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Polymaths vs. Growing into an Artist : Academia Nuts by William Bland and art by C. Damon Carter (all the same guy.)

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 by d ebora Ewing buy the book: Academia Nuts by William Bland William Bland is a polymath. Igneus Press published Bland's poetry chapbook Academia Nuts in 2016. Here's some backstory: "in 1998 he began a series of 24 piano sonatas each in a different key, which was completed in 2014. In 2002, a visit from a former student, Alexander Seward, inspired him to begin writing a series of poems to accompany the writing of the sonatas. From 2002-2007 approximately five hundred eighty poems were written under the comprehensive title "Poems Accompanying Sonatas." Several series of poems developed within the larger structure, including the series entitled "Academia Nuts", written cautionarily for Alexander as he entered his university studies." Academia Nuts is perfectly curated. I sense a love of academia running like rails alongside a warning from a tired generation. Ardor is as much a character in the narrative as are clowns, connoisseurs, and h

About the Song 'Home' - a conversation with Tina Ross

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I was looking for a poet,  Charles John Quarto . Any emails sent through his web page, though, are answered by Steve Gillette , Charles John’s writing partner of many years. SG told me how to get in touch with the poet, and told me about his own website: About the Song . I found so much good there that a year later, when I saw SG’s picture on a wall at The Birchmere , I wrote to him again and said, "Looky what I found." We had things to talk about. We’re both fans of Carl Jung, for starters, if fan is the right word. As conversation unfolded, I gave SG a breakdown of why I think Wichita Lineman is a love song about processing grief. He directed me to a TedTalk by Daniel Sherrill which explored why, perhaps, people don’t connect emotionally with the concept of climate change. We thought a love song to climate change would be a good idea. I connected with Tina Ross near the beginning of 2020, the year we’re still in (by my count it is now 2020.2.)  We Belong to the DanF

At Ian's Place - Part XIV, in which we've run out of milk.

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Cosmo insisted on helping me with my luggage, but I took my bag from him at Ian's gate. My world was precarious already and I just didn't want unnecessary kindness tipping me off my flat edge. That creaky wooden door without a peephole loomed large at the end of a 14-foot long cracked cement walkway. For the first time, I was relatively certain someone was inside. I didn't know what to do - knock? Should I be like Phil and just walk in?  How long have I been standing here?  The door opened, and a rumpled pile of sweatpants, flannel, and concert t-shirt stood in my path. Ian's hair was poofed and aslant, but he seemed lucid and happy, like he'd been in the process of just waking up for days. He held the door open for me.  "Thanks for coming," he said, reaching for the handle of my suitcase. Thanks for coming. I didn't know what to do with this. I was still standing on the patio. Ian shuffled forward and took charge of the handle. "I've got cof