There are some things that can’t be conveyed— description, for instance, The sundown light on that dog hair lodge pole pine and the dead branches of spruce trees.
This is a story about heroes. Yes, it is also a profile of a famous man, a “celebrity,” I suppose, but it is first and foremost a story about heroes, what they mean, and the draperies of significance with which we decorate them. The hero in...
Criticism never starts over; yet sometimes it suffers a forgetfulness, an ill nature, an ignorance of its soundings. There’s no going back, but there is a going forward that does not fear looking back. The complaint about “theory” is that...
Like rivers, my thoughts flow south, for no particular reason. Must be the full moon That floods the sky, and makes the night wakeful and full of remorse.
Manna Man checks the internet. He glances over the Local sections of over three-hundred small-town weekly newspapers to which he subscribes. He takes notes. He categorizes and tries not to make assumptions. The mail carrier detests Manna...
