02.21.23 PAMLA 2022 recap

I finally uploaded a presentation of my paper given at the PAMLA conference in 2022.

This paper illustrates the basic governing logic behind paradigmatic frameworks and how to distinguish them morphologically: Dialogism & Dialectics in Ursula Le Guin’s The Left Hand of Darkness

So that you don’t have to scroll down to find it, here’s a link to the poem that crawled out of the primordial creative synergy generated by the conference, channeled and focused through my own particular set of lenses: Paradise is Here: an unruly epic ode to PAMLA 2022

The Muser’s Ready Room on You Tube

I’ve finally uploaded a few videos!
Here’s a link to a live stream that outlines the basic mechanics of the human creative process:

Creative Matrix Basics

My response to the responses to the Nashville school shooting:

The archetype of the lost child and its role in school violence

A reading of my “Quantum Politics” Essay (also composed in response to a school shooting):

Heads and Tails: Quantum Politics

01.29.23 promise, my favorite prison

Sometimes in idle moments
I compose with irreverent humor
the most entertaining vows
I can think of. Here’s one:
“I commit to your keeping
my merciless determination
to focus on the very best of you,
to find goodness and rightness
and sensibility and brilliance
in everything you say and do,
no matter how stupid.”
And then I laugh not only at my own
anticipation and wit
but also at myself,
realizing I’m doing it, again.
Sometimes I cry for the exact same reason. 
The impulse to share
this little bit of absurdity
with you is as strong, as easy,
as natural to me as if
we were, in fact, still friends.
In touch with one another;
as if nothing else
has ever been the case.
And so I continue,
to the best of my ever-growing
ability, to dutifully ignore
the apparent reality
that we’re not,
and skip along
with my happy anticipation, anyway.

The defense rests her case.

09.08.22 happenstance

Link to full poem: Happenstance

“Following the sunset, I went to the ocean to walk the path along the cliffs.
The half-moon had risen, the sun bid her farewell as he sank below the horizon.
I just missed it.
So it was in twilight that I headed along the familiar trail, and by twilight that another trail called.
I hesitated, but the happy stirring of soul urged me on. I huffed a sigh and almost begrudgingly followed.
I followed the path to this one, to that, unsure of where I was going, then came upon a labyrinth:
homemade, a narrow winding path tread into the dirt and lined with stones and shells and small trinkets.
How could this have been here all along, and I had never come to find it?
I begin at the beginning, marked by a large piece of wood.
A few steps in, I find my father’s name
painted on a rock.”