This is a validation post. Time: 2025-12-03 06:32:11
Friends have been dying this year. And friends of friends Someone says to me. “These are the dying years.” That’s a shock. But I don’t take it personally. As if it’s something NOT I haven’t been thinking ABOUT IT ANYWAY. And what should one expect? Anyway. a
I remember a canvas pup tent pitched in the backyard. And listening to a transistor radio most of the night with my friend David, piping in rock and roll from some AM station in Chicago. After we had reached what we judged to be the goal of staying up all night, we were back inside the house in bed a little after midnight. The ground was hard and it had begun to rain. Read More
This is the face of a man who has not had an easy time of this life, the face of my own people in fact, not many generations back. Scotch Irish Appalachian stock. Clannish, suspicious of outsiders. To him, I am an interloper here, in my Japanese truck. Up from some suburb, the son or grandson of the bankers and speculators who’d starved his people off this land to start with. Read More
Along the way, there’s an old church and cemetery where I sometimes stop. For clarity. And to remember. It’s a peaceful place, high and windswept, with gravestones dating back to the Civil War. Read More
