So unbudgeably hegemonic has been this historicism of theoretical consciousness that it has tended to occlude a comparable critical sensibility to the spatiality of social life, a practical theoretical consciousness that sees the lifeworld of being creatively located not only in the making of history but also in the construction of human geographies, the social production of space and the restless formation and reformation of geographical landscapes: social being actively emplaced in space and time in an explicitly historical and geographical contextualization.

"If we resort to violence, it's very, very difficult to have any sort of dialogue," she said.

"I used to be an alcoholic but now I'm not, because my girlfriend drives."

"That was better than the St. Patrick's Day parade."

"That was fun. Can we go home now?"

After thousands of years,
These hills still rise like swells against decrepit shores.
Mountains depart valley on a voyage toward skies
Shrouded gray with winter.
At morning, chickadees cry warning
from the chokecherry trees.
And the deer periscope above undulating grasses.
Night, eyes become phosphorescent beacons --
Sirens and coyotes ring out in glee.
Cattle and erratics dot the scape
Like small ships at the edge of the world.
Once we were under a sea of ice
And glacial silt.
Now there are only troughs --
Spring-fed, green and limed.
Below, creeks and rivers of water
And asphalt.
Here, islands of weathered wood,
Rotting boxcars and immobile homes.
In this cabin I am both anchored
And adrift, an inconsequential vessel.
I look out through polished glass;
My tides ebb and churn.
These moorings could come loose
At any moment.
But these hills will go on
And on.