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and druggists rig the ambivalence of sleep

This is the first part of 'stuff in my garage/office' series of, well, stuff in my garage/office. This is a poem that hangs on the wall. The poem was written in Austin at a typewriter rodeo, where poets with typewriters hang out on the street and write poems on the spot, after you feed them a few lines or an idea. I had literally just woken up the night before to go to the bathroom, and two of these lines were buzzing in my head (from wherever random ideas come from). Maybe there had been a mosquito in the room, but I had the lines 'the sadness of mosquitoes, and druggists rig the ambivalence of sleep'. Anyway, I fed the lines to this poet (I think her name reads Kari Ane??) and this is what

Confession: I am Sam Shepard's bastard son

Having had two challenging Dads in my life (a story to be told another time), I'm always on the lookout for a different kind of father figure, or at least a mentor. I haven't been lucky enough to meet one in person, but have sought them in the abstract. The following is what I wrote in that regard for an online interview with Indie Theater Now (a great organization, unfortunately ending this year): I’ve always had this natural affinity for Sam Shepard’s work, partly because of his wonderful mix of the bizarrely comic and deeply tragic. But I don’t have his Western background, and while I’ve had some craziness in my own upbringing, the world of the families portrayed in his plays is often ali

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