What do you get when you mix a relentless avatar of sustained outrage with epic bad actors in pursuit of money over lives? An American journalism hero in West Virginia, is who.
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Who, pray tell, / was Mr. Brainwash? / Did Andy Warhol know? / These questions / agitate my head, as / my light goes red to green ...
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Lakes and oceans talk to us in a language we don't understand with our cognition, but with our bodies. To be more specific, with our very cells. You might say it is the soothing language of negative ions. Here, try it ...
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What does it take to get a book into the world? A little help from St. Joseph the Worker, plus inspiration from an Old World wine vat on a steep Calabrian hillside. That's a good start.
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It is a forgetting, for one. / Dissolution into physical bliss, / which, as the head is so troubled, / so often, feels like a blessing ...
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Still fun after all these years. On my timeline this morning, Facebook surfaced an offbeat video I did with my brother and a friend, from an encounter we had in 2013 with the truly cool, interactive video installation 'Text Rain.'
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Sometimes, in order to self-soothe, I make short, odd videos. Or 'alt-videos,' as I describe this one below in the end credits, with footage from wanderings from nuclear power plants to Lake Erie last week.
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I am walking past the multi-culti shops and through the lively streets of Ann Arbor after dinner at an Ethiopian restaurant, living the good life. What's that flyer say? 'Open Mic Poetry'? And it's tonight?!
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This quarter-century-old guestbook notation, scribbled and illustrated one cold February day on the grounds of a Buddhist monastery in the West Virginia hills, remains true, after all these years.
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A StoryIsTheThing Public Service Announcement: It's Booking Day in NYC today! That will mean much malevolence, much media blathering, much of way too much muchness. When you need to tear your eyes from the spectacle, here are four images to ponder.
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I should be meditating. I should be writing a new chapter in my 'sorta memoir.' Or polishing an old one. I should not be eating pretzels & pepper jack cheese after 10 p.m. I should be sleeping. I should not be posting yet another black-and-white Instagram photo ...
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Taking a stroll through some definitive black-and-white moods, from across a couple of states and several states of mind.
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Exiting the spartan, Napoleonic era apartment building I have sort of broken into, I head for the highest hill in Paris. I am intent on seeing what I can see this Christmas Eve in Paris, 1986, while my Moroccan fellow traveler snores toward Christmas Day, as we take a break from helping build a Buddhist temple in a Parisian suburb.
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I wish I might resent you, or Fate or / my itinerant Guardian Angel. Yet who / indeed might I blame? / Your world has failed, I say. / But it goes on, rotating beneath / the feet of that gesticulating man ...
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You need to drop in a human figure, here and there, into any collection of shots of the grand Keith-Albee Theater in Huntington, W.Va. There's no other way to get a sense of the sheer ambitious size of this theater, which is surely on the short list of Coolest Theaters in North America.
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