Essay: Book, Solo
Something about the old days, back when the family bible kept all the secrets– like a mattress, inside with the stuffing one could find lunacies and doctored treasures, the births, marriages, the runaways. Now all the cracked ideas are in the village square, broken plans and patent schemes tricked out in suits with padded shoulders. Here comes an idea called “let’s pretend we’re eating” –an old folk tale really, but the Christian conservative political candidate with the expertly dyed hair says over and over that the poor have insufficient imaginations. Try as I might I can’t find this in the family bible. I tried. I found old birth certificates. They were written in elegant, crafted script by people, women most likely who were very poor indeed.
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Planet of the Blind 