I don't think I have ever really gotten Leopold Bloom's interior ramblings out of my head! I am sure that voice continues to inspire the walking consciousness in my work - that is, the way I carry on an interior monologue as I walk through this city.

There's nothing compared to the history of writing about the city of New York that you get, say, in Charles Reznikoff.

At first I was blogging everyday, but I don't do that anymore. It varies; sometimes I'll write these little essays and other times political commentaries. Other times it'll just be new work that I'm doing.

When Daniel Boone goes by at night The phantom deer arise And all lost, wild America Is burning in their eyes.

Life is not lost by dying! Life is lost, Minute by minute, day by dragging day, In all the thousand, small, uncaring ways...

Grant us brotherhood, not only for this day but for all our years - a brotherhood not of words but of acts and deeds.

As for what you're calling hard luck - well, we made New England out of it. That and codfish.