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
Nothing highlights the destructive nature of industrial farming better than the effect it has had on our water.
As the wells that are the only sources of water for the rural community are polluted through factory farm seepage and run off, politicians and bureaucrats claim that they can’t be tested because it would be a “violation” of the resident’s rights.
It’s enough to make a cat laugh.
The only two rights left to the rural community are the right to be poor, and the right to be a victim.
You Know You Live near a Factory Farm When Your Kids Go Fishing with a Pool Skimmer