Strangely, I find that I am a bit sad to hear that Tammy Faye (Bakker, Messner) has died. In appearance, she was more artificial than artificial, but there was something endearing about that to me. I found her very likable, and I think she meant others well – especially as she got older. I think she was a little pathological, and of course she had terrible taste in men. There was something so odd about her, but still… I liked…
Richard Rorty has died. Rorty had an uncanny ability to stare into the post-modern abyss, in which nothing is grounded in the divine or universal, and yet somehow, some way, find a kind of practical empathy that could serve as a beacon in the face of nihilism, authoritarianism and cruelty. Yes. Richard Rorty helped me to understand that an ethics based on universals might be neither kind nor accurate to human experience. He offered some possible alternative methods. I had…
I’ve found a poem I wrote in 1978. That makes it the earliest one that I still have. It’s called Water Sprite.
We still haven’t heard an answer to the basic question: for what “noble cause” have we invaded Iraq? Are we in Iraq just to secure the oil for the energy companies that get so much support of every kind from the US government? Not to be a party pooper or anything, but what about the death and pain and chaos and suffering? What is the reason for the sacrifices of U.S. and other allied soldiers? What is the justification for…
Dear C – As always, take what is helpful to you and reject what doesn’t ring true to your inner self… If there is a spirit of the cosmos, and if that spirit is what we mean when we talk about “God”, then I have to believe that the spirit is a spirit of Love that holds everything together and makes everything related and connected in a million, mysterious ways. All our words about God are simply ways to place…
“God Bless America” by Harold Pinter, January 2003 Here they go again, The Yanks in their armoured parade Chanting their ballads of joy As they gallop across the big world Praising America’s God. The gutters are clogged with the dead The ones who couldn’t join in The others refusing to sing The ones who are losing their voice The ones who’ve forgotten the tune. The riders have whips which cut. Your head rolls onto the sand Your head is a…