People have been wondering, some even complaining lately about all the “ranting” I’ve been doing and well they should be, one supposes.
Not that I haven’t done my share of ranting in the past, at least of a satirical sort. And not that the current ranting isn’t always of a satirical sort. But, yes, the ranting has become somewhat exacerbated and, I’ll say so myself, rather elusive as to cause at moments.
Most people on this platform, particularly those who write poetry, as I used to with some regularity, are prone to do so on the basis of “prompts” offered…
I run a cult myself. And myself is the only member.
The practice is fairly simple. There are writers I follow with absolute abandon, reading everything they write. And others whose writing I avoid at all costs, whose writing I would not read for money.
And believe me, I could use that money.
It’s not the kind of cult where my ball is held in a sack by some good-looking woman. I wonder what that’s about.
It isn’t the kind of cult where you’ll find my body mummified in someone’s yard someday (I hope) wrapped up in Christmas lights and…
If you don’t know anything about him, Jair Bolsonaro makes Donald Trump look and sound like Jimmy Carter on a Sunday. Building a house for a homeless person.
In case you didn’t know. Like his buddy, Donald Trump, he has more than one “fake news” channel going full blast for him 24/7. Run by one of his sons.
Like his buddy Vlad in Russia, he has his biggest political opponents lied about and tossed in jail on charges whipped up out of whole cloth. When he doesn’t have them killed. …
I have been many other places along the way where that day has not yet arrived (although, in the interim, perhaps it has). Having lived in San Francisco I know the day has most certainly arrived “there.”
Probably St. Louis to a great extent by now. Maybe Austin. Perhaps a bit in Philadelphia. Maybe a great deal these days in Denver. Somewhat.
That covers a great percentage of ground, population-wise, doesn’t it? Big cities being what they are.
And if every LGBTQIA…in the country…moved to one of those places and all lived in the same condo (once a…
Very well-constructed and thought-out argument.
I feel that I am about to waste a great deal of breath and your time as I have thought the same way for many decades but drawn SOME different conclusions having considered myriad sources.
Did you read the piece yesterday, here, from the real estate salesperson using this space to sell homes in a better climate?
The problem you present is that to achieve this (highlight) in a timely fashion—and time is critical—you would need a violent revolution that effectively negates all the principles you wish to achieve. That is not going to occur.
…nence. In the words of E.F. Schumacher, the author of the ever-important book ‘Small is beautiful,’ we should invest in poly-cultural, biologically-sound agriculture, develop democratic non-violent and small-scale technologies and figure out cooperative and communal ways of dividing labor.
Micha van Amsterdam
Imagine being “back in the day” when there was no Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (FDIC in the USA) to protect the money you put in your local bank. Some guy walks up to your door, offers to put all your cash in his safe, convinces you to do it for a small fee by giving you an annual interest, then, before you know it…
Believe it or not, more or less the same scam is happening today. Not with your money. With your life. Not your physical life, of course, which can be insured (if you can still afford it)…
As I’ve noted, I live today in “semi-rural” Tennessee, speaking of a room full of baboons, and I will not provide specifics as to where, nor how I found myself here (although it had nothing to do with money I ever possessed, nor a heartfelt desire to be here). But I will be more specific for the moment on defining “semi-rural” and why it differs from “suburban.”
We are close enough to cities to be able to drive to them without stopping at a motel, but we see farms just over our tree line.
Not everyone here lives in…
I look around me at this land I call home now and at times I scare myself trying to think back to how I came to be here. I don’t belong here by any means. This isn’t mine. I don’t own it.
This is not by any stretch the most beautiful place. But it is large. Some would think it small. Others I know would think it far too big for one or two or even a small family.
I count myself among that number, at times at least.
And you know what? Invariably it’s some old white person trying to pretend not to be some old white person.
Acting out in this way, trying to fool people with your pseudo-hip rhetoric, is not gonna cut it, Mr. Hipster. Ms. Middle-aged Mommy? Your time for faking such things passed a while ago. Like, oh, middle school.
So, as you sit there complaining about why you haven’t made it in the real world, talking about how hard you’re “gonna” try and how much you “wanna” have it, think about that. Because if you don’t know better you should.
Ofttimes I am quite certain I’d rather not put my name to any photograph I’ve taken that I’m using. It was Rachael Ann Sand, the second-best editor over at MuddyUm (after Susan Brearley, of course!) who taught me not only HOW to do this but that it is de rigueur.
So I guess it is her fault.
Considering the equipment I use — which, somewhere high up on the list includes stupidity and stubbornness — it is often a miracle I get a photograph of my cat asleep in the sunshine to come out looking like a cat asleep. …