With every anguish of our earthly part The spirit's sight grows clearer.
The Gulf Stream waters of Woody Guthrie's famous song were strung with columns of oil that were several miles long.
The evening sky was streaked with purple, the color of torn plums, and a light rain had started to fall when I came to the end of the blacktop road that cut through twenty miles of thick, almost impenetrable scrub oak and pine and stopped at the front gate of Angola penitentiary.
Nothing is more important than saving. . . the Lions, Tigers, Giraffes, Elephants, Froggies, Turtles, Apes, Raccoons, Beetles, Ants, Sharks, Bears, and, of course, the Squirrels. The humans? The planet does not need humans.
They grow in layers, like the spirit does. That's what Grandpa Sam used to say, anyway. You just got to keep the roots in a clear stream and not let nobody taint the water for you.
I told myself I did not have to live as I once did. I did not have to re-create the violent moments that used to come aborning like a sulfurous match flaring off a thumbnail.
I returned to New Orleans and my problems with pari-mutuel windows and a dark-haired, milk-skinned wife from Martinique who went home with men from the Garden District while I was passed out in a houseboat on Lake Pontchartrain, the downdraft of U. S. Army helicopters flattening a plain of elephant grass in my dreams.
I always say, once I get in a room, I can sell myself just fine. I know that not everyone who has a disability has the social skills or cognitive skills that I do, and it may be harder for them to navigate through.
If I did get the opportunity to write something cool that people would like, I would jump at the opportunity to make it.
The demolition of a temple is possible at any time, as it cannot walk away from its place.
The human heart is a lonely hunter-but the search for us southerners is more anguished.