No, they are not wastes of space and this not a place of waste, this collection of classrooms and lectures School, academy, is a place of hope where the learner can reach beyond where they are, where their space is full of purpose. More at http://spinrockreader.blogspot.com.
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Harold Bloom [photo by Sue Mingus] . . . the whole jazz tradition from at least Amstrong on features what was called “cutting.” And cutting is the pure instance – from the Greeks on, and it was revived by Jacob Burckhardt and Friedrich Nietzsche – of the agonistic spirit; the agon or the contest. The…
I’ve seen gulfs. I’ve seen oceans that are large, and deep as a baritone. As deep as the Baltic Sea. These bodies of water are a reminder of me. I’ve swam in the Black Sea when the sky was white. Sailed the Mediterranean on my way to Egypt. Touched the bottom of the Atlantic, the…
Here is a dispatch from Peter Johnson…. The Question of the Day: Why would Peter Johnson, an established poet with a decent reputation, give away a book of fragments/prose poems called Observations at the Edge of the Abyss, when he has a loyal press who wants to publish it. (FREE DOWNLOAD HERE) https://works.bepress.com/peter-johnson-PC/1/ Perhaps the best way…
Les Keiter recreated West Coast baseball games for heartsick New Yorkers bereft of the Dodger and Giants after they moved to LA and SF at the end of the 1957 season. It’s the same job Ronald Reagan performed in the 1940s. How well I remember lying in bed listening to my black Zenith radio with…
When unknown truths Tumble from their hiding places The ugly knowledge That feet of clay Crumble before our eyes And idols Fall from their lofty places Fact falls into quicksand And all we know Retreats to doubt When the brain Divides into poles Of disgust And yet we still feel love Two feelings We juggle…
All one could do was to glimpse, amid the haze and chimeras, something real ahead, just as persons endowed with an unusual persistence of diurnal cerebration are able to perceive in their deepest sleep, somewhere beyond the throes of an entangled and inept nightmare, the ordered reality of the waking hour. …
