Category Archives: The Un-empiracal

“They tried to bury us. They didn’t know we were seeds.” —Dinos Christianopoulos, often attributed as a Mexican Proverb

There is some conflicting attribution to this marvelous saying, but regardless, I post this in hopes of replies…WHAT DOES THIS SAY TO YOU? For me, resilience. We’ve all seen green shoots sprouting through concrete, testimonial to the clarity of purpose, … Continue reading

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I recommend this before your 50th birthday

I just endured my third colonoscopy today…since turning 40.  I started this periodic diagnostic voyage to my bowels earlier than most, due to a family history of cancer that attacked colons first. My father passed at 53, his father not even 47. I … Continue reading

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Fluxus in our time

There was, and is, a distinction between ego-attached “look-at-me” hijinks and the performance, or placement, or identification of art. Art for no sake other than its own. Ephemeral. Left to experience. Left to memory. Gone. We remember Fluxus, a precursor … Continue reading

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Notes following “the theater is a blank page” by Ann Hamilton and the SITI Company

Sharon & I left Mershon Auditorium/Wexner Center for the Arts just over an hour ago, guided out the back door after a shared experience of the theater as a blank page as directed by Ann Hamilton and Ann Bogart and … Continue reading

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Robert Bly’s “Dragon Smoke” rising from Cleveland Heights

This is a clarion call to let you know about Holly Jensen, a working poet. Her current piece is “Selected Timelines.” More here, and here. Upon absorbing “Selected Timelines” I envisioned a conversation by a campfire…Michael Pollan, Richard Brautigan and … Continue reading

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Uh-oh, I just identified my fear, and, my fear looks just like…

Like you, I have teachers. I met with one of my teachers yesterday and described my Pecha Kucha presentation that I’ll deliver this Thursday, August 8 at Tacocat, titled: WHAT AM I AFRAID OF? So, she started her probe, preparing … Continue reading

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’51 Gibson J-45

I’m a gardener, you’re the volunteer who vines by the row of heirloom Better Boys, you hide near the hollyhocks along the splintered wood fence, dry in the sunlight.      I’m a mapmaker, your cheeks are hilltops, your tears flow like … Continue reading

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