I miss my dad. Not that whole dewy-eyed, sentimental, made-For-TV kind of miss him. Not Disney or sitcoms or the hero of the story whose kids all adore him.
If bad things happen to you when you’re young (and they surely will) and hurt you at that time and these bad things retain their power over the years so...
The enemy of ignorance is information and a willingness to entertain different ideas even when they conflict with what we had thought we already knew.
Beauty is hard to find, at times amidst the anger/hurt/pain of life.
Sorry to say But we mustn’t have any more pics of poets and authors staring pointedly into our faces with images of them standing or sitting, always dramatically,
Who Is there to Tell? Since I was 17 years old or so, I’ve wanted to be Hemingway and Fitzgerald And later, Bukowski, Uncle Walt And Roethke and Robert Sund.