A piece we did for the Coalition For Engaged Education:
L'il piece with one of my favorite ManifestWorks participants:
An awareness takes shape somewhere within us, a voice forms, and it seems to speak a different language, a familiar language that we translate until––sometimes in an instant, and sometimes over days and weeks, but eventually––meaning appears.Read More
Carpenters, on the other hand, have been absolutely thriving since the explosion of the internet, which is demonstrated easily by observing our peer group; take our friend Michael “Yeats” Yates for instance. The only thing he made out of wood pre-Internet was a signal of desire and now he’s a prolific and widely celebrated practitioner of the Ligneum Arte.Read More
We’re all just monkeys, given a flashlight for the first time and what do we do? We ram it in our ass just to see if it’ll fit, and the people who made that flashlight are aghast, and they think, “that’s not what we had in mind. No, not at all.” And they would take that flashlight away and figure out a way to teach these monkey what it’s really for.Read More
Awaken, frostily and without haste
the perfect angle of carom
like an echo, always correct.
But a flash flood of misguided ink
scrubs away intention and
scatters topsoil in the underbrush
tin cans and roots dangling
fathoms of iron left to cool
all of it: gone.
phenomenal gray bricks
in a carnival storm
“This must be like Piccadilly
I’m hungry again,” she says
and this leftover hippie-type walks by
saying “all we need is love”.
and I recall Serge, the Baker of Vanderbilt Avenue who infused Brooklyn mornings with his affection for home; and somewhere the boatsmen are already awake, always awake before the rest of us, no matter the hour of our rise, and their engines churn that low, jocular gurgle that describes readiness, always a few more chores to tend to, above deck and below;Read More
In the morning they throw men to the lions and bears; at noon they throw them to the spectators… this sort of thing goes on when the arena is empty.
You may retort: "but he was a highway robber; he killed a man!"
- Work on one thing at a time until finished.
- Start no more new books, add no more new material to ‘Black Spring.’
- Don’t be nervous. Work calmly, joyously, recklessly on whatever is in hand.
I think it’s time we embraced ourselves as one of the nuttiest and most violent countries on earth. I’m not lambasting America. I love this country, its people, its natural wonders, its diversity. But we are one of the most peculiarly violent countries in the world.
Whenever some crazy, power-drunk human being takes the life of another, the act occupies the darkest region on the spectrum of human behavior. So whether it’s Southeast Asian genocide, Sub-Saharan African tribal strife, Balkan neighbor-on-neighbor warfare, or a slow, persistent dirge of public shootings, each of these violent characteristic belong in that same dark region.Read More
The fundraising continues for Miles's College Fund and a round of new quilts have been posted. Those of you interested in receiving a top-notch quilt in exchange for a modest donation to a great cause, do it!
Leaving New York. . .
It's fashionable to blast Facebook, and it's also fashionable to love it without admitting you love it. We all love the unique aspects of connectedness that The FB affords us, those of us who have experienced it, anyway. How could you not? I love being connected in an offhand way with all of my high school brothers and sisters, even if we don't keep in touch any more closely than we did before we were Facebooked. It's nice to know you're there, John Twisselman, Chris Dini, Mark Strunk, Adam and Shelley and Sheri B and Loris (prev) Anderson and Bartlow, Jon Scholl and my man Dan E, Erik Stenberg, Todd Sears, Steele Bennett, and you, Andy Tichenor, and Lon Breitenbach, and Fred Khalaf... Christ, I could go on and on. You know who you are, the lot of you. I love Facebook for being a digital tether with my outer circle of friends and I will never abandon it until a better alternative avails and you all adopt it. Until then, I'll still love Facebook. Just from a mildly greater distance. And you'll find more of me here. Whoever you are, who might be reading this.
Where did they go? I don't get it… They said to meet them here on the terrace, but I guess they left.