When this website was born six years ago, a lot of wonderful creative people came to the birth, bringing marvelous gifts across the creative spectrum, and agreeing to help with the child’s upbringing. I had fond visions of the little one becoming the mogul of a real publishing cooperative when she grew up, a venue not only for the written word but for all the arts. But although it was a great idea, her parents and guardians 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. It had taken me twelve years, and enough was enough. For months after it was published, I didn’t write a thing.
But I need to write – 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. Then, whenever I managed to write something I liked, I’d 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 I decided to resurrect this baby – she wasn’t quite dead, and responded nicely to my apologetic ministrations.
One thing I decided right away to change. I love the other arts, but I don’t want to raise a dilettante, so from now on we’re going to focus solely on the written word.
Other than that, though, she’s the same “Winged Lion Press Cooperative.” Even though it’s only me, her mother, bringing her up, and even though she never became a true publishing cooperative, she’s still very a cooperative child, and she knows “it takes a village.” Because of course that without the help and contributions of others, she would never have been born, and without her readers, her life would be meaningless.
So now, if anyone wants to send in their writing, our 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