If it weren’t for crabgrass, I’d have no grass at all — gloom, despair, and agony on me; or Art in the Face of

Insects at great number fly into our front porch by the front door and then fail to find their way out again, ending up corpses littering the windowsills. They keep coming in and coming in. My 97-year-old mother has outlived her money, her memory, and may be outliving her lifelong good health, but she herself continues to live on and on. It’s been five years since my 9-year-old friend died from the brain tumor that had been pursuing him since he was 2. Earlier this spring I buried a tiny bunny that something had chomped a leg off of. All over the country people of all ages are dying stupid deaths from opioids because they want to get high. People join groups like ISIS because they think they want to die for a cause. People confuse love for hate and vice versa. Every day new babies all over the world are born and born and born into it. My point is that making art seems stupid in the face of this; or making art is the only reasonable response to this unreason. I haven’t decided which yet.

One thought on “If it weren’t for crabgrass, I’d have no grass at all — gloom, despair, and agony on me; or Art in the Face of

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