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Colors are Heroic.

Colors are Heroic.

When I was very young, I didn’t see this. I didn’t see the heroism of color, or the way we make colors ourselves, in our eyes, in our mind’s eye, or the bravery of Nature’s way, or its tremendous courage in painting as it does. Yes, Nature paints, and that’s not just a Romantic notion. It’s not some pseudo-poetic way of describing the ineffable. It just paints. Nothing comes close to the skill set of Nature in regard to —…

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Necessity and Inevitability

Necessity and Inevitability

It’s almost inevitable that the conversation continues. About Art. About the way we humans structure things, because our brains were built that way. About the way we choose to structure poems, plays, novels and such. The rocks we use to get to something else. The fire inside that rock. The spirit of stone the best sculptors find and exploit. It was there all along, they say. And the best don’t just say that, they feel it with every fiber of…

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Stages Along the Way

Stages Along the Way

Mixed feelings. Images clash. I don’t always or sometimes or never believe in phases, set eras, concrete life-steps that group themselves in any rational order. I don’t think we pass through these things on our way to wherever we find ourselves. It’s random. And this belief I feel at times, no times, as if it were always and never, is something that clashes with my art, what I think and feel about art, how it must happen and be. Order….

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Dwell Here: Nostalgia’s Graveyard Seductions

Dwell Here: Nostalgia’s Graveyard Seductions

  The poem I sent into the aether yesterday, Probably the Last Dawn Poem, was an old one. It was already a slightly belated look homeward (angel) to a time of some social and romantic turmoil, when my life was at one of its all too frequent “crossroads.” I had written a series of poems ab0ut a young woman with the perfect name for all of this, whom I had fallen for, hard, but who was still entangled with someone…

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Nostalgia for Nostalgia

Nostalgia for Nostalgia

Probably the Last Dawn Poem Did I bring them closer Together in this soap opera chain- Smoking pseudo-wooden-fern-bar Port-in-the-storm? Did I care once about her And her high looks soft Threat of a voice Long drink of eyes waiting For me? It’s strange no it isn’t Now I’m old and they’re young And even though I must be above putting things In nice boxes I have to start doubting my level of Reason And my need to find my age…

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The Non-Absurd Life of Rocks and Things

The Non-Absurd Life of Rocks and Things

Rocks Are Not Absurd Rocks are not absurd They are always what they are Which is something we humans Can never claim And we spend so much of our time Doing just that Screaming about our Supposed authenticity No species on earth is more Well Um You know   Disingenuous What other species wears so Many masks For so many reasons to hide From the innocent and the not So Quick? Which often means The not So Living Rocks are…

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Dylanesque Mountains Blowing in the Wind

Dylanesque Mountains Blowing in the Wind

I go to my spot. It’s my spot though it’s everyone’s. It’s everyone’s though it’s really just mine. Because I say so. Because I believe the rocks, the trees, the birds, the clouds all speak for me. They are my eyes and ears and voice. Voices. Plural times plural. So close to infinity, but not quite. Again, because that is my thinking and I don’t really want to take the easy way out. The easy way out would be to…

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Genius

Genius

Genius is the kind of film literary buffs may like a lot more than we should. One reason for this, I’m guessing, is the rarity of the subject matter for a Hollywood production: literary lives. Specifically, the dynamic between editor and novelist. Maxwell Perkins and Thomas Wolfe are the central characters, with cameos from Fitgerald and Hemingway, two (more famous) authors Perkins also helped usher into world renown. Colin Firth plays Maxwell Perkins, with Jude Law as Wolfe, Laura Linney…

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