Next week, I’m embarking on one of two little first-book tours, and I’ll be blogging about those tours here.
Some years back, in the fall-out from the dot.com bubble-burst and the death of my grandmother, I sold my suits in a yard sale and took off for Mexico, where I spent six months immersing myself in a broader spectrum of reality than is customary in the U.S. and immersing myself in places where this reality is a given.
I teach developmental composition in the Westbank of New Orleans, over the bridge from my home. If you were to keep on driving out there, away from New Orleans, you would be in the area on the map that looks like it’s breaking apart into the sea.
A few years ago, the poet D.A. (Doug) Powell and I, in a fit of industry, embarked upon a project called The One Sentence Review.
Perhaps to be human is to forget. Perhaps every culture survives by forgetting. In America we have forgotten so many things that we are sometimes called a people without a memory.