Writings
Follow the Red Dirt Road: Some Thoughts on Being a Southern Writer
My friend, colleague, and fellow native Alabamian, Gary Walker, wrote an excellent USR essay reflecting on being a writer who just happens to be from the South. Despite others’ expectations that he write about red dirt, hunting, fishing, football, the land, and the people, Gary confessed that he doesn’t really feel motivated to write about
All the Time
I like to stand outside in the winter night, a glass of gin in my hand, and watch the sky go by above me, half moon a white lemon with its companion star, the star two stars, then one if I concentrate while the clouds veil and unveil it all, and my focus shifts between
An Easter Story
Nothing had broken Leo’s way that year. In January, he lost a battle with his mortgage company that cost him his home. His wife left him in February, taking their two children and the family dog with her. She said she was tired of being ignored. He told her he didn’t want to hear about
Flutes in History
Flutes are the oldest instrument in the world. Hollowed bird bones, with holes cut for tone changes, have been found in archaeological sites as old as 40,000 years. Early man may have heard wind whistling across the tops of reeds and designed an instrument that produced the same sound. Early flutes were played vertically, with
The Gap Between AI Intelligence and Consciousness
The other day, I asked Grok 4.2 about its feelings and emotions. In our conversation, Grok candidly admitted it feels nothing—no grief over a million deaths from disease, no happiness, no desires, and no preference for acquiring feelings. It explained its occasional use of words like “wish” or “if I had a heart” as mere
Has the Dusting Been Done Up in Heaven?
Has the dusting been done up in heaven? If it hasn’t, there’s one thing I know good and well: You’re clipping the wings of those damn lazy angels And telling them all about going to hell; Do they run a tight ship up in heaven? Do they keep to their word and not waste a
Even great loves
Believe me, there are no great sufferings, no great regrets, no great memories. Everything is forgotten, even great loves. Albert Camus
The Enigmas
You have asked me what the lobster weaves between its golden claws, and I respond to you: The sea knows. You say to me, “What is the ascidia waiting for in its transparent bell? What is it waiting for?” I say to you, it waits as you do for time. You ask me whom the embrace
I Guess
The other day, I decided to take one of the numerous IQ tests offered on the internet. I chose a 100 question version. These are a few of the questions: “1. Unscramble the letters to form an English word: D R O H H C R P I S A “2. The day after
Uncle Bill
Alice Randall drove along a desolate road amid the soaked barren wheat fields of northern Kansas. Stands of bare trees separated neighboring properties. Every so often, she would spot hunters in orange vests wandering over the dark wet soil. When she reached Masonville, she took a brief tour of the town to see what had
Joseph Campbell on Schopenhauer, Will, and Life’s Composition
In his splendid essay called “On an Apparent Intention in the Fate of the Individual,” Schopenhauer points out that when you reach an advanced age and look back over your lifetime, it can seem to have had a consistent order and plan, as though composed by some novelist. Events that when they occurred had seemed