an old writer and his words

  • THE OTHER WORLD

    He pendulated between two worlds,always on the fine edge of transition.Night brought amniotic dreamsthat washed away the digital bondsthe day had fashioned from his thoughts.Here was a freedom that reality detested.Here there were no walls, only open doorsand he could freely wander his psychewithout impediments, without that voicethat was always perched on the razor’sedge of…

    Lou Faber

  • THOSE WHO CAN’T DO (OR TEACH)

    “You know,” she said, “it is the critics, they are the real problem, all holy and self-proclaimed arbiters of taste, deciding what is and is not art, as if God spoke late one night and declared to each one that he or she and only he or she would determine what is art.” I wanted…

    Lou Faber