Dangerous Compassions


Yesterday David Rovics interviewed me.  It went very well–he was kind and asked good interview questions.  I sat outside in front of a blooming creosote bush, so pretty, covered in yellow flowers.  And I wore my favorite tie dyed tank top, which I want to wear every day lately, like the autistic kid I am.  Yep, it me.

We had good interview rapport.  I shared ideas that mean a lot to me about radical mental health, trike riding, power.  I even read a poem called “hospital” about patients being denied our freedom and power, in mental hospitals.

If you missed it and would like to see, the recording can be found here.  Thank you for caring about me and my ideas.


A nasty helicopter circled by a few times, but the sound didn’t come through very loud, in the recording.  We had a little tech struggle, toward the middle.  Glad it resolved.  The clouds were really pretty, mackerel in the sky.  Some birds delighted me.

I couldn’t see the screen–it was nice that way, to stare at the world, as I talked with David.  He’s been to where we live, at Bartlett / the compound / the friary / Francis and Clare, and he had a concert in the back house, before I came.

I had a little anxiety, the day before, but it was a great experience, over all.  I recommend you volunteer to be interviewed, especially if you’re someone other than an old white guy promoting your new obscure book.  “Yes, my new book is about proto-Marxism as seen through the lens of post-colonial anarchist movements after the turn of the century–no, the other century–in light of the worker struggle to reclaim the identity of post-haste postmasters using Postmates to order postage.  Yeah.”

Many times I saw David Rovics did an interview, I noticed old white guys, wearing black clothes.  They had some cool ideas, but I enjoyed being something different–colorful, outdoors, ladier.


To get my laptop at an ok height, I arranged the bench and other chair in a way that afterward looked kind of obscene to me, like furniture sex.


This still is from when David Rovics said my zines were stapled, and I corrected him that they’re sewn.  That was a cute moment.


Another funny interview moment was after I read the hospital poem, and he said the details were so vivid, it’s like he was there.  I said, “Aren’t you glad you’re not?”  I felt understood and heard, but not like an anarchist repeat of him.  It was a good amount of difference, for an interview.

St Francis
st francis
hey Clare. this is Frank. i found your dog. if u wanna come pick it up, yeah. that would be a miracle. thanks. i love you. i gotta go seek to console. buhbye.

This art is a joke about the St Francis and the wolf story. I was pretending the wolf was the dog of St Clare the whole time.  I laughed a lot, but maybe the joke is too obscure-silly.

Maybe you would have to live where we live, at Francis and Clare, and if you knew the names of our wifi networks, and the wolf magnets on our fridge. I have given an inordinate amount of thought to these folx.

better to overjoke than underjoke.

I drew it on an envelope to someone who lives on Francis street.  I looked up St Francis and based my drawing on one of the arts google showed me.  Nice halo.

I used to hate wolves, long ago.  Not a dog person, or an alpha predator person.  But I kind of like them now.  They do their thing.  I respect canines, even if I don’t affectionately love them.

“Why are there all these wolf magnets on the fridge?  Did someone who lived here before really like wolves?” I asked, naive and young, seven years ago.

“Yeah, something with St Francis,” Ming said, sweetly patient.  Good spouse award.  I love you, sweetheart.  #spousalsupport #domesticnonviolence

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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