Dear Dems,

As a lifetime democrat whose dad would turn over in his grave if he could read this  — I’m done with you. Citizens of Minnesota,Oregon, New York, Maine, Washington and Vermont are risking their lives on the street against the fed’s personal goon squad, while all you beltway-brained dems can come up with is reform and retrain instead of abolish. 

Quoting the New Republic “These are marauding, fascist thugs who enjoy terrorizing people. They’re in their dream job. They raid churches.They abduct people, children.They use children to abduct other people.They shot a woman in the face, murdered a 34 year old nurse, tear-gassed a car of children, dragged an elderly man in his underwear from his house in the freezing cold, detained a 5-year-old, used him to bait his parents, and then took them all  away. ICE is not working alongside local enforcement which has at least ostensibly accepted fair policing as a standard. 

You can’t retrain them. Or reform them: they already believe they are good citizens by fulfilling quotas from federal powers determined to stop white men from getting kicked off the throne by brown/black people, democrats and women. 

Don’t congratulate yourselves for funding a terrible budget just because you gave ICE 2 weeks to agree to no masks, body cams, identification, and warrants to yank old men out of toilets. Oh, and wear a uniform.

None of this will work. ICE is not a responsible agency working along with local enforcement. It is a palace guard enforcing the will of want-to-be king laughing in your placid faces.

There’s only one solution: defund them. Period. Ally with the mayors and governors desperate to kick the goons out of their states and cities. The law cannot constrain them. Use the funds for a health system that isn’t killing us, for infrastructure, transportation ad nauseam

And until you wake up, stop texting me for donations.

Riki Moss, South Burlington Vt


Fishermen cheering as giant fish spasms and dies at their feet

Of course this was not the headline of the NYT video. This was: “6 Fishermen Reel In a 244-Pound Atlantic Halibut, Setting a Local Record.” Now I know we have to eat. I accept, although with qualms, that my species needs – maybe too strong a word, maybe ‘wants’ is better – to learn migration patterns of other creatures who migrate, although I’m not sure why that is. But to see humans chortling, cheering, jumping for joy as a creature dies at their feet obviously in pain is disgusting. Even the notion of setting records, that odd quirk of human nature, is also troublesome, at least for those of us who care less about competition. I could get started about football, but I won’t.

That said, the puppy bowl is tomorrow night! Whoo Hoo!

Democrats you’ve lost me.

When I read headlines like “Congress clinches $1.2T funding deal for DHS, Pentagon, domestic agencies” and “Democrats support bill that would give ICE $10 billion” and “Jeffries won’t whip vote against ICE funding.” just weeks after Jonathan Ross, a longtime ICE firearms instructor, literally filmed himself shooting Renee Good in the face, I’m sorry, the party has lost me. Unless leadership turns over – Mamdani! AOC! Bernie! Eliabeth! – or unless a new party figures out a blueprint for regime change, I’m left in the dark, lost in the shadows, fantasizing the end of the world as I know it. As a Jew with ancestors plucked off the streets by an armed, masked gestapo, I’m sensitive to history repeating here, in my country, and shortly in my state (as goes Maine, so will go Vermont. What will Scott do? I can guess. ) Jack Smith laid it out, our former president was a felon. So? We elected him again. Of course, not me, but “we” in the sense of “us” not criminalizing him after January 6th. I wonder how my party let Smith be gagged and himself open to conviction. I have no solutions, I’m not a politician. It’s not my game. I did my marching in the ’60’s and am too old now to chase armed goons in the street waving my broom against a rifle as if one could sweep away the yellow filth blasted in the eyes of a helpless citizen. It’s a dilemma: on the one hand I’m filled with awe of my beautiful spinning planet, on the other hand I’m terrified as one species, mine, seems determined to wipe it all out. Yes, I have with me the artists, the poets, the caretakers, GenZ and maybe five of the governors, but our voices are marginalized by the uncanny reluctance of those we elected to protect us. All I have is one voice, however thin, to add to the millions raging against the machine. But for us to be heard, we need our party. We elected you. Fear isn’t an option.

Vermont Studio Center

After experiencing one of those life changing events that slam down without warning. I moved in a daze into a South Burlington condo with my dog and I found I could not write a coherent sentence. What I needed was to immerse myself in a dedicated community, no distractions, no meals to cook, dogs to walk. And – thank you fate – I was accepted at the Vermont Studio Center in Johnson, full fellowship, with a sweet suite to live in, a separate studio, great food and a vital, community. You could work all night, take meals at the commuter and interact as much as you wanted, no pressure.

I brought with me the novel I was working on. Technically, it was the middle of a second draft, but I was wrong. Time had gone by, my world and The World had ruptured, (e.g January 6th, the Trump election, floods, wild fires, species extinctions) and my characters had to be as crazed by all this as I was, something deeply human was ending, the end of the world as we knew it was no longer a concept, it was in process, we were in a dystopia, headed into trouble everywhere. My characters were still yapping away in my head, but now I was listening deeply, instead of imposing a story on them to navigate.

So what if I imagined a scenario where the worst was happening and planted my characters there. I had recently published a short story, very different than anything I had done before, it was speculative fiction, an actual genre, with a newly driven voice. So, what if I planted my characters in this world that was really dissolving. That I felt was pushing humanity in a direction we/they might not be able to navigate. So many questions, no answers, and that felt right. Asking those questions, I got it, I needed to start in a very different place and figure out how the people in my head were going to move through towards an ending, one that had always been clear in my mind but now was much more deeply loaded.

That week was like a em dash –––it led to a summer in a cabin by the lake, writing and reading and waking up. Whew.

Read Like A Writer, again.

Meeting the 2nd and 4th Monday of each month with Riki Moss at 6:30 – 8PM ET via Zoom Workshops are free, no adm to wade through: just email riki@nereadersandwriters.com for the files and Zoom link. 

Why should writers read? Faulkner tells writers to “…read everything, just like an apprentice who studies the masters. Read! You’ll absorb it. Then write. If it is good, you’ll find out.” As Zen master Dogen said, “If you walk in the mist, you get wet.”

Fiction writers might be liars, fictionalizing names, places, ideas – and we all are wary of the reliability of memory – but when fiction is in service of deeper truths, we know it, we want to learn how the writer did it, we want to explore for ourselves.

Here’s the schedule from September through the end of the year:

9/8 Grace Paley: Conversations with my Father plus a forward from George Saunders who worked through this story on his substack. George loves Grace, whom he calls one of the great masters of our time. Here’s an opportunity to find out why, how to think about the larger import of her work, what questions she raises that are significant to any fiction writer. We’ll follow Saunders as he moves through the story.

9/22 David Means: Means is sterling in his chosen turf, “the great desolate span of the Central states,” and he’s also interesting as a male writer about relationships. The style is intriguing, no quoted dialogue, long paragraphs with little punctuation working between fact and fiction, poetics/God and hard reality. We’ve read two of his stories previously, but he just keeps going deeper with some structural quirks that are deviously fascinating.

10/13 László KrasznahorkaiAn Angel Passed Above Us published recently in The Yale Review has a hash tag: “The novelist of apocalypse insists on the reality of the present.” Remember that his earliest work was grounded in a Hungary suffocating within the Iron Curtain: later he found a relative lightness of being with books like “Seiobo There Below.”  In this story, he contrasts the muddy trenches of the war in Ukraine with the phantasmagoric promises of technological globalization. He’s won the Booker, is always a name that comes quickly to mind for the Nobel and he is one of the most elegant writers of our time.

10/27 Jason Mott: an excerpt from his fourth Novel, One Hell of a Book, where an African-American author sets out on a cross-country book tour to promote his bestselling novel. I know, we want to avoid excerpts, AND memoir AND auto fiction but this guy has a wholly original voice that we need to hear and besides, he won the National. Big lessons in dialogue, big distinction between Mott’s loose patois vs the tightly sublime verbiage of both Means and Krasznahorkai.

11/10 Aimee Bender: Off  a first person narrative by a willful, nuts, predatory, annoying woman messing up a party for her own game plan. A little surrealism, a little reality and a lot of sass. Bender gives us an unlikable female character with vulnerability right under the surface. A number of female authors are writing like this today, letting the ladies screw things up without judgement or redemption: I see resonance with Colette, Lucia Berlin, Mary Gaitskill, even Clarice Lispector.

11/24 Sequoia Magamatsu: Pig Son. A scientist cloning pigs for their organs gets caught in a serious conundrum when this pig starts talking, because his own child died of a diseased heart. There’s a bit of Ishiguro here: think of his novel Remains of the Day,  a story about children raised to be donors.  A simply written story by a young American-Japanese, whose latest novel, How High We Go In The Dark isn’t exactly sci fi or speculative fiction – let’s be unencumbered by genres here. The writing is simple, the idea complicated and we can consider how we would write in the POV of a non-verbal animal (or river or mountain).

12/8 David Foster Wallace: excerpt from The Pale King called Good People. This stands alone as a complete story. An Ironic title? Is DFW questioning what’s “good”? He’s tight in the head of his male character who tries to understand his lovers’ predicament and his place in it, It’s a moral question that will impact their lives deeply. He was desperate to be good people, to still be able to feel he was good. The writing is pure DFW, deep, insightful, fearless.

12/22 Flash. We’ll end 2025 with a burst of Flash, TBA.

disppear/reappear

Thich Nhat Hanh says, “For things to reveal themselves to us, we need to be ready to abandon our views about them.” 

Robert died almost a year ago. I could quote Thich Nhat Hanh, and tell you there is no birth, there is no death; life happens when conditions are ripe. Can you wrap your mind around that? This death/not death we all say we want: unexpected, unprepared for, unheralded. There is no way to make this into a story. I’ve moved into Burlington, from the amiable wreck we shared on the islands, with the four tons of pellets for winter heat, the skylit studio, the nights startled by wild dog packs, the snow geese with their eggs at the edge of the pond, the black fox down the trail, the seven deer (until there were three), the bunny on the walkway staring down the dog in the moonlight, the writers on retreat. It was perfect then, for life was ripe. I could say Robert is alive in our hearts, for he touched many. I could say, this winter was hard to bear, even with the little dog asleep on my shoulder, snoring into my hair. You, friends, brought food and solace, with instructions for moving a soul safely through the Bardo. (The Bardo must be crowded these days: Thich Nacht Hanh, bell hooks, a Scottish serial killer, Goddard, the Mighty Bomber, my great friend John Douglas, Sidney Poitier, Peter Bogdanovich, the Queen, Ozzie (the oldest living gorilla in captivity.) In May, the house sold in a day. I tossed out, gave away, handed off ⅔ of all that stuff – what freedom! – and moved to a cabin where the lake banged around the cliffs, the full moon posed on reflection outside my windows. And now, I am “here”, much lighter. “Here” also happened in a day; a quiet space with room to write, trails to walk; push a button and the heat comes on. The dog and I are happy here. Solitude in a packed city. I am masked. I avoid crowds. She trots by my side, a miracle.  So I can tell you, here we are, back in the life stream where I am just another idiot tripping over words, with gratitude, grief, curiosity and wonder. 

emerging: from where into what?

Cases drop, masking is once again up to us, we’re going to school, eating in restaurants, walking down streets holding hands. Our dogs are behaving badly, we need a hair cut. We’re fatter, unhappier and while some of us are dying to hit the bars, others of us really do not want to go back working three mind-killing jobs while still being desperate for food stamps.

This is the “normal” for many. Working three jobs for $9 an hour while still on line at the food shelves. no child care, medical insurance, housing, fuel. I just read that 40% of American workers do not want to return to their jobs. This is crazy and it’s not because of the generous COVID unemployment benefits killing incentive to work, so why are businesses having trouble finding workers? Because even with multiple jobs and a supportive household, living at these wages is unsustainable. Because low wage labor toiling to make the rich richer is soul death. Because America is based on consumption, we’re told to consume, consume, consume, and we have made of our planet a garbage dump.

We’re a slave society and always have been. We conquer and kill. We starve, manipulate, penetrate those who labor to support our consumerism. Americans want cheap food, cheap services, and we don’t care if the cost is the lives of millions of potential workers. Poverty of this scale in the richest nation in the world is paralyzing, unacceptable. And yet, we accept it.

What else do we accept? That rising prices for the consumer are the fault of workers demanding a living wage of $15 per hour, even though wages haven’t risen against inflation for 40 years. So, when we’re at the counter handed a bill for a Chipolte’s burrito that’s 4% higher than last week, we’re supposed to blame the line cook in the hot, miserable, chaotic kitchen. But guess what: the CEO’s salary is $38 million and the company profit rose to more than $350 million during the pandemic year. And the line chef? Well, he’s maybe not so interested in coming back to work in their crappy kitchen.

Republicans believe the answer is prematurely cutting off unemployment benefits. This strategy is based on a self-serving assumption that normal people don’t want to work, they’d rather hang out in front of their televisions eating poisonous food while their kids commit suicide on bad drugs and the planet chokes on our garbage. How the human species evolved as destroyers instead of guardians of the planet’s diversities is another topic. One that we have to face head on but we won’t.

I love the idea of Jeff Bezos getting in his space ship and heading – where? Nowhere. What I don’t love is that he’ll be back.

how we dissemble

Dr Fauci has dropped in virtually to Gov. Scott’s Tuesday briefing, once again an hour of pleasantries, Vermont-isms and mostly well deserved self-congratulations. The Gov and his staff come off as serious, hard working and practical leaders herding our state through perilous times, and there is much to applaud. But, something’s fishy, The governor says it’s impossible to enforce mask wearing and Covid border control, a statement which I interpret as he doesn’t want to alienate his base, that segment of his base raving about following public health measures is an attack on physical freedom, even from reasonable people who leash their dogs, hook up seatbelts, pay taxes, keep their pants on in public without going nuts. It is, an election year, on the way to becoming an election month. Satisfying a base floods a candidates brain, no matter how badly that base is acting. I get that. But it not healthy.

Our state is pretty much masked up despite the lack of enforcement. Our infection rates are admirally low. So, in my mind, this is an argument for, not against, enforcing a mandate: even without the possibility of enforcement, people follow the leader when they trust him.

So why aren’t we – our Republican Gov – pressing for a mandate from the Feds? Is it because we have a leader who can’t be trusted?

the argument is that policies won’t be enforceable, our country is too polarized, the issue has been allowed to become politicized. Meaning, whomever is in charge of these things does not intend to alienate his political base.

Fauci is Fauci, I admire him. But when he answered a reporter’s question about whether or not a federal mask mandate would be welcome, he suggested that it wasn’t wise because our country is so polarized. I think this kind of reasoning is cowardly, in the same way that our governor’s belief that Vt. isn’t enforcing a mandate because enforcement won’t work is cowardly. On the one hand, Fauci and the governor himself believe that good leadership in our state has resulted in major obedience to protect public health, somehow this doesn’t translate to what should be done on the federal level. This is an election year, almost an election month…I get it. Scott is unwilling to alienate his base, even those who believe that wearing seatbelts is detrimental to their inalienable freedom. But they do wear seatbelts, because it’s mandated, because there’s a penalty for not doing so, and perhaps even because they get to accept that their own lives are at stake. Scott as a popular republican governor in a very blue state is in a great position to challenge the toxic leadership of his party by calling on federal truth saying and mandates. People do respond to leadership.


Reading Mary Oliver to the dog

Our friend Rebecca sent over a book she found in the cast-off pile in the St. Albans dump. It is Dog Songs, by Mary Oliver. After dinner, we settle our dog on the couch between us and read her poems. One begins, “a puppy is a puppy is a puppy.” She looks off to the distant kitchen. Our dog has not heard of Gertrude Stein, I can tell.

We try another poem. Here’s how it goes:

Percy by Mary Oliver
Our new dog. named for the beloved poet.
ate a book which unfortunately we had left unguarded.
Fortunately, it was the Bhagavad Gita
of which many copies are available.
Every day now, as Percy grows
into the beauty of life, we touch
his wild, curly head and say,
“Oh wisest of little dogs.”

Our dog, a little rescue lab not named for a famous poet, put a paw on my chest and said, “When I (unfortunately) ate your new Folio collectable edition of Moby-Dick, you were not so generous.”