I See Disaster Everywhere; I Also […]

Musing Takes Place In A Kind Of Meadowlands Of The Imagination, A Part Of The Imagination That Has Not Yet Been Plowed, Developed, Or Put To Any Immediately Practical Use…time Spent There Is Not Work Time, Yet Without That Time The Mind Becomes Sterile, Dull, Domesticated. The Fight For Free Space — For Wilderness And Public Space — Must Be Accompanied By A Fight For Free Time To Spend Wandering In That Space.

A City Always Contains More Than Any Inhabitant Can Know, And A Great City Always Makes The Unknown And The Possible Spurs To The Imagination.

That's What I'm Trying To Get Over: The Idea That Anarchism Offers A Description Of Equitable Relations That Go Way Back Rather Than A Hypothesis Of What The Future Should Look Like.

I'm Grateful That, After An Early Life Of Being Silenced, Sometimes Violently, I Grew Up To Have A Voice, Circumstances That Will Always Bind Me To The Rights Of The Voiceless.

You Write Your Books. You Scatter Your Seeds. Rats Might Eat Them, Or They Might Rot. In California, Some Seeds Lie Dormant For Decades Because They Only Germinate After Fire, And Sometimes The Burned Landscape Blooms Most Lavishly.