This popped up in my Twitter feed today via Michael B. Dougherty (who is a reason to not un-join Twitter):
It is a Friday in Lent and you have been fasting all day to be in solidarity with Guatemalans and now you hate Guatemalans. Your wife is away, the house is empty. You wander into your younger daughter’s room. She long ago took down all the old posters and pictures. The walls are nearly bare. This happens to be a time in your life when the faith you once held so easily seems to be, not totally lost, just empty. The God whose presence was once felt is now just an idea “assented to”. Truthfully, it hurts. Does it hurt as much as if, say, you lost your mortgage? Who knows? But it does hurt, more than you let on to yourself. It makes everything dark.
MBD is the Truman Capote to Korrektiv’s Perry Smith. He walked out the front door; we walked out the back.
That’s cute, Barker, the way you pretend he isn’t Expat.
Hey, Brother Joseph Hoover! I know him. He accepted a poem of mine at America… forthcoming, of course.
I’m very forthcoming, when it comes down to it.
Um, JOB? He “excepted” your poem. That is, he’ll do anything except publish it. You understand.