At the End of the Day

So an English man and an Indian are sitting in a bar.  They were old enough to feel old verities calcify and enfeeble in their veins, old enough to cap and trade their vices, their happy hours. They deplored a moment the miserly, narrow lapels and trousers about the bar, the fashion calculated to save…

Watching Paint Dry

  I've become a cliche reclusive. I live up the long hill past two no trespassing signs. anything I do is predictable, accountable to artistic temperament. This is irritating. My creative binges, my altered states, inspired even, are mere fugue states, embarrassing, best isolated. I agree. The paintings are more welcome out in the world…

I Could Have Disappeared

  "Letter writing may be an exile's main occupation" I read this morning. I haven't written a letter in a long time now. I wrote too many long letters. The memory of them embarrasses me now. I have no need to personally address anyone near or on a far shore any more. Like I said…

New Orleans

  Louisianan, Mississippi, Georgia, Florida, Tennessee. Place names in songs. The lad likes his tickets and he likes to go. It took some talking to get me to go but he’s showing me all those place names now, those cities mentioned in the songs. I'm having coffee now in East Nashville with a soft toffee…

Backward Reading

With a blog you read backward, through the archives, so there's a backward narrative. I try to be truthful but the farther back I read the more the writing seems fictive, self serving, the more my ignorance of time described embarrasses me; There isn't much more wisdom in hindsight than in hope I think sometimes.…

Sore Paw

The spring came early that year. In open places the snow  melted before the equinox. Spring came slow too. There were no flood warnings on the local radio. The frost heaved the sidewalks and tarmac and they subsided, were dusty and dry before the ditches ran off the meltwater and debris. After a few warm…

Picasso, Dead Can Dance

Picasso, Dead Can Dance I forget how much pain there is in Picasso because the painting looks so fast and sure, so solid yet ephemeral that it looks like marks of joy, exuberance. How he ages before us. How quickly in a retrospective the young Spaniard  the Minotaur  the bull, the goat, the satyr become the old…