NOTE FROM LB
No better demonstration of how history repeats itself than this poem, written at a turning point in my life long ago. The specifics are different, but at this turning point in world history, on this particular holiday, the need and the question remain the same.
All I’ve written is part of the headline and I’ve already buried myself? If that isn’t the definition of real trouble for a writer, what is?
Well, I wrote myself into this mess, so let me try and write myself out of it.
NOTE FROM LB
The following poem, which I just reread for the first time in almost as many years as I’d lived when I wrote it, surprises me. I don’t want to do spoilers (God forbid!), but when these words first came poring out of me I read them as meaning something completely different from what they mean to me now. Wondering – Who was I then? Who am I now?
Having read Don Quixote, and the works of Nietzsche,
NOTE FROM LB
If not proof at least evidence that sometimes people really do change. Short poems (the first probably could have been a tweet but we don’t have them back in the 1990s), yet oh-so insightful. Maybe. I hope.
Anyway:
NOTE FROM LB
The Navajo Dog is sitting this one out, and my subconscious has replaced magic this time around. Or has it? (Warning: This sucker looks longer than it really is.
A Recurring Dream