Emily Dickenson is one of my favorite poets, but when she writes, “Tell all the truth, but tell it slant,” it’s frustrating to be able to follow only half of her advice. The problem is, there are a lot of truths; they are as innumerable as clouds in the skies. So it’s impossible to tell more than a little truth about even one of them, let alone to tell all the truth about each. On the other hand, telling a truth — but telling it slant — is a different matter.
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Chess, With Clouds
The Scene:
An abandoned hotel* on 6th Street, San Francisco’s Skid Row, early 1970’s.
The Game:
Three-Dimensional chess, with clouds.
The Players:
Gabriel, a Ratter.
Freude, a Film Maker.
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Wounded Angel in a Broken World
How do you paint an angel if you don’t believe angels exist?
This story of an angel begins in Valencia, in Spain, in a public garden called Los Viveros, on the banks of what used to be the river Turia. My friend Antonio Gomis and I like to draw there because it’s green and cool and quiet.
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