One Must Be Just A Little Crazy

Talking, Talking. Spinning A Web Of Words, Pale Walls Of Dreams, Between Myself And All I See.

In University Courses We Do Exercises. Term Papers, Quizzes, Final Examinations Are Not Meant For Publication. We Move Through A Course On Dostoevsky Or Poe As We Move Through A Mildly Good Cocktail Party, Picking Up The Good Bits Of Food Or Conversation, Bearing With The Rest, Going Home When It Comes To Seem The Reasonable Thing To Do. Art, At Those Moments When It Feels Most Like Art -- When We Feel Most Alive, Most Alert, Most Triumphant -- Is Less Like A Cocktail Party Than A Tank Full Of Sharks.

Art Gropes. It Stalks Like A Hunter Lost In The Woods, Listening To Itself And To Everything Around It, Unsure Of Itself, Waiting To Pounce.

The Citizen Can Bring Our Political And Governmental Institutions Back To Life, Make Them Responsive And Accountable, And Keep Them Honest. No One Else Can.

We Know That Where Community Exists In Confers Upon Its Members Identity, A Sense Of Belonging, And A Measure Of Security. . . . Communities Are The Ground-level Generators And Preservers Of Values And Ethical Systems.