Welcome to the philosophy of Hudis James.

As you make your way through whatever your life has become please allow the philosophy of Hudis James to complement the blood, toil, sweat and tears of your daily process. Hopefully, over time continued exposure to the Philosophy of Hudis James will help to transform the color of your life from it's current pallor to a variegated rainbow of timeless shades of love, fear, despair, happiness, satisfaction, elation and pride as viewed through the bright, morning window of Hudis James's sense of cosmic importance.

ELEGANT DINING AND FINE WINE

I am reminded today of the use of the word "cake" as a slang term for female genitalia. I suppose I should be engaging in the use of that word for that purpose whenever possible but it seems that I fail to reside in New York City where the growing female sexual empowerment club known as CAKE is constant reminder to all that those living on the east side of the Hudson River breathe the rarified air of cultural endowment. I have instead been relying on the old, time tested, anti-revolutionary technical expressions for one of humanity's most revered contraptions. In the world of art less is more. In the world of ideas more is more. The idea of CAKE is a rolling, ideological thunderball of importance and divination that will embolden passion to conquer all that is tired where more eventually will be more. CAKE is all that is good. Pardon me while I feel the love.

While passion continues to inebriate the human condition to a point of blackout delerium a more pervasive, insidious force is afoot that threatens the very underpinnings of our brutish sanity. The invasive culture of "elegant dining and fine wine" is the black death radicalism of our diminishing, post-civilized western world. With a destructive power more treacherous than the hellbent devotion to conception of a single, 37 year old woman with baby-itis these zealots of this endless march toward culinary rarification have come for the pure souls of your rough-hewn, noble significant others. They debase all that is real, all that is humane.

With a neurotic desire to re-create an imagined image of European cultural sophistication (i.e. France) that is so preciously quaint these frequently Versace or de la Renta clad genteel hobbyists joyously toast the common people with stem held crystal glasses of thick skinned, small berried, peppery merlot. A gorgeous, long and balanced wine with intense black fruit flavors, intriguing spice that create a dense texture in the mouth with lovely hints of cinnamon and sweet, new oak.

So metastatic is this cancer of insanity that it has infected a culture-wide brethren of dabblers with a misplaced sense of aristocratic station. Now anyone can engage in the stylish one-upmanship enjoyed by those dedicated to the elegant dining and fine wine cult of enrichment. With level-headed aplomb they dauntlessly order their crisp skinned confit of duck with Nicoise tapenade and squash blossoms in a rich reduction of marsala wine from personable, painfully sophisticated, snappily attired, moussed-haired waiters affording no quarter to those less advised.

Spare platters of prix fixe dinners, lusty but refined, collide amidst the quiet reserve of tastefully lit establishments notable for their dark woods, stained glass, muted colors and quiet, baronial elegance. From the sweetest peas made into a soup laced with crème fraiche and nubbins of lightly poached salmon perfumed with fresh mint, virgin olive oil and served with a brightly colored beet puree, leeks, and a delicately tangy horseradish emulsion to the juicy roast squab with artichoke, rhubarb and caramelized fennel in a garlic/shallot chianti reduction over sumptuous porcini mushrooms, broccoli rabe and squab liver timballo or savory tagliatelle, fiddlehead ferns and a light, aromatic porcini mushroom cream (optional) these awe-inspiring dilettante foodies continue to toil in a small, miserable world of petty amusement with hastily acquired knowledge and an obsessive need to brighten up their own sense of spiritless self-importance with an existence dedicated to tiresome, laborious culinary investigation.

Soaring above the disheveled magpies of the lower world they consecrate their unanswerable victual bewilderment over a dessert of peach tarte tatin with pistachio ice cream and a dark honey drizzled caramelized beer brioche with piquant roasted pear. Tomorrow is not ours and distance arouses a need for closeness. With brutal sensibility we are aliens in our own land. As the swinish multitude we will strive on with laurel wreaths on our heads. Oh the humanity. The horror...The horror.

Hudis James 11/18/02

A Chord Ringing

The streets shine with tired raindrops
And the cold sun fades into the lengthening sky
Clouds turn to death on the tide of existence
Flowing like water from a glowing thigh

Lest time forget in the eye of conclusion
The dreaming of love with a music divine
All souls touch a hand in the night of delusion
To sound a chord ringing lights oceans to fly

Hudis James 10/07/02

THE COMMUNITY OF THE REALM

You think you have it rough? Think again darling. You have a refrigerator to keep your beer and margarita mix cold. Running water to wash the soil of love from your smooth body and a warm place to sleep and rest after a hard day of pursuing the satiation of your growling hunger for food, sex, attention, money, employment, and above all.....terminal quaintness.

While finding your own personal technology for fending off the stormy skies of loneliness be mindful of the extreme personal comfort you are experiencing each and every day. With no regard toward your flourishing love of self-serving behavior in the eye-blink of time that is your paltry existence upon this fading star the tyranny of ageless time will crucify your disposition upon it's holy cross of universal righteousness with harsh, cosmic discipline. Your powerlessness is complete. Even those of you who find it necessary to impose upon others the feeling that you are always somehow "winning" will have your day of reckoning. You know who you are. You are always special and are doing so well. The endless march toward your own acute sense of difference from those of us who choose to air and paradeour failings of character as proof of our humanity make you aliens in your own land. You suffer as we do even though you choose not to share the corruption of your atmosphere with those who might identify with and provide to you the human comfort that you supposedly desire. We unfortunately treat you with respect but to no avail. To you and yours we will always be one rung down on the universal ladder. Rather than protest this cosmic indignity we just strive on to make our moments happy regardless of your brutally disturbing, tyrannical, imperial will.

In the cultural community of the realm we are all parallel wretches serving the same heartless master yet you unselfconsciously parade your precious crown of indestructibility. How painfully you flow through time.

Hudis James11/4/02