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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Thursday, January 1, 2009 - 1:42pm
Go Upright And Vital And Speak The Rude Truth In All Ways
"Somebody got murdered on New Year's Eve; Somebody said dignity was the first to leave." They tell you in writing classes, I think, that it's poor policy to open an essay with a quotation. It makes your writing look weak. Your readers assume you couldn't find much within yourself so you had to go borrow something fine and shiny from a better writer. Maybe so, and maybe no shame in knowing when to ask for help.
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Thursday, November 27, 2008 - 8:15am
Drinking Heartbreak Motor Oil And Bombay Gin
Sunday, after the rain. Another big, sprawling, wind-wracked tropical deluge midway through the penultimate month of this extraordinarily wet year. November and warm beyond expectations, and we will not let this opportunity vanish or rot or dissipate.
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Tuesday, October 28, 2008 - 11:54am
And Everybody’s Shouting, 'Which Side Are You On?'
It is the nature of our fortnightly meetings here that I must sometimes anticipate what will be even as I work toward our mutual understanding of what is (this newspaper venue being obviously and inherently ephemeral), using the tools I have accumulated through experiences and intentions that were not adequate even when new. You may read this once before throwing it away; many purchasers of the paper will not grant me even that. I write Monday or Tuesday, anticipating where we may find ourselves on Thursday's publication date.
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Thursday, October 9, 2008 - 10:49am
Blowin’ Like a Circle ‘Round My Skull
It is altogether a good thing that we have abandoned certain terms formerly used to describe persons who, through accident of birth or subsequent injury, suffer from mental delays or disabilities. Understanding, compassion and every assistance society can provide is due such individuals. Often they surprise us as they prove able to do more with less than we would have assumed possible in those times when they were observed, measured, classified and forgotten.
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Saturday, September 27, 2008 - 10:08am
But You Know, She Changed The Subject Every Time Money Came Up
The metamorphosis is complete. For some time we have been able to look through the increasingly transparent walls of the dingy chrysalis, discerning within the agitated writhings of an unlovely bug. But now the thing has split open and the creature is spilled out into the autumn light, its vile nature revealed. It goes immediately to feeding, and to our horror and disgust it is a bloodsucker, a flesh consumer, and we doubt it can be squashed or poisoned by the only recourses we have-the protest letter or call or a pointless vote some weeks hence.
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Wednesday, September 24, 2008 - 11:06am
That Sucks You Into Feelin' Like This
Remember the Communists? The Red Menace? You young people won't of course, because as I sit here Monday night writing this sorrowful recitation Public Television is furnishing me with a gleaming, glowing, grand video hagiography of Ronald Reagan, by which I understand that The Great Communicator defeated those evil, dangerous threats to the American Way Of Life through toughness, resolve and horsemanship. Communists were before your time and you may be forgiven for worrying more and properly about our current threat to The American Way Of Life, International Terrorism.
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Thursday, July 3, 2008 - 2:38pm
The Darkness of This House Has Got the Best of Us
I'm thinking old Mike Ahmadinejad may not be such a bad guy. I call him Mike (which he might not appreciate, either in its overfamiliarity or because his name is actually Mahmoud), because Mahmoud is hard for me to pronounce well, and because it seems reasonable to me that Michael just might be its English equivalent. And I wouldn't mind if he were to call me some Iranian homophonic near-equivalent of my name, especially considering its obvious son-of-God derivation.
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Saturday, June 7, 2008 - 4:50am
Come On, Take a Walk With Me, Arlene
I'm sitting here alone, late in the night of the day the great Bo Diddley died. I don't expect it's going that way for you. You're not ending your day or working through the long, slow hours before the next one rises thinking about the life and times and lyrics of Ellas Otha Bates, Ellas McDaniel, Bo Diddley, the inventor of "The Bo Diddley Beat." But I am.
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Sunday, May 25, 2008 - 1:44pm
Campaign Shoutin' Like A Southern Diplomat
There is no knowing how far I might push these people. My position seems unassailable, my power immense. I control my own destiny, its course mediated only by whatever measure of control or conscience I may discover.
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Friday, May 9, 2008 - 2:53pm
Don't Make No Difference What Nobody Says
And what shall we talk about today, my friends? Because unless you are new to these pages and perhaps even now considering whether to pass over this too large block of pictureless text, you are to at least a degree some sort of friend of mine. And two weeks, several adventures, minor advances and predictable setbacks having intervened since last we met, this is surely another and a new day, a fresh tide we ride.
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