Biden’s social policies are in direct conflict with the principles and conduct of every revered figure of human compassion and worth that the world has ever known.
His Doctrine holders have overturned the “melting pot” and installed a theocracy: “Everybody’s different; and should be treated differently — for the Greater Good — and WE will decide where and in what way that should be done.”
I have no respect, and no trust, for a government that operates without principles, and in secret, and for an end only they can shape.
All roads lead to Cornithaca . . . and down the drain. The proof is now in Cornithaca County.
This book will help you keep on top of things until we reach bottom.
I have no idea what is happening – it’s like throwing pennies off a bridge. I just can’t get comfortable – it seems like the only thing that connects my life and art together is pain – it’s painful when I put them together – and more painful when I pull them apart. In 2007 I quit straddling the pain, quit my job, and moved to a rural studio in New York State. I work on creative projects, work on my life, and work on the day-to-day necessities of existence. No cell phone, no social media, no networking. But as I work on the books displayed on this author’s page; I feel another kind of pain — the pain of not working on something else: my printmaking and drawing are being neglected, my poetry output is a dripping faucet, and it looks like I’ll be telling NYFA that the Idea Enhancement Project just added another year to its timeline. When I read what I’ve just written; it’s as true as anything I can think of — but then so is the opposite: I need to process everything that happens . . .
September 8, 2021
I first began to notice cell phones in the videotape rental stores; people would read out loud from an empty tape case, wait a moment, then their eyes would glaze and they would wander off. The same behavior started popping up in grocery stores; like a kind of wandering question and answer game show. People sitting alone in restaurants would feel compelled to describe what they were eating, and every detail of the table décor, to avid listeners who may themselves be sitting in other restaurants and describing their own dining experience. • The culmination, if you can call it that, took place in a doctor’s waiting room — where a middle aged woman took a cell phone out of her purse and screamed a long repetitive conversation to a deaf relative. • Over the years; I have been engulfed in the frisson of vocal public dramas, and have more than once overheard parts of conversations that made me wish I could have overheard more — but I have never heard an interesting cell phone conversation. • Where are we going with this? That’s the question in the poem, isn’t it?