Mistah Kurtz – he dead. You are still dead, and time, as David Bowie sings, takes a cigarette, puts it in your mouth. Which would be funny if it were not so true. Three hundred and sixty-four days and every one of them I miss you. Some days are worse than others, and some, […]
March 10, 2012
‘ Sometimes I go about in pity for myself, and all the while a great wind is bearing me across the sky.’ Ojibwa saying. Follow your bliss. Easy. No? How many forgotten paths I wonder already lay scattered around in the wasteland of our pasts? Laying discarded and slowly turning back to dust. Were any […]
January 29, 2012
They say the past is a foreign country. One where they do things differently. If this is true, then those differences call out to you loudest from the stamps of each nation. Yes, stamps. Those small, often square, sometimes triangular things you place on the corner of a letter and then forget about. There is […]
September 10, 2011
Red cliffs. That is unusual. Not the white cliffs of Vera Flynn, of England. Red cliffs. It is an unfamiliar route, a different return. It is home drawing closer, but not home. Contrasts follow at every turn. Retuning to your country, your place of residence, for nearly forty years, is usually straight forward. You reach […]
August 26, 2011
“Laugh, and the world laughs with you. Weep, and you weep alone. For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth, But has trouble enough of its own.” Neither of which are emotions capture by guide books. Trapped, between enticing visitors to new places and justifying all expenses paid trips, writers opt for safe ground. […]
July 1, 2011
Remember. The sign as you enter Oradour Sur Glane makes a simple request. It is complete in its brevity. Time spent at the martyrs village can never be forgotten. It must, though,be heard, seen, written about. The approach to Oradour sur Glane is as any other in the Limousin. Wooded rolling hills are held together […]
March 24, 2012
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