I recently read an interesting essay by poet Janice Lee about publishing and ambition. It is entitled “Books Are Not Products, They Are Bridges” (the first clause of which, strictly speaking, is a patently inaccurate statement; but more on that below). She describes how the experience of placing her experimental novel manuscript forced her “to examine my own beliefs and wounds around linear ideas of success . . . .” On the one hand, she is editor of a small press; she believes in “radical alternatives to the conglomerate machine of mainstream publishing”; she sees the need for DIY publishing in the avant-garde. On the other hand, she writes, “as the daughter of Korean immigrants, I have had ingrained in me a particular work ethic” — one that leads to universally-recognized standards of success. She tries to find an agent; she tries to find a publisher; but nothing doing. They send her complimentary rejections, all of which boil down to: this won’t sell.
As she notes, it is hard to shake the need for external validation, particularly if you’re a member of groups who have been devalued. She felt a deep “hole” – an internal need for validation – in herself. But, she says, “[t]he ‘success’ I had encountered so far in my literary career [5 published books!] had been possible because, like a good girl, I had followed the rules.” But writing experimental fiction is about breaking rules. And writing about trauma involves “talking back.” Ultimately, her book was accepted by The Operating System, which (IMO) is a premier publisher of genre-queer work. Indeed, some would give their eye-teeth to be published there. But for Lee, it was a letdown. She was hoping for, you know, a Coffee House Press maybe?* Nonetheless, through a lot of “self-work,” she managed to overcome her need for external validation – indeed, to recognize it as a traumatic response. And to recognize that she was “already whole.” But the spiritual/psychological work also entailed a social-economic critique. She quotes Anna Lowenhaupt Tsing as saying “capitalism entangles us with ideas of progress and with the spread of techniques of alienation that turn both humans and other beings into resources.” Books are products, in the sense that they are the product of human hands. And they (usually) are for sale. The real question is whether they have to be commodities, in the Marxist sense of the word — an object you make that comes back around as something you have to buy, something that seems like it appeared out of nowhere. Lee saw that she “didn’t have to replicate the system . . . I had the power of disrupting the publishing model, of really placing my radical beliefs and politics in tandem with my actual publishing practice.” Instead, Lee proposes a utopian future for books: How would things be different if we thought of books, not as products or commodities, but as bridges? If instead of agonizing about the limits of the self begins and ends, we moved toward an internal language for shared humanity and interconnectedness? If instead of possession and ownership and separation, we moved towards intimacy, forgiveness, and emancipation? That’s a tall order – but one we would do well to keep in mind, as we go through our publishing (or non-publishing) lives. Lee is an Assistant Professor at Portland State. One would hope that, with 5 books published & one forthcoming on high-quality independent presses, they’ll grant her tenure (if they still do that sort of thing). But the fact that someone has 6 books before going up for tenure speaks volumes about the creative-writing industry in conditions of “late” capitalism. And there’s the rub: no matter how free one becomes internally, when it comes to externals (paychecks, benefits, academic freedom), one has to be a good girl (or boy or other) if one wants the goodies -- publish or perish, and all that. One has to sell -- to somebody. So, Lee is to be commended for her guts in taking aesthetic risks — w/o tenure (yet). Now, one can push back against the commodification of the academy. However, it never ceases to amaze me how tenured professors are some of the least likely people to do so. We’re talking about people with more job security than anyone else in the world, granted to them precisely so they can exercise academic freedom, so they can experiment with new ideas, even if they don’t sell. They don't, I think, because in order to get tenure, one has to learn to accommodate oneself to the machine. Ah, the machine: this is where it comes back around to the climate crisis . . . [To be continued . . .] ________________ * All of which goes to show that, no matter how much of an outsider you are in the literary world, there are always people who are further-outsiders.
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. . . due to the demands of travel. Suffice it to say that WOOT will resume with more versified weather mayhem and super-incisive commentary on Monday. Have a good weekend!
Epictetus the schoolmaster: None of this is to say that I think poetry should make you good. That certainly was the dominant idea in the nineteenth century and into the early twentieth. Poetry was there to expand your sympathies and inculcate virtue. Poetry could bring you and nature closer together. And, in the context of bourgeois culture in the mid- to late-1800s, it probably did (though how much poetry per se had to do with it is another matter). In any case, all that has gone by the boards since then. It is too much to ask of art to improve your moral fiber. Anyway, l’art pour l’art and the notion of the “autotelic” modernist poem have blown poetic functionality all to hell.
Much of my recent thinking about virtue is influenced by the Stoic philosophers. For them, poetry wasn’t necessarily an evil, but it was a colossal waste of time. If you were writing or interpreting poetry, you weren’t reading or practicing philosophy – and, since this may be your last day, that represented at best a lapse of judgement and at worst a blown last chance to imbue your life with meaning and beauty. Epictetus expressed this most bluntly and sardonically: “Just listen to what he says: ‘This person writes with great sophistication, much better than Dio.’ . . . He doesn’t say, ‘The man is civil, he is constant, he is calm.’” Epictetus goes on to challenge his wealthy, hip young students’ literary ambitions, asking, “So in your sorry state – eager for admirers, counting the number of audience members – do you intend to come to others’ assistance?” He counsels that “rather than reckon, as we are used to doing, ‘How many lines I read, or wrote, today,’ we would pass in review how ‘I applied impulse today the way the philosophers recommend, how I desisted from desire, and practiced aversion only on matters that are under my control.’” Seneca was a poet, but one who thought poetry should convey moral exempla (good or bad). “Pronouncing syllables, investigating words, memorizing plays, or making rules for the scansion of poetry, what is there in all this that rids one of fear, roots out desire, or bridles the passions?” he asks. For Seneca, the proof is in the pudding: “You surely do not believe that there is good in any of the subjects whose teachers are, as you see, men [sic] of the most ignoble and base stamp.” Overmuch concern for poetry and other liberal arts “makes men troublesome, wordy, tactless, self-satisfied bores, who fail to learn the essentials just because they have learned the non-essentials.” In other words, poetry makes you bad. Ouch, Seneca. Marcus Aurelius literally thanks the gods that he “was not more proficient at rhetoric, poetry, and other pursuits in which I might well have become engrossed . . . .” Double ouch. There’s nothing intrinsically wrong with writing & reading poetry or playing & watching basketball, as far as I can tell. Or fiddling while Rome, Australia, or northern California burns. But, given the current crisis, which affects every person on earth (unequally), and promises only to worsen, there may be more pressing things to be doing first, from either an ethical or aesthetical point of view. And it may be advisable to stay away from ambition, as well as from any vestige of the mainstream Poetry Community (read Establishment: English departments, fashionable poetry journals, big conferences & festivals). Why not simply put your work forth yourself for whoever does or doesn’t want to read it (perhaps privately)* or self-consciously and honestly admit to be writing with a coterie audience in mind? If things really are falling apart, then what are you building and protecting? In the meantime, poets will courageously continue to fight for inclusion, equality, safety, freedom, ecological healing, motherhood, and apple pie, in both their poems and (more importantly) their twitter feeds. Onward! ------- * For more on this, see my remarks on “privashing” (as opposed to “publishing”). they have maps now that show
s. florida areas that’ll flood if a cat 3 hits 15 yrs from now (which it will); so, some reporters surveyed s. floridian flatlanders to see how they reacted after seeing the maps: the finding? “surprisingly, we found that those who viewed the maps were, on average, less likely to say they believed climate change was taking place than those who hadn’t. nor did it make them believe their own homes were prone to flooding or that sea level rise would lower property values” -- this illusion of invulnerability crossed the political divide: the species burroughs called “homo sap”: why didn’t it go extinct some time in the last 100k yrs? search me . . . but at least miami has an “office of resilience” and a “climate resilience cme.”; but we’re inland so we don’t need one, right? waaaaal . . . researchers at ther ohio state u.* say “we have to adapt while also mitigating so we can try to avoid the really catastrophic outcomes that will come down the road for children today. the worst-case things aren’t happening tomorrow, but they’re happening on a time frame that will impact people we care about” (tho “we” may not be around, so . . .) speaking of flooding -- london calling -- “properties confirmed to have been flooded: 40 in Cumbria, 100 in Lancashire, 150 in Greater Manchester 260 in Yorkshire” — as in, “i gave up a good corporate job to do this and it was my dream to open a cafe. now it’s worth nothing but i’ve no choice but to get it going again” & premature snowmelt = floods in oregon; record hi’s in: naples, florida charleston, s.c. santa rosa, california; record cold in e. turkey, & in baghdad they’re having snowball fights . . . massive rains putting out wildfires in australia & sluicing ash & debris into fresh watercourses & lakes; no water in southern africa: e.g., zimbabwe, where a 60- yr-old is “going through the motions of weeding a field of maize that has been withered by the worst drought in 35 years” — this, after idai washed away her chickens and turkeys; & a mother of 5 sez: "it is common that we eat once a day. the children ask me: ‘what are we going to eat?' i answer: 'just wait. let me look around.’" & those in the global n. look around & see no problem, hear no problem, speak as tho it’s somebody else’s problem, or a problem for some- body else’s kids. “we really ought to do something. why don’t they do anything? it’s going to play hell with all those other people” ____________________ * Don't you know what "ther" means? I’ve about come to the conclusion that, since I don’t know what effects climate chaos will produce in my locality,* the best thing I can do is to try (a.) to toughen up and (b.) to act as ethically as I can – which means, in large part, doing my bit to help mitigate climatogenic distress.
But is this conclusion consistent with being a writer – esp. a POET? People who don’t read poetry have this image of the poet as this ethereal, sympathetic, spiritual, otherworldly, figure who effs the ineffable. The poets who just read that sentence are laughing. Why? Because, Dear Reader, I’m here to tell you: poets are some mean little mother******s. And nobody knows this better than poets. I think it has to do with the size of the readership. Unlike fiction and nonfiction, there is a limited audience. Indeed, there is more than a little truth to the adage that the only people who read poetry are other poets (and the students to whom they force-feed it). Now, that doesn’t diminish the value of poetry. Nobody says, “I don’t watch basketball, because you know what? Most of those people in the seats play it themselves!” No. But what it does do is make for a very small, inbred, inward-looking group, fighting over a very small pie. Think of your high-school or middle-school class, and you’ll have a pretty good idea of what I mean. So, unsurprisingly, this leads to a lot of backbiting, bullying, lying, rumor-mongering, smack-talking, piling-on, vindictiveness, peer pressure, elbowing, grandstanding, gate-keeping, snobbery, kissing of asses (or other parts of anatomy), back-scratching, pandering, disingenuousness, insincerity – as well as some things that are really bad. In other words, I don’t think it’s writing poems that makes someone bad – it is "the Poetry Community," as it is ironically termed. I’ve got the United States in mind here, primarily, but I’ll bet it’s just as bad in other countries (with the possible exception of places where writing the wrong poem can land you in jail). It’s especially ironic, since US poets are among those who declaim most loudly about inclusion, equality, safety, freedom, and ecological healing. Careers must be made, and sometimes all that declaiming can help burnish one’s image. But that doesn't mean you have to extend those qualities to other poets. Now, to be sure, there are some amazingly kind, generous, honest, forthright, even enlightened poets (some of whom coincidentally find it hard to find a wide audience). And certainly, mean people write in other genres and pursue other vocations. But I’ve been around electoral politics and academic politics, I talk with writers in other genres, and I must say, poetry strikes me as worse. For instance, I don’t see the kind of behavior I describe to the same extent among academic literary critics, for a couple of reasons. First and foremost, there is double-blind peer-review: your work is assessed anonymously by someone who is anonymous to you. You might even be writing about someone you know, for all you know. And academic publishers are always on the lookout for stuff, from whatever quarter. That alone cuts down on cronyism, cutthroat competition, and dirty politics (I'm not talking intra-departmental politics -- that's a whole 'nother ball game). But there is more of a professional ethos – the idea that there are things you simply don’t do, no matter how bad things seem, if you consider yourself a qualified member of the profession. The average level of jerkiness can only go so far. But Poetryland, where it's all about who-knows-whom, is designed to encourage that sort of thing. ______________________________________________ * Unlike, say, Mozambique or Alaska, where they have a pretty good idea of the effects already. [to be continued Thursday . . .] climate chaos:
harrison ford came out against it; bill & melinda gates are agin it; laura dern’s agin it -- joaquin phoenix’s against all bad things in the world -- it’s ten feb 2020 & 65 f in antarctica, which sounds pretty good to this versifier, living as he does where it’s 25 right now but it’s not pretty good: “watch as tower-sized block of ice smashes into sea!” -- preceded by commercial that wants me to fly a jet plane all the way to thailand (wch now has drought-induced states of emergency in 116 districts); them big-ass glaciers melt faster than we thot & in 30 yrs, 300 m people “will fall below the elevation of average annual flood,” sez climate central (26 m around shanghai alone); translation: son chingados. no make that “somos.” well, other countries prepare & prevent, but us? here we just wait for something bad to happen, then rescue & rebuild; sure, it’s more ex- pensive, but why fix it if it ain’t broke? that’s just good ol’ american common sense & yeah the british humble- bees r dying off; but dig this: it seems a hedge fund presses our local utility to move to renewables sooner than they’d like — go hedge fund! & e. australia’s got rain -- like, massive amounts -- like, too much maybe: quells wildfires, but causes floods -- can’t they make up their minds?? floods in n.z., too (s. island): joe biden’s not the only one hurting: “a bit of a kick in the gut really,” the dairyman sez (referring to his now-sub- aqueous farm); drought caused crop failures & 24% ↑ in childhood hunger in guatemala (“why do they keep coming? why don’t they get in line?”) -- but we’re all supposed to get & stay in line: it’s monday: so do damn your job: keep yr head down, don’t disrupt, be- have; if you’re agin climate chaos, put it on facebook somewheres — start a meme don't start a revolution Karl Marx claimed that a communist society “makes it possible for me to do one thing today and another tomorrow, to hunt in the morning, fish in the afternoon, rear cattle in the evening, do critical theory after dinner, just as I have a mind, without ever becoming hunter, fisherman, herdsman or critic.”
Hmm. Well, actually-existing communist society didn’t quite pan out that way. There are critics today (e.g., Italian critic Bifo Berardi) who envisage a “second coming” of communism in a form the young Marx might have recognized; but if Berardi and other Europeans bring that about over yonder, we’ll never hear about it, here in the USA. Even if we still have a free press, they won’t get any better at reporting news from outside the USA than they are now. For me, the Marx quote raises another possibility: that we all may have to get good at doing a lot of different things, just in order to maintain any kind of life that might be desirable enough to continue living. Because I don’t think we’re going to be able to count on the federal and state governments to come to our rescue, as the S continues to HTF. It’s sauve qui peut. And the ones who peut are going to be the ones who (a.) stick together and (b.) develop know-how. Some people already do this. The accountant whose father taught them to remodel apartments. The engineer who gardens. The landscaper who’s into pickling, canning, preserving, fermenting. A hardware store employee who also makes clothes. Construction work, repairs, food, food preserving, clothes — these are things that most everybody needs, to one degree or another. At present, in the global north, those who can afford them have them. But with the combined effects of flood, fire, drought, water and food shortages, economic crash, etc., that may not continue to be the case, in the foreseeable future. People may have to trade. Or people may have to do what farmers have always done — learn how to do it all. (And was it Duncan or Olson who said that a poet really does have to know everything?) I’ve read that 40% of Russia’s food is produced in dacha gardens by non-professional gardeners. That’s a very good thing for the Russians. They’ve traded repressive state socialism for repressive state oligarchy, which didn’t improve the economy or environment. The small mammals have to dodge the dinosaurs and forage for whatever food they find. And, somehow, people carry on. All of which leads me to what happens in the evening, after dinner (if there is one). That’s when Marx imagines “doing critical theory” or “critiquing” (or, in other translations, “being a critical critic” — he’s lampooning the Hegelians there). But the point is that there is some free time, but maybe not much. If there are no professional, full-time cattle-ranchers, fisherman, or critics, presumably there won’t be full-time writers or teachers either. Writers have to earn their bread. Some do this by working as physicians, insurance executives, water quality engineers, secretaries. But many, maybe most, earn their living by teaching, mostly in public institutions. While teaching and committee work and busy work can leave little time for writing, they do allow one contact with literature and writing as part of one’s daily work. But the pincers of neo-liberalism and right-wing populism are cracking public education like a nut. At the postsecondary level, there are precious few openings, with 100s lined up for each one. How many teaching jobs will there be, five years from now? Most people doing it today can barely make a living anyway. When will it make more sense to grow your own food and build your own shelter? Or barter with yr neighbors for same? It’s hard to imagine somebody like me — not at all handy, no green thumb, not good at negotiating — living in a world like that. But a crisis can cause one to surprise oneself with one’s own heretofore untested resilience. In any case, whatever writing goes on is going to happen in a very concentrated amount of time by people who are tired from a day’s physical activity but are very very committed to what they are doing.* As a writer friend once said to me, “It was OK in grad school to have fun with word-play and sound experiments, but nowadays [they’re in a very tough, tiring, non-teaching job], it’s hard to get motivated unless it’s something really important.” Or something to that effect. The point being that, the less time and energy you have for making art, the more likely it is that what you write will be central to your everyday life concerns. (Toni Morrison and how many other writers have arisen hours before dawn to write before the kids are awake.) I can tell you that if I’ve been out hunting, fishing, and ranching all day (& I’ve only done one of those three activities), the more likely I am to cut to the chase, when I have a minute to write. The less likely I am to write just to show off; the less likely I am to let my conscious mind get in my way. “Is anything central?” Well, this is one way to find out. And maybe whatever literature might result will be better for it. ________________ * Save for the trust-fund kids, perhaps (who will make it a point of publishing the marginalized voices of the unemployed people in the dust-bowl heartlands). But they’ll wring their hands in solidarity and decry the injustice of it all, at least. (As long as they haven’t been “cancelled.”) warmest jan. on record,
actually — i mean worldwide . . . the global heating ye have always with ye sayeth the lord, who also adds: but i guess you knew that huh? meanwhile, climate crisis became americans’ 11th most important issue in a recent poll! meanwhile, all the climate models look worse, of a sudden. they forgot about clouds. “clouds reflect some sunlight that hits them, & as the planet warms from co2 emissions, cloud cover will decrease. this in turn causes a positive feedback loop & further warms the climate” sez the lead researcher (& “winds are picking up worldwide” — did you notice?) s. zimbabwe looks worse: “no dams drought un- bearable make ends meet cattle no- thing to eat never good harvest no rains appealing to govt. help us we are stranded no money & you are in trouble kindly appealing to govt. money for boreholes vegetables to sell to eat” australia getting the drought-then-deluge treatment (or the drought- then-wildfires-then-deluge): a “rain bomb” “lashes” e. coast — most rain in years, actually; for a week, actually; meaning flash floods sluice across dry, compacted dirt last month wettest ever in norway, & temps as hi as 108 f in argentina, & n.z. issues first ever “red weather warning” (flooding displaced 2 k, cut off parts of s. island) & 46% ↓ snow since 1970 in u.s., & -- “yeah yeah the world is in horrible shape etc. — we know we’ve heard it all before why listen to it again -- everything’s global warming” but “a record, whether you’re talking about a baseball game or record-high lake levels, should be rare. we don’t want to set them on a recurring basis” sez the policy analyst but now the ball is juiced -- I just read an article in Popular Science, by Jeremy Deaton (1/23), that points to parallels between end-of-the-world stories in various cultures, religions, and mythologies. “People believe their lakes and rivers will dry up, and the earth will erupt in flames. This will be followed by rain and floods,” he writes, characterizing certain beliefs from Hinduism. The earth erupting in flames part should be familiar to those raised Christian. But of course, the scenario described in the quote is what happened in India over the last year. A major city, Chennai, basically ran out of water, as did numerous villages in several states. There were wildfires (though nothing like those in Brazil, Siberia, Australia). And then the monsoon season arrived — very late, but very strong. The capital, as well as other major cities and large swaths of countryside, were inundated, with large swaths submerged. Of course, none of this produced the end of the world for the rest of the world. But it did bring about the end of a lot of people’s worlds.
All of this points to a larger issue: scientific reports and policy white papers are starting to read like the Bible: By 2050, as many as 300 million people around the globe could be facing chronic flooding as a result of climate change. Surging tides will sweep away homes, stealing lives, and pushing survivors further inland. It is the great flood all over again, but without the promise of a better world at the end. In other words, Houston, we have a problem. But if you’re in Houston, you already know that. About 25% of US evangelicals believe global warming is part of the End Times; but most evangelicals don’t think there’s a problem at all. Deaton and the religious studies scholars he quotes are more worried about the rest of us: Experts say that if people come to believe climate chaos portends the literal end of days, they might give up on doing what’s needed to avoid a cataclysm, making their apocalyptic predictions self-fulfilling. So, it’s either the Green New Deal or Ragnarok, choose one. And if you believe we are Sinners in the Hands of an Angry Planet, then we’re all among the reprobate and there’s nothing we can do. (This line of thinking has a very long history in white America.) And if apocalyptic thinking is to blame, so is all that post-apocalyptic fiction and film (like the universally panned unscience-fiction movie The Day After Tomorrow): “by depicting a world already ravaged by climate change, and thus beyond saving, it offered ‘a version of the apocalypse that ultimately enfeebles environmental advocacy,’ and threatened to inspire fatalism.” There are at least three problems with this critique, in my view. First, it sounds a lot like telling people what to write, based on what the critics take to be the potential political effects of their writing. We’ve been through this debate before: Should art be socially useful? Does the author have a Duty to Society? Should all writing be in the service of the Revolution? No, no and no. If our only hope of decelerating climate chaos is by putting on a happy face — well, just make sure you put it on with super glue, that’s all I can say. But again, Optimism, like Predestination, is part of the American Religion, so it’s hard to avoid, in these parts. (One is a “born optimist” and therefore among the elect; pessimists are going straight to the bad place. And needless to say, don’t mess with Mr. In-Between, because he doesn’t exist.) Secondly, imagining the worst case scenario can actually scare the hell out of people. And that can indeed move them to action. The sermon “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God” worked — Jonathan Edwards was renowned for his ability to bring people to the mourner’s bench. His vivid description of hell made people visualize it — feel it. It’s one thing to hear about flooding on the other side of the world, quite another to see video of it happening in your area. By the same token, hope can breed complacency. “Maybe the tornado won’t head this way — it’s miles outside of town. No need to run for cover yet.” Famous last words. Hope is a desire for things to work out the way we want them to — whether or not we do anything about them. Finally, we need to acknowledge that the worst case scenario may be the one we get. Or if not, a pretty damn bad scenario. That seems to be the trajectory we’re on. There are those who will tell you to visualize your desire — picture a positive outcome — that it’s healthy to imagine everything turning out just fine. Which is great, unless they don’t. A useful technique is what Bill Irvine calls “negative visualization.” This is an adaptation of an old Stoic technique (Seneca called it the “premeditatio malorum”). Imagining the worst is a way of preparing for it. Some of the worst will come: loss of loved ones, illness, death. Some may come: your house is flooded, your insurance rates skyrocket, you’re digging for water with your bare hands, you’re eating disgusting roots just trying to survive (all of which is happening to 100s of 1000s across the globe daily). If it turns out to be untrue, then it’s a pleasant surprise! If it’s kinda sorta how things pan out — well, you’re at least mentally prepared. Dystopian lit can help us see more clearly, in other words. Now, there is a place for utopian lit as well as dystopian, and both tend to crop up in times of extreme crisis. The human brain has a “negativity bias,” which is maybe why the latter is more prominent right now (not to mention that the situation seems to be spiralling downward in real time). But narrative and description can be great ways to think strategically — whether about national politics or the survival of your community, about what you’d like to create or about what actually does. Have you read something recently that spurred you to action? And was that because it scared you, inspired you, or both? 70+ f 2 days ago,
hi of 33 today; wichita had highest hi in 96 yrs (74 f): so it goes but at least it goes artists from around the world go to a swiss ski resort to discuss eco-art, receding glaciers part of the panorama thru glass walls (fight the power! we’re down w/the people!) scientists from around the world say they weren’t expecting stuff like this for another 50 yrs -- so much for “by the end of the century” . . . warmest jan. on record in denmark; warmest jan. on record in 70 russian cities (moscow 9.2 c ↑ norm) warmest jan. on record in lithuania, in s. korea, in 60% of finland australian wheat harvest ↓7% in 12 yrs; price of water ↑↑↑ (they, the 5th largest exporter of grain); 320 billion locusts in saudi; swarms in pakistan, oman, yemen, eritrea, s. sudan, somalia, uganda (10,000s of hectares of crops destroyed); in e. cape, s. africa, 6 towns w/o any water + water thieves, busting pipelines, breaking open reservoirs (record hi lo in canberra; record hi hi in d.c., tho nobody either place notices, it seems) 13 dead & 15 k displaced in tanzania, due to floods (“16 villages in devastating shock”); hundreds stranded in b.c., canada, due to floods; hundreds stranded in n.z. s. island due to floods (1 meter rain in 60 hrs.), while the n. island is 100+ f -- so it goes so no wonder the world goes mad |
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June 2021
Kristin Prevallet Author/Editor
I'm a writer & teacher in Lawrence, Kansas who actually believes the scientists. I wrote a book of poems called Of Some Sky that seems to have something to do with all this. |