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Politics
Six Stories
She got her dogs and some tough little kids after me, and I was forced back to the highway. I can’t prove this, but I felt there were rifles aimed right at me.
March 1979Television
The “Today” show, “Washington Week in Review,” Barbara Walters
February 1979December 1978
Thanksgiving
Anchors raised, we were a free people journeying into our own living flesh, and consciousness striving to know itself: political freedom; economic freedom; sexual freedom; artistic freedom. The freedom to abuse freedom. To enslave, and to set free. To become President, and to bear arms: to lean a rifle on a window sill, take aim, squeeze the trigger, and hurl a tiny speck of our own dark heart into the tissue of another. All for the sake of freedom — the greatest burden, the greatest joy.
December 1978Color Healing
When I do color therapy with people, the person becomes the screen. The color is moving onto and through them. You look into the beam as it comes from the projector, just long enough to get into your consciousness what it is. Then you can let the feel and the image you have of that color be going through you as you quietly meditate or do a mantra or whatever.
December 1978Chapel Hill
Healing Festival
Wholistic health, I believe, not only should embrace ancient traditional methods of healing but also modern technological methods which exhibit the potential for openness.
December 1978Memoirs Of A Professional Killer
Some Sea Stories From The Big Deuce
Once they gave a war, and everybody came. They called it World War II, and the entire basis of this essay is that one man’s recollections of it — necessarily different from every other man’s — are worth preserving.
October 1978All That Glitters
Book Review
American Gold is a book full of poetry, a book of history, the story of a place as it changes through fifty-eight years, the history of the shaping of a sensibility. It is not quite a novel. But it is a book worth having.
August 1978March 1978
An American Dream
Nothing shocks us anymore. The line between social truth and social fiction has been erased (from the Warren Commission to Watergate we have been asked to disbelieve our eyes and ears) and we are in the curious no-man’s-land of the artist, the madman and the saint. There is no consensus reality; there never was.
March 1978