After six years, Winged Lion Press Cooperative is being reborn.
Let me start, as usual, with a couple of confessions: First, I like to toot my own horn – I’ve had it up to here with modesty. Second, even though I call it a cooperative, this website is, and always has been, my baby.
A lot of wonderful creative people did come to the birth six years ago, bringing wonderful gifts in all the art forms, and agreeing to help with the child’s upbringing. I had fond visions of the little one becoming a real publishing cooperative when she grew up. But we were all busy with other projects, and once all the fanfare died down, we all went home and pretty much left the poor child to raise herself…
Then last May, I finally finished what had been distracting me, my biography of Silo. I’d been working on it for twelve years – which was enough. For months after it was published, I didn’t write a thing.
But writing has always been my laboratory, the place I figure myself out, the place I pour magic potions in my own ear…so finally I started up again. Now and then what came out was interesting, even useful, and I would get a hankering to share it with others. Like with “The overrated agony of insomnia.” Friends told me I should submit it to a “real” magazine or two – I tried, but gave up in no time, being far too lazy and not nearly masochistic enough.
It was then that I remembered this website. Of course! So easy!
So here I am, resurrecting Winged Lion Press Cooperative. I still like the name – the “Winged Lion” part, from Silo’s short story “The Day of the Winged Lion,” represents the inspiration I and so many others have found in Silo’s life and work. “Press” is correct too – at least in the virtual sense. And “Cooperative” still holds, since it’s not just about me, but about all of us – how you and I translate our experience of the Sacred and the Profound into images.
On the other hand, if I’m going to raise this baby, it’s going to grow up mainly with writing. I love the other arts, but I don’t want to raise a dilettante – so I’ve dropped all the other media, to focus on the written word.
Now, if anyone wants to send me their writing, the doors are open. Other than that, I’ll be publishing my own stuff, and blogging.
About blogging. Am I kidding? There are so so so so many blogs out there, do we really need yet another one? It doesn’t matter. I just like to talk – to myself, to you, about us. How come we’re here – a me and a you? Why, in this gorgeous, poignant world, are so many things unspeakably horrible?? What to do? How to act? Where to go from here????
I’ve been asking myself these questions for decades, and I’ve gotten a lot of answers. The ones my brain gives are boring – we’re here make a better world, to enjoy life, to love each other – maybe true, but where’s the oomph? It’s the answers that bubble up out of the murk that I like – the ones that surface in dreams, or in the early morning, before I open my eyes, before my brain gets into its censorship thing. Then, if I can manage to fish my notebook and pen out from under the bedclothes and scrawl something unreadable in the dark, interesting things come up. I’ll leave you with one of those:
The rational mind
Is made of fear
That’s how it subsists.
But below it
There’s another substrate
Full of bichos
And a raw intelligence
Jokesters they are
With big big hearts
I come from.
It’s luminous there
In the dark
Like you wouldn’t expect
And giant suckers
Waving their spooky fronds
Telling the most loving
You get it:
Hasta pronto – TLR