“Think continually how many physicians are dead after often fretting over the sick.”
I repeat this line from Marcus Aurelius as I chat with an anesthetist prior to a recent up-the-butt adventure trek at the hospital here in Siberia With a View. Continue reading
I turned 70 in October, so I’m nearing the final station on the line. Soon, It’ll be time to get off.
When I exit this train, I want to know I accomplished something during the ride — something significant that allows my grandchildren to say more than, “Grandpa was a lout and a bum, and all he left me was this paint-spattered sweatshirt.” Continue reading
I’m stretched out on my simulated leather recliner a few nights ago, the first half hour of the Cops marathon complete. I’m spent. I’m a top-tier cultural anthropologist, but I have been bested by information overload, overwhelmed by too much insight into the real America, Trump’s America. Continue reading
Years ago, I received academic degrees, but did not attend graduation ceremonies. I had better things to do: make paintings, write mediocre poems featuring images of shore birds and dead reeds, pound on drums as a member of a band that crisscrossed the country to then run aground in New York City, get loaded, have sexual relations with anyone who agreed, etc. I did not want to hear a geek babble about my bright future; it was not, and is not in my nature to be optimistic. Groundless, positive expressions push me over the edge. Continue reading