The Gray Area Where Zarathustra’s Twins Meet

David Arthur Walters





We were glad for our freedom when we first heard the tidings about the difference between good and evil and about our power to choose between them.

“Hear ye all who come to inquire about the truth. We praise the wise one and we thank him for providing us a with a good mind in accord with the divine law firmly written in the heavens. Now listen to this truth and meditate upon it, that each man must decide for himself what he believes and choose accordingly. In the beginning two spirits, the best and the worst in thought, words, and deeds, proclaimed themselves. From these two, those of good knowledge chose aright, and those of evil knowledge did not. The two spirits created life and death and being and nothingness when they first came together. Certainly those…

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Get Your Death Song Ready Now

David Arthur Walters




David Arthur Walters

History is a mistake as far as many people are concerned. I think Albert Camus said something to the effect that losses are best known through the longing for what did not occur. That is true for many people who wish they had done more with their lives. They long for what they wanted to occur but did not occur; therefore, for them, history is a record of mistakes. Needless to say, those who were educated to believe in free will feel responsible for those mistakes, thus when they long for what did not occur, they suffer from bad conscience or guilt.

I have heard that many older people get bitter. I am not bitter, yet, I think I might drink the bitter tea lest I become bitter. As I age, I feel increasingly disappointed with every…

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A Realistic Taste of Reality

David Arthur Walters

Ship of Fools by Bosch Portion of Ship of Fools by Bosch


From Groundhog Days – Intercourse on Time

By Melina Costello & David Arthur Walters

July 30, 2004



My Dearest Groundhog,

The Groundhog issue is too important to be held hostage to semantics. For instance, Nietzsche put forth that our realities are linguistic creations; that is, we reify through language. Appearances that we appropriate through naming eventually become essences and things. T. Beckman (1995) wrote:

“Nietzsche supposes that there is not much difference between realists and idealists, objectivists and subjectivists, except for linguistic habit. At bottom, all of these stem from origins in our passions, fantasies, and interests.”

Now that’s a sharp slap in the face of our rational underpinnings, or at least what we’ve psychologized of our rational underpinnings. Additionally, if we are to consider anything of Nietzsche’s meditations on the nature of what we call…

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Christians Want Progress

David Arthur Walters

Me Fourfold Root


From Groundhog Days – Intercourse on Time

By Melina Costello & David Arthur Walters

July 19, 2004



Madame Melina,


I am moved to progress with our time-consuming discourse on time although it might appear that we are saying the same thing over and over endlessly because that happens to be our fate. In that event, not enough has been said about the history of the Doctrine of Eternal Recurrence. I’m sure thou wilt not blame me for repeating myself.

The doctrine appertaining to the endless and exact repetition of life-cycles was attributed to the Pythagoreans by Eudemas, a pupil of Aristotle. Eudemas, who usually paraphrased Aristotle, wrote a book on physics.

The learned community is uncertain whether or not the scientific faction of the Pythagorean brotherhood actually espoused the Doctrine of Eternal Recurrence; perhaps the Doctrine was Aristotle’s notion. We do know that the…

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The Medusa Hairdo Revived

David Arthur Walters

Medusa 1



“Medusa loved to feel the serpents which served for hair curled close to her neck and dangling down her back, but with their heads raised to form an impressive bang over her forehead – in what has since become the fashionable style at Rome. And when she used a comb, their poison would flow freely,” wrote the poet Lucan.

Medusa 2

Medusa, as we know so well, could turn anything into stone with a mere glance. “No living creature, in fact, could bear to look at that face, not even the serpents on her head; which explains why they curled back from her forehead.”

Medusa 6

Nero himself adopted the Medusa Hairdo. Maybe the Medusa Hairdo will become the rage again in our own time if we can find a suitable model – how about Sharon Stone? After all, Elizabeth Taylor’s adoption of ancient Egyptian garb and…

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Why We Write

David Arthur Walters

by Darwin Leon – stolen painting
Jean-Paul Sartre was looking for himself in The Family Idiot. His theme is that Gustave Flaubert, the so-called realist, had turned his imagination to the wrong end, to “Nothing” instead of “Existence” as the ground of “Being.” He opined that Flaubert, not wanting to engage in the existential struggle one way or the other, chose to merely criticize it; that is, he was a pacifist or coward instead of an activist like him.
Sartre diagnosed his dead patient as “pithiatic,” a neurotic disorder named after the hysterical antics of drugged Cretan nuns called Pythias used as oracles at Delphi in ancient times. Their shrieks were interpreted by Apollo’s priests into answers to questions put to them by leading figures concerned for their futures. Greek states banked their treasures at…

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Holiday Diary Entry

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December 22, 2017

My friend Aliz called from Washington to say approaching weather may cause her to delay returning to Miami Beach after her absence of many moons. I was crestfallen yet bade her to bide her time until the time was right to travel. I wish she would just have her car trucked back and forth. She took me on I-95 a few times and scared the dickens out of me.

She said a beautiful friend of hers from Brazil will open a restaurant in South Beach soon, so she made sure I got on the invitation list. She remarked on how beautiful and “sophisticated” Latin American women can be, and attributed some of that to affordable plastic surgery.

I said that I had by coincidence been Google-imaging European Union women by nationality and discovered French women to be “sophisticated.” But that was not really the word for it, and I was at an unusual loss for words.

Many women I viewed from other countries, I noted, posed themselves in the most vulgar manner, whereas most of the French women were of erotic demeanor, that is, not so obscene.

Knowing Aliz’ sense of propriety, I did not dare say my aesthetic study was of nudes, because then she would have been offended and I would have had to waste time explaining that my interest was not prurient at all, that it was academic and conducted quite clinically.

She insisted Latinas are the most attractive women in the world. I responded that I would not know because my study was limited to ascertaining where in the EU erogenous beauty was cultivated the best. That would be France. I shall have to consult with Roget’s Thesaurus before providing a critical argument leading up to my foregone conclusion embedded in my premises.

Some people, as every man and woman knows, are naturally sexy, and they serve as models for others to imitate the best they can.

I recall the real estate professional who turned to teaching pole dancing during the big downturn. She taught the girls the moves. They followed her closely, and were doing what dancers call “doing technique instead of dancing.”

She certainly did not look like your average woman of sixty. She was an extraordinarily sexy when dancing. Otherwise she was modesty attractive, and looked half her age.  Her students ranged from beginners to professionals who performed in clubs and gave privates. She could show them the moves and explain the mechanics, but she could not teach them to be sexy other than to talk metaphysically about the feelings she projected.

She knew I had been a dancer, so one day she asked me to spot her while she was trying a new move on the pole. After I helped ease her to the floor, I begged her to allow me to be her slave.

Well, Aliz said she longed to be back in Miami Beach for the winter, yet Washington was very beautiful during the Christmas holiday, making her glad she was raised a Christian. I remarked that anyone could enjoy Christmas in Washington: atheists, Jews, Buddhists, Zoroastrians, Muslims….

“Oh, there are many Muslims here,” she said. “I see them everywhere because of the way the women dress, the scarves….”

“I was almost run over in a crosswalk by a Muslim woman wearing one of those scarves when she made a left turn. The edge of the scarf blocked her view.”

“Maybe that is why women were not allowed to drive in Saudi Arabia,” Aliz said.

“They can now that the head prince is modernizing things.”

“They could make special scarves for driving,” Aliz suggested.

“I don’t think so. No texting or scarves should be allowed at all when driving a vehicle. It was a scarf that strangled Isadora Duncan when she was driving.”

“They could pull and tie the scarves back on their heads. I have a hundred scarves in storage,” Aliz said, naming several luxury brands. “I have a book about the many ways to tie a scarf.”

“I remember when many women in Chicago wore scarves, and some wore veils, I think on Sunday and when in mourning. I don’t blame women for wanting to be discreet when men act like dogs. Women put on a hard face, avert their eyes. Muslim women might even wear a sack until they get to the function they are going to on a camel or in a limo, and, when they arrive, they exhibit their legs with a short skirt and high heels. Some fine burkas cost thousands of dollars, you know.”

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That led me to say I had a headscarf a woman gave me in Manhattan in 1968. I did not tell Aliz that she was a call girl. I did not mind her calling because I ran away from home when I turned thirteen, grew up on the streets of Chicago and New York, and I believed people who condemned prostitutes for renting out their bodies yet sold their souls for money were worse prostitutes, if that is the word people want to use. I would not, however, move into the penthouse she bought because being there when her tricks were around was not for me. She gave me her little brown scarf in parting, to keep my soprano recorder in. Aliz said I should wash it, but I cannot because it would fall apart if I did, as that is what happened with my old baseball cap.

Speaking of recorders, I recounted to Aliz my brief fling with a Manhattan actress who had men eating out of the palm of her hand wherever she went. She was definitely of star quality, indeed, already a rising star, having started out in B movies. She was waved to the head of lines wherever she went. She made no overt demands on men, yet she was well served by her court. Men actually came up and congratulated me for being her companion. She gave me an alto recorder on my parting, in 1972, which I also still have to this day. Richard Chase made a box for it when I arrived in Hawaii that year.

Aliz knew the special “feeling” I was talking about. I was nearly knocked dead some years ago when I was the privileged subject of one of her rare “flirts.”  Yet that kind of romance was not in the works, and we are great friends. That kind of relationship is difficult to find in South Beach. I hope that the weather will permit her to drive down soon. I shall see if I can remember some songs to play on my recorders in the meantime. I used to be a good musician and dancer. I live almost entirely in my head now. I need a vacation.