Christopher Cooper

Cooper finds the weather in Alna, Maine this March morning damp and chilly (although the pond ice eroding). But he is warmed by the affection of his readers and is pleased to bring them something good and decent just this one time. Persons still wishing to find him should try coop@tidewater.net.

Articles by this author

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Tuesday, August 4, 2009 - 10:08am
Sick Man Lookin’ for a Doctor’s Cure
A preface for CommonDreams readers: We can reduce the time any of us will invest posting or reading comments on this essay if I explain its purpose and field position before you begin. There is nothing in the sixteen hundred words following that you do not already know. I expect general agreement with my opinion and similar disgust with the conditions and persons I describe.
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Wednesday, July 8, 2009 - 8:35am
Plus Ça Change, Plus C'est la Même Chose
Well, I guess God must have needed another angel. Or a creep, a freak, a probable pederast; maybe it was a recall operation—you know, a defective product cast back into the furnace for reformation. He or the Reaper or medical profession bungling or chance or bad luck will work in their respective mysterious and plebian ways to carry any of us off soon enough and likely sooner than some of us will wish. But you and I won’t make the news in such unending, unrelenting, uncritically adulatory fashion as did the self-proclaimed King Of Pop, Michael Jackson.
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Thursday, May 28, 2009 - 9:56am
First We Got The Bomb And That Was Good
I woke Monday morning to the sound of BBC radio hyperventilating over North Korea's latest underground test of a nuclear bomb. This concern was extended and amplified as the day progressed: radio, television, Internet and newspaper reports and discussion settled on pretty much the same two points: This is bad. Very bad. And it will not stand unanswered.
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Friday, May 15, 2009 - 8:16am
It's All Good
Last Monday afternoon I did a dirty, degrading, disgusting act. I have done it before and doubt that I will be able to stop myself from repeating it in the future. I did it for money.
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Thursday, April 2, 2009 - 8:18am
The Changes And Chances Of This Mortal Life
My experience of several weeks between the time when all but one television station abandoned analog broadcasting and I took my ludicrous plastic, magnetic, encoded, hologram-encrusted, anti-terrorist "coupon" to Radio Shack and secured an analog-digital converter did not insulate me adequately from the unrelenting wind of foolish misdirection that arises within our culture and circles around in ever-intensifying eddies and loops and cyclonic events to drive and amplify it. All I really missed for that six or eight weeks was Bill Moyers' Journal and The Office.
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Saturday, March 21, 2009 - 3:00pm
More Than That No Man Is Entitled To And Less Than That No Man Shall Have
I've said this before. I've written it here, in this space, more than once. And been paid for saying it, as I expect I shall be paid for this iteration, this variation, this expression of a fact, a realization, a significant truth that I now see is more profound and more necessary that I put it before you than ever it has been. The Maine town meeting is the last vestige of open, honest, decent, largely unobstructed and unencumbered democracy still allowed in the United States of America.
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Wednesday, March 4, 2009 - 1:14pm
Whole World Is Rough, It’s Just Gettin’ Rougher
Something happens. I can't tell you what precipitates the conversion, or even if it has a single trigger. More likely, I think, the change is a process of internal reorganization that those of us unaffected or not paying close attention fail to notice or remark until it's complete, until some startling, irrational action or pronouncement signals that a new creature has emerged and begun to feed and corrupt its environment.
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Wednesday, February 11, 2009 - 10:13am
He Sows Hurry and Reaps Indigestion
Anyone wishing to confront a clear and startling example of how weak and flabby and sad the spirit of this nation has become need look no further than to the degraded creature now and formerly known as Mr. Potato Head. I do not any longer by this sobriquet, although possibly I and maybe others once did, mean our former and already forgotten president, George W. Bush.
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Friday, January 30, 2009 - 9:17am
More Black Than Ashbuds In The Front Of March
Spectacle, I think, is its own excuse for being. It does not arise out of necessity, nor does it come to be as a consequence of some condition or course or action. Its natural corollaries must be hurricane and wildfire; initiated in an instant of unnoticed, unremarked, insignificant eddy or spark, those potent systems come to our attention only as they become big, bigger, enormous, powerful, unstoppable, and they sweep over whatever we consider everyday or normal.
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Sunday, January 18, 2009 - 11:11am
Many Days You Have Lingered Around My Cabin Door
I remember a morning many years ago-twenty years and more. I stood in the lower end of my driveway, just where the woods open out into the field, in the early morning sun, talking with my friend the road commissioner. That man was not he who now inadequately maintains my road, but his father, who did quite a good job of it, such was the price of hot top and labor then and the willingness of the voters in a somewhat less spiteful time. I don't remember what we talked about.
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