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
Regulators can put a lot of faces on the same refusal to act. Industrial farms are permitted to whatever is profitable, and their failures to follow regulations and their continued polluting activities are minimized and excused. Rural residents are treated as enemies, with their every fact discounted and their victimization ignored.
In the face of overwhelming evidence, regulators still refuse to regulate these farms and fall back on the same kind of voluntary guidelines that have proven worthless for decades.
It’s a puppet show that makes for damn poor stewardship, but a good line dance.