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
Love is for everyone — so it’s a good thing for today’s bigots that hate is all around. Not a straight forward in-your-face hate; but a mealy-mouthed, pussyfooting hate – the kind of hate that whispers in your ear; what you deserve, what you are owed. A hate that can be used. A hate that can be targeted – against this one, and that one. The kind of hate that gives up all for its desires. A hate held too close and secret to think about. • And when you find [as is always true in these tales] that you didn’t get what you thought you had bargained for; it’s too late — Your hate can’t touch them; for you have given them all power — the power to teach your children . . . to hate you. • Then you wake from this dream: to a world of love and compassion. [That’s my dream.]