In Current reading, Film, Food, Irish Mist, Local projects, Music, Poetry, Revision, Sanford Meisner, The Art of Peace on November 2, 2014 at 9:30 am

Remember Rosebud? There he is, Citizen Kane. All powerful, king of the castle, mightiest robber baron of them all. At day’s end, in all his looted, pilfered hoarding what is the one, irreplaceable object that beckons out of his childhood?  Rosebud, his wonderful, magical sleigh.


Buttercup. The small yellow flower we held under each other’s chin as children. If the yellow glowed on the person’s skin, it meant true love was sure to come some day.  I never heard of the buttercup not performing as expected, except in overcast weather. From which I gather it’s best to set out in search of your true love on a sunny day rather than in the dead of night during a howling storm. Although, who knows until you’ve tried?


Buttercup. Or is it cinquefoil in the flowers that appear in Shakespeare’s plays?


Buttercup. Ranunculus ophioglossifolius, in this instance. A sub-variety specific to this region. The symbol for what I hope will turn out as a peaceful march and sit-in where no one will throw rocks, acid, tear gas or explosive devices of any kind whatsoever. Where the police will respect the agreement not to show up and where all participants will respect the agreement not to use a young man’s violent death as an excuse for further violence.

Bread. Roses. Buttercups. Living.Loving. Laughing. Arguing. Getting angry, too – we’re not decerebrated lab rats. Peace and Love are for ninnies? Au contraire.


You don’t know what the hell I’m talking about? Read this.



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