"The Hawthornes owed the very roof over their head to Emerson and their preplanted garden to Henry David Thoreau. They were not ideal tenants. They acted more like Transcendental hippies. They were late with their rent and scratched several windows of the house with memorable but defacing inscriptions like "Man's accidents are God's purposes." Nonetheless the local Transcendentalist coterie welcomed the Hawthornes back again in the 1850s to the house that proved Nathaniel's final residence, "the Wayside."
-From The American Transcendentalists, Essential Writings
Wednesday, June 24, 2020
Saturday, June 20, 2020
bert myers poem
L.A.
The world’s largest ash-tray,
the latest in concrete,
capital of the absurd;
one huge studio
where people drive
from set to set and everyone’s
from a different planet.
For miles, the palm trees,
exotic janitors,
sweep out the sky at dusk.
The gray air molds.
Geraniums heat the alleys.
Jasmine and gasoline
undress the night.
This is the desert
that lost its mind,
the place that boredom built.
Freeways, condominiums, malls,
where cartons of trash and diamonds
and ideologies
are opened, used, dumped near the sea.
The world’s largest ash-tray,
the latest in concrete,
capital of the absurd;
one huge studio
where people drive
from set to set and everyone’s
from a different planet.
For miles, the palm trees,
exotic janitors,
sweep out the sky at dusk.
The gray air molds.
Geraniums heat the alleys.
Jasmine and gasoline
undress the night.
This is the desert
that lost its mind,
the place that boredom built.
Freeways, condominiums, malls,
where cartons of trash and diamonds
and ideologies
are opened, used, dumped near the sea.
Wednesday, June 17, 2020
Monday, June 15, 2020
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