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I was overseas with a guy who promised to write his wife every day. He was on
an unaccompanied tour. He called his letters to her The Daily Bulletin,
after the base newsletter telling what time the parade was Saturday, and so
forth. When Area Beautification Week started (hoe the fire lanes). What bars in
the village were off limits.
Bulletin from bulletino, the diminutive of bulla, as in
papal bull. The bulla was a seal, and a papal bull had the Pope's ring pressed
in hot lead. His chop.
To me, a writer has a voice. Pipes. A set of chops. His authenticity
derives from his character. Is you is or is you ain't an existentialist?
Like William Blake. Go and see for yourself. Report back what you find.
Current Series of Books
Previous Series of Books
Previous Series of Books
The American
Dream: A Fresh Start
Previous Series of Books
A Poet in His
Dotage:
The Last Three Books of 40-Year Run
Previous Series of Books
Work and Television at
Granny and Grandpa’s
Previous Series of Books
Reading,
Writing, and Remembering
(or Imaginging): A DT Novel or a
Black Memoir
Previous Series of Books
Previous Series of Books
Writer
Previous Series of Books
Enough Is as
Good as a Feast:
Old Folks at Home
Previous Series of Books
Diary of an
Internet Poet:
Daily Typewriting Chez Jack
the Raver
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