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blog archives
Wednesday, October 21, 2020

No one

No one can do much by themselves.
Not even be themselves.

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Tuesday, October 20, 2020

New poems

+15

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Monday, October 19, 2020

Everything

Repetition in variation is everything.

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Sunday, October 18, 2020

A single, fleeting moment (Chang)

Who hasn't irrationally, or even foolishly, pursued a single, fleeting moment, trying to prolong it, capture its essence, even as it is passing?  As the moment lives, it is also dying.

Tina Chang, Language For A New Century: Contemporary Poetry From The
Middle East, Asia, and Beyond

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Thursday, October 15, 2020

Without justice (Greenan)

Without justice, the universe is an insult.

Russell H. Greenan, It Happened In Boston?

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Wednesday, October 14, 2020

On communication

Most communication is the expression of bias.

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Tuesday, October 13, 2020

New poems

+15

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Monday, October 12, 2020

The natural state

Loneliness is the natural state of consciousness.

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Thursday, October 08, 2020

Art

Art is chaos translated
into something appreciable by humans.

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Wednesday, October 07, 2020

New poems

+15

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Tuesday, October 06, 2020

The truth

Everyone sees the truth.
Many fail to recognize it.

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Monday, October 05, 2020

Suggestion

Respect the good.
Honor the true.
Worship nothing.

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Sunday, October 04, 2020

African-style chicken stew

Adapted from this recipe.

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Saturday, October 03, 2020

On culture

Why are people so hung up on the transient barriers that appear and fade within the totality of human culture?  This is not even missing the forest for the trees—it is obsession with the leaf.  I claim a right to any and all aspects of human culture, wherever, whenever, and however they arose and became part of the narrative.  Nothing belongs to anyone; everything belongs to everyone.

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Friday, October 02, 2020

On discipline

The only discipline is self-discipline.

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Thursday, October 01, 2020

On despair

Despair is the corpse of hope.

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Wednesday, September 30, 2020

A place of horror (Murdoch)

That this world is a place of horror must affect every serious artist and thinker, darkening his reflection, ruining his system, sometimes actually driving him mad.

Iris Murdoch, The Black Prince

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Tuesday, September 29, 2020

New poems

+15

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Monday, September 28, 2020

Lies (Murdoch)

Bad poetry is lies.

Iris Murdoch, The Red and The Green

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Sunday, September 27, 2020

On doubt

Only the particular flavor of stupidity
we call evil never doubts.

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