Even in my grief, hell, especially when I’m swearing, it’s my dad I think of. The man was a poet of profanity, a true artist with colorful language, and damn if he didn’t pass that gift down to me. Every curse I spit is a tribute, a little ‘I miss you’ wrapped in sass.
Lord, do I miss his voice.
🖤
You made it, you own it
You always own your intellectual property, mailing list, and subscriber payments. With full editorial control and no gatekeepers, you can do the work you most believe in.
Just posted—my conversation with Rev. Adam Taylor, about his book “A More Perfect Union: A New Vision for Building the Beloved Community,” newly out in paperback.
Some of you may recall that some time ago, I asked for your thoughts on an article I was considering—one about a man I firmly believed to be the backbone of Ukraine’s efforts. A man who was steadily strengthening Ukraine’s hand.
Your collective response? Keep quiet. So, I did.
His name is Jonathan Powell, the National Security Advisor to …