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Art and Creativity
This Song Is Everywhere
You know, you are as good a songwriter as there is, but you might not believe it. If you don’t believe it, that’s why you’re not. All you got to do is to set down and write up what’s wrong and how to fix it. That’s all there is to it. Lord knows there is plenty of matter to work on. All we need is more songwriters. You, for instance.
May 2014The Word Gets Around
An Interview With Pete Seeger From The Sun’s Archives
We know that the big job is to save the world, but where do you start? I’m convinced that if we are unable to work in our home communities, the job is not going to be done. The world is going to be saved by people who fight for their homes, whether they’re fighting for the block where they live in the city or a stretch of mountain or river. But unless they can fight within their own communities, I think they’re kidding themselves.
May 2014Father Junípero Admonishes A Bird
I met Dabber Jansen in 1979 on a trip to Arcata, California, to see my ex-girlfriend, who was his girlfriend at the time. He was at work driving a truck for Eureka Fisheries when I arrived, and my ex warned me before he got home that Dabber was a redneck. To my surprise, the “redneck” turned out to be a self-styled radical intellectual, like me.
April 2014Sunbeams
February 2014I have twenty-one pages, unusable, unprintable, destructive of the book as my mind still partly sees it, contradictory of character and inconsistent in tone. But I am undoubtedly started.
Something Missing In My Heart
Daniel Ladinsky On The God-Intoxicated Poetry Of Hafiz
To any fully enlightened soul there is only God, or divine light and infinite knowledge. Any perfect poet — and I feel both Rumi and Hafiz were — experiences existence non-dualistically. They live as one. I don’t think they would see any difference between themselves. Any difference we might see is due to our transitory and distorted perception. Rumi, Hafiz, you, me — these are just costumes that came to life when the Beloved wiped his lips with us for whatever drunk, wild reason.
October 2013Be More
I’m sorry I gave it away, that nightstand you made for me so many years ago. Well, you didn’t really make it; you revised it. You found the battered table at a garage sale, saw its potential (its “good bones,” as you often said of imperfect things), and somehow — in secret, in the basement — sanded down the wood, puttied every hole, fixed the drawer, and added a shim to make it level.
June 2013Some Marionettes
One afternoon years back, in a distant city, I found myself staring / into the window display of a toy store that some ingenious window / designer & puppet maker had fashioned of cardboard and papier-mâché / & painted to look like the very street I was on
February 2013Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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