Those dreams in which one falls,
Uncontrollably hurtling
Toward what seems like certain death, or at the very least
Grievous injury,
Like a freeway insect making an abstract blotch upon a windshield,
Are supposed to mean something.
You like to dance to the music of your body
Unaware and drowning in bliss,
Certain somehow that all will turn out as it ought to,
If only in a dream.
Long ago, more than 2,500 years in the past, the city of Sybaris flourished on the heel of what is now Italy. Situated on a bustling line of Greek trade, Sybaris was where seagoing merchants unloaded their precious cargo for distribution along the Western coast. The customs and tolls from the Greeks’ inexorable enterprise made Sybaris one of the richest towns in the ancient world.
According to the historian Diodorus Siculus, the population of 300,000…
Writer, poet, artist, improviser, lyricist, former television personality, and generally decent person.
If you require additional evidence that the presidency of Donald J. Trump poses an existential danger to the United States of America, read The Fifth Risk, the latest work of journalism from popular author Michael Lewis. This short (fewer than 225 pages), easy-to-follow book profiles several dedicated federal employees in various Departments, including Energy, Agriculture and...
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