Monday, December 13, 2004

Herbert is not Hamlet

Because sometimes titles are simply vague dreams of essays not written yet. Dreams are often not all that profound, really. For instance last night I was chasing little chicks around a yard, with my co-workers (wilderness camp counselors/trip leaders) from this summer. The chicks would sprint-book it, really-from one edge of the yard to the other. Bizarre, and mildy disconcerting, but fascinating to watch, really. One even tried to fly-she pointed her beak skyward and propelled herself like a rocket, straight up and nearly out of sight. Brave fool that I am, I was waiting with open palms when she dropped back down to earth, but the force of impact was so strong that her skull imploded. In fact this cute, little, yellow, astronaut-aspiring chick had suddenly become the image of the Iraqi(?) boy shown on Aljazeera, flaps of his hollow skull lying open on the ground (you know the picture). Anyway, it was that kind of operation, you know, where a certain softness of touch is demanded, when the things one is pursuing (or more often simply trying to protect from themselves) are simultaneously have-mad with survival feistiness and yet extraordinarily fragile.

On another note, the below may be a somewhat tired argument, but the magazine is one I have recently sort of fallen in love with.

Progressive, open-minded people, will keep trying to make sense, to talk rationally, and I'll be among them. But for the sake of bettering my country, I may also be willing, just for a brief while (until we win back our real freedom), to sink to new lows and simple logos. If it will give me a voice in America; if it will give me back my home.

Orion Magazine (Oh, if only their issue featuring Robert and Shana ParkeHarrison were available online...)

Also, another potent letter to the Canadian Prime Minister.

Update: The magazine's photos are extraordinary, but the writing is disappointing. A bit sentimental.

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