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Unimagined

I was attending a small liberal arts college just outside of Mexico City on the Taluca Road overlooking Popocatépetl volcano under which Malcolm Lowry’s hero drinks himself to death. I was nineteen. I’d missed my bus back to the city after class that day so I stuck out my thumb to hitchhike and was picked up by two good looking(…)

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In the cards

  Seeing flinty dawn through a porthole, I left my cabin for a cup of coffee. It was November 2013; I was traveling from Patras to Venice on a ship named Coraggio (Anek Lines) with two new friends. A few Turkish truckers and their wives were fast asleep in the lounge where the configuration of classic red and blue playing(…)

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“A free day, a perfect pearl”

I awakened today and found a gift had had been given to me during the night. The gift: a day that belongs entirely to me; seamless; to be shared or not as I like. Virginia Woolf’s line, ‘A free day, a perfect pearl‘ comes to mind. I google the line in order to attribute it properly. What comes up: 1) Wikiquotes/Virginia_Woolf 2) Love in the Second Act: True(…)

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Fear of impending doom

As spring of 1945 burst through exhausted ruins, peace visited Europe beginning on May 8th. Now was a chance to make a better world and what better time to begin than spring. A few days less than three months later, August 6th, 8:15 a.m. 1945 an American B-29 bomber dropped a uranium gun-type atomic bomb nicknamed “Little Boy” on Hiroshima,(…)

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Notes from Ecuador

A young Canadian acquaintance has gone to the interior of Ecuador as a volunteer. Following are a few notes taken from a phone call he made during his stay: “…, they are the most beautiful and lovely people. Words can’t even describe how beautiful they are. I went there to help them. But they helped me –(…)

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Empty chairs

In childhood we had a school chair, dark wood, with many deep scratches made by children, desk attached including circular hole for ink bottle, a drawer underneath for books. In youth we had a hammock in which you could lie and roll yourself round and round, becoming encased in hemp like an ampule. In young adulthood I(…)

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A preview of my epitaph

Following are lines written by my great friend Bill Goyan, long dead but lovingly (and evermore) remembered. A writer of great originality from East Texas with unique, rarified sensibilities. The courage he had to experiment with plot and character in his unconventional, heart-stopping work has been an inspiration and will shortly go the limit in my coming(…)

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My ladder to nowhere and me.

The Railroad Station   My non arrival in the city of N. took place on the dot. You’d been alerted in my unmailed letter. You were able not to be there at the agreed-upon time. The train pulled up at Platform 3. A lot of people got out. My absence joined the throng as it made(…)

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A weekend I spent with wounded veterans

A weekend I spent with my old friend Barbara several years ago always comes back to me when military hardware, men and women at war, the aftermath of these wars, troubles my mind. Barbara was working for a nonprofit group that, at the time, provided art and theater for ill and injured people. She invited me to accompany(…)

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