Author: thinaar
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Occupiers
Part of what moves me so much about the Occupy Wall Street protests and their offshoots is the earnestness. Part of it is the times we live in seeming to demand direct action, part of it is the commitment to non-violence and to thoughtful communication. But probably the biggest part of it for me is…
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Labor Day in Urbana, IL
I had an awesome experience on Labor Day, here at the Urbana, IL Labor Day Parade. There were the usual floats – unions, candidates, fire trucks, etc. And then a woman of about 60, dressed head-to-toe as a thrift-store Mother Jones came by on foot, waving a flag and talking to people. The family of…
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How does a city evolve?
I was lucky enough to spend the weekend in Detroit. Among other activities, I got to hang out and work with some incredible artists who’d just been awarded fellowships from The Kresge Foundation, I had beers with a couple radical priests, one my father-in-law, I drove through the always mystifying cityscape, and I talked to…
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Contemporary National Politics Today
So, the right are basically two-year-olds throwing tantrums, pulling everything off the shelves, breaking all the dishes and hurting themselves. They are tearing apart the house. The Democrats’ response is to stand in alternate between saying “don’t do that,” and, “Look at us! We’re not that mad! We’re reasonable!” Meanwhile the kids have gotten ahold…
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Prose poem?
I am cleaning out files and folders. I came across this. Is it enough to stand alone as a prose poem? Please answer in the comments below: **** ” She could tell by his breathing what the dream was about. He had told her enough times after waking and she could often remember the particular…
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Incremental Fiction (Pretending To Wake Up), part 4
*** One winter, around that time, I am home for a holiday visit, walking around on a cold night, just after last call, and I stop by Curly’s, a diner open until four so drunks can dry up after last call. Curly’s is a place where I don’t expect to see anyone I know, where…
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Incremental Fiction (Pretending To Wake Up), part 3
We both go to New York for college in ’87. James studies history for a semester but drops out so he can “model” and “play bass” full-time, which means just enough to score. Over the next couple years I see him less but I hear stories—he’s back home, in a band called That Darn Cat…
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Incremental Fiction, (“Pretending to Wake up”), part 2
James and I start going to all-ages shows tucked away in sweaty holes by the University, five-band-five-dollar nights of half in-tune guitars and screamed rants distorted through a cheap sound system. The first is headlined by Husker Du, and it is terrifying. Bob Mould screams, red-faced, and grinds away at a Flying-V guitar; he has…
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Incremental Fiction (“Pretending to Wake Up”), part 1
It’s 1982, I am in seventh grade and I can’t sleep. I’m involuntarily replaying the previous day’s events in my head: schoolmates’ little insults; subtle rebukes by girls I’d like to kiss; what I should have told the math teacher who gave me a C. I’m tossing and turning, fumbling through Minneapolis’s numbing selection of…
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What is a living wage for an artist?
I’ve been having conversations lately about compensation, support for the arts, the value of the arts, and other such subjects. For me it’s really helpful to think about how to put real numbers onto what we do. So I’ve started asking people what it would mean to make a “living wage” as an artist. Obviously…