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 tried to write this poem from a child’s point of view — one of seeing, but not understanding — of having knowledge of what they should do, but not the context that impels it.
Even their parents only have a knowledge of what is readily apparent to the senses, and none of the underlying causes and long term effects.
Authorities never inform rural residents of the dangers that modern farming methods presents to their families. And they never do anything to help.
Whether it’s against the law or injurious to health is unimportant, they just refuse to do it.