Author Archives: orangeacorn

About orangeacorn

We are, I believe, and everything is, in perpetual unfolding/enfolding/evolving. By surface appearances, we're in turmoil and fearfullness, but in fact our existence is on the edge of a new way, beyond the US versus THEM we have grown with. I encourage you to join me over coffee or tea in face-to-face encounters. I call this exercise, "CAFFEINE COMMUNION: Encounters with Paradigm Pioneers." I'm a Columbus, Ohio husband, father and citizen. I practice string band sounds from the ridges of Pocahontas County, West Virginia, the vortex of the ancient drone.

To Die Well

As you read this, you may be in social distance from others as we end our first month of lifestyle interruptions of the Coronavirus. We experience the surreal reality of a place we’ve never been before. We try to squint … Continue reading

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You may see an albino squirrel cross in front of Friday traffic. It may pause on brick pavers or cross a puddle that dries on the steps as you enter the suburban library, the one designed in 17th Century French-Italianate … Continue reading

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A Living Map of a Middle American Town Drawn by a Paper Boy, 1959

Topography: It starts on the flat surface of the sidewalk under the marquee of the Idol Theater. There’s a stack of today’s Cleveland Plain Dealer, secured by a wrapped strand of fence wire that I cut with my pliers. On … Continue reading

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I Stare at the Catfish that Rises to the Surface

I Stare at the Catfish that Rises to the Surface   Waves of crickets blow over my ears, a cicada tide comes near.   September summer season, school bus parades, Friday night drums, nests and floods on fire.   Fly … Continue reading

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PLEASE, Stop Thanking Me For Serving In The Military That son of a bitch, I’m gonna shoot him down. Who? That fuckin colonel up in that spotter chopper, he’s gonna get us killed. DON’T MAN…you’ll go to the stockade if … Continue reading

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R.I.P. David, After All These Decades

David’s Gone Fishing Where are you from? I grew up in a small town in middle America in the mid-20th Century, a beach head of sorts for Appalachian immigrants, not unlike my own family, but mostly refugees from the Clay … Continue reading

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