coverage this idea has been getting lately, the answer seems to be yes. I don’t know what they're seeing that I’m not.

Trump is a bully. Bullies don’t mediate—they dominate. They don't understand negotiation, compromise, or diplomacy. They understand force, intimidation, and loyalty. So what exactly is going on here?

What I see isn't mediation. It’s a game of tetherball, with Ukraine and the Europeans on one side, and Putin on the other, batting the ball—trump—back and forth. Analysts keep trying to count the rings on the pole to determine who's winning the "negotiation." But this isn't about negotiation. It's about manipulation. One day, it’s Putin whispering in trump’s ear; the next day, it's Zelensky. And like trump’s former national security advisor John Bolton has said—trump’s decisions usually come down to whoever spoke to him last.

Personally, I don’t think trump has the slightest clue what’s really going on. He thinks he’s mediating a peace deal—but he’s not. The players involved aren’t treating him as a neutral broker. They’re treating him like a mark. Each side is trying to win him over, to pull him into their orbit. That’s the exact opposite of mediation. And because Trump’s so easily influenced, he doesn’t even notice.

Let’s be clear: Trump does not care about dying Ukrainians or Russians. He wants to “end the war” for one reason—because he thinks it will earn him a Nobel Peace Prize. Period. Full stop.

And that’s not even why he called Putin recently. That call was pure political distraction—an attempt to shift headlines away from the politically disastrous Epstein files. Putin obliged because he saw the opportunity: a way to slide back into trump’s good graces after a few cold months. Trump rolled out the red carpet. Putin talked his ear off, made no commitments, and walked away with what he wanted—trump’s renewed attention. At the joint press conference, trump looked dazed and glassy-eyed, clearly reeling from a few hours of psychological rope-a-dope. You could see the satisfaction in Putin’s expression. He’d spun trump like a tetherball on a rope.

Then came team Ukraine-Europe for damage control.

And here’s where Zelensky did something smart. He understood that trump isn’t a mediator—he’s a predator. So he offered something Putin can’t or hasn’t yet: a bribe in the form of a $150 billion security package, combining $100 billion in European-financed purchases of American weapons, and a $50 billion drone production partnership. Zelensky isn’t appealing to trump’s sense of justice or humanity—he’s appealing to his ego and transactional instincts.

The cold truth is that the war ends when Putin decides it ends. As long as he believes he’s still playing trump like a fiddle, he’ll think he’s winning. The only way to shift the calculus is for the U.S. and its allies to fully commit to Ukraine's ability to fight indefinitely. That’s what real leverage looks like.

So why does trump still seem favorable to Putin, despite having almost nothing left to gain from him? That question drives analysts mad. Some speculate about kompromat. But I think it’s simpler than that: Trump sees Putin as a “winner.” And trump sees himself as part of the winners club. Putin’s attention provides him with the narcissistic validation he craves. That’s why trump can’t let go. And Putin, ever the master manipulator, understands this perfectly.

The irony is that trump could help tip the balance—if he put his fist on the scale for Ukraine. But that would require him to knock Putin off the psychological pedestal he’s built for him, and I’m not sure trump is capable of that. In his deeply warped worldview, doing so might feel like a betrayal of a fellow member of the “winners club.”

The only actual mediation we are witnessing is going on inside trump’s demented mind - how to win the Nobel Prize while keeping Putin atop his pedestal. 

We aren’t witnessing a diplomatic process. We’re witnessing a dangerous, performative farce. And the main impediment to progress isn’t a lack of talks—it’s trump himself. The longer the world pretends otherwise, the longer Putin gets to keep smacking that tetherball.

P.S.

About winning games like tetherball, and apparently the Nobel Peace Prize. Here’s the thing. You don’t actually win the Nobel Prize like it’s a cheap trophy at a fake golf tournament. But that’s exactly what trump thinks. To normal people, a Nobel Prize is awarded - not won - in recognition of a great achievement for the benefit of humanity. Trump thinks it’s something to put on his mantelpiece. It’s simply demented.

Controversy in Hampstead

I grew up in the town of Hampstead. Not the one in London. My Hampstead is a tony, upper-class suburb of Montreal—a newer facsimile of London’s Heath, right down to the street names: Minden, Downshire, Harrow, and so on. Montreal’s Hampstead was the town upwardly mobile Jewish immigrant dreams were made of.

Ironically, Hampstead was originally established by a well-heeled Protestant banking class in the early 20th century and was once restricted to Jews. That only made it more desirable to Jewish families looking to escape the cold-water flats of the downtown Yiddish-speaking ghettos. There was a golf course and a curling club. Today, those have been replaced by sprawling McMansions with pools on double lots. It didn’t even take two generations for Jews to become the dominant group in Hampstead—it was already true when I was playing municipal tennis, baseball, football, and hockey in the mid-1970s.

Back then, the Jewish community still seemed politically cautious. The city was run by goyim. There was still a sense among many Jewish residents, that we were guests, and needed to remain respectful of our hosts.

No longer.

There’s a political storm brewing in my once-sleepy, well-heeled hometown. Alongside the Quebec fleur-de-lys and the Canadian maple leaf, the blue and white Star of David now flies proudly atop a flagpole outside Hampstead city hall. The Israeli flag actually replaced the town’s own flag. It was first hoisted in October 2023, in solidarity following the terrorist attack in Israel—and remains flying to this day.

At first, the gesture wasn’t particularly controversial. Today, with global suffering mounting and public opinion deeply polarized, it’s another story.

The mayor, Jeremy Levi, is an outspoken supporter of Israel. So, it seems, are most members of the town council and, presumably, a large part of the 60% Jewish majority. Levi has even advocated publicly for Israel to occupy and annex Gaza. When challenged about the Israeli flag at city hall, he’s defiant: “If they don’t like it, the citizens can vote me out at the next election.”

Not all residents agree. One of them, Adam Ben David—clearly also Jewish—feels the Israeli flag doesn’t reflect the full spectrum of political or religious views in Hampstead. In a letter co-signed by dozens of residents, he wrote: “Raising the flag at town hall effectively removes each Hampstead citizen’s ability to express their personal stance on Israel.”

Montreal-area city halls have long been sites of cultural and political tension. In the past, debate focused on whether religious symbols like Christmas trees and Hanukkah menorahs had any place on civic property. That controversy stems from Quebec’s “Quiet Revolution” in the 1960s—a cultural shift that moved the province away from the dominance of the Catholic Church and toward a proudly secular identity. That secularism has hardened over the decades, most recently in Bill 21, An Act Respecting the Laicity of the State, which banned public employees from wearing religious symbols such as hijabs and kippahs. The law remains under court challenge as a violation of individual rights.

Which makes Hampstead’s current controversy even more striking. In contrast to Quebec’s secularism, here we see public resources used to champion the identity of a particular religious or cultural group. It echoes something more American than Quebecois: the way Donald Trump has used government institutions to enforce symbolic loyalty, especially toward Israel, often under the banner of combating antisemitism.

To me, the Hampstead flag fight is a symptom of something larger: the localization of global conflict in the age of social media. We are being pulled into battles far from home in ways that feel increasingly personal. The stakes of daily life in our communities have shifted. What used to be local politics is now global ideology in miniature. And people seem to have lost their sense of proportion.

Some basic questions might help restore that sense:

Is it appropriate for the flag of a foreign country to fly in front of city hall?

If we do that, should we expect to see other flags—like the Palestinian flag —raised in front of other city halls? How would Jewish people living in those communities feel then?

Shouldn’t mayors, and all elected officials, represent all of their constituents, not just those who voted for them?

If members of any group—Jews included—choose to take strong public political stances (which is absolutely their right), should they be surprised when others push back forcefully? Do they still get to label all opposition as antisemitic?

I don’t fully agree with Ben David’s argument that raising the Israeli flag “removes” residents’ ability to express themselves. Individuals can and do fly whatever flags they like on their private property. I, for instance, have had a bright yellow “Bring The Hostages Home” sign in my front window since late October 2023. I feared that it might provoke vandalism, but vowed not to take it down until every hostage was freed. I never imagined that, nearly two years later, it would still be there. It’s never been vandalized.

But while individuals can express themselves freely, public institutions are different. They are meant to unify, not divide. City halls are supposed to belong to all of us. And do we really want our communities to become a patchwork of flags and symbols on every corner, each staking out some tribal claim?

There was a time when political leaders understood that it was their job to foster unity, to build a sense of shared belonging and sense of community. That now seems increasingly rare.

In the end, this isn’t just about one flag in one suburb. It’s about how we live together when the lines between local and global, identity and ideology, neighbor and enemy, are no longer clear.

I Am That

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I am made of love and wisdom.

Love says: You are everything.

Wisdom says: You are nothing.

- based on words from Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj

The 'Normalization' of Israel

Israel is a normal country. It is following a global trend: the steady drift of liberal democracies toward authoritarianism, especially after major security shocks.

Defenders of Israel often argue that it is unfairly singled out for criticism. That claim is not without basis—Israel has received disproportionate attention for religious, historical, and geopolitical reasons. Many Jewish people interpret this as proof of enduring anti-Semitism.

But there is another way to look at it. We can accept that Israel is a special country and we should expect more of it, especially the Jewish people. Founded in the shadow of genocide, built as a democratic refuge for an historically persecuted people, Israel represents a higher moral standard, and therefore expecting more from our ancestral homeland should be a point of pride for Jewish people. Instead, many Israelis and Jews seem to want Israel judged by the standards of a “normal” country.

And in that sense, they have succeeded. Israel is behaving as other democracies have under similar circumstances.

The U.S. after 9/11 is the most obvious comparison. October 7th has been called Israel’s 9/11, but on a far greater per-capita scale—equivalent to 40,000 American deaths in one day. The American response to its terrorist attack was swift and transformative: the Patriot Act, the creation of the Department of Homeland Security, and two decades of war in Afghanistan and Iraq. In retrospect, many analysts see this as the moment the U.S. began its slow erosion of civil liberties and expansion of executive power.

The same pattern has emerged elsewhere:

Turkey (2016): After the failed coup, President Erdoğan used emergency powers to purge over 100,000 civil servants, shut down media outlets, and rewrite the constitution to expand presidential authority.

Hungary (2010–present): Viktor Orbán’s government used the migrant crisis and later COVID-19 to justify sweeping powers, weaken judicial independence, and rewrite election laws.

India (post-2019): Security fears following the Pulwama attack and border clashes with China have coincided with curbs on dissent, tightened control over media, and controversial laws targeting minorities.

The dynamic is consistent: war and national emergencies accelerate authoritarian measures. The process is self-reinforcing—security crises demand extraordinary powers, which in turn lower the threshold for further conflict. Wars of defense can morph into wars of choice; necessary reactions slide into dangerous overreactions. Once the cycle begins, it is very hard to reverse.

Seen through this lens, Israel is not uniquely flawed nor uniquely virtuous. It is moving along a well-trodden path, one shared by other democracies in moments of perceived existential threat. The tragedy is that Israel, with its moral history and democratic ideals, could have been an exception. Instead, it risks becoming just another “normal” country in the worst sense of the word.

History rarely forgives nations that squander their highest ideals. For Israel, the true danger is not defeat by its enemies, but becoming indistinguishable from them. The measure of a “normal” country should not be how quickly it abandons its principles in the face of fear, but how stubbornly it defends them when they are most inconvenient to keep.