What Do You Think of When You Think of the 1980s?
A Decade So Bright, You Probably Wore Shades
Dear friends,
Whew! We finally were able to send out copies of the June issue of Moss Piglet, along with the July edition, over the final days of June 2025. Our printer had run far behind on its orders, so the Gardens-themed issue of Moss Piglet arrived several weeks past its scheduled delivery date.
My apologies to all who had waited on its delivery. This circumstance was atypical for our printer and we expect to be back on our regular schedule now.
Thank you to all who contributed to these two editions.
Cover art (Bob in the Garden) for June is by Marc Simmons. Cover imagery (Mad Hatter) for July is by Wes Fallon.
Me and the Me Decade
The 1980s: It’s been called the Me Decade, the Greed Decade, and the Decade of Decadence.
Comedian Charlie Fleischer once said, If you remember the ’60s, you really weren’t there.
I’d like to add, If you lived through the 1980s, you’ll never forget those years.
What do you think of when you think of the 1980s?
Do you think of synth-pop, flying-V guitars, I Want My MTV, We Are the World, The Breakfast Club, Pretty In Pink, Flashdance, Footloose, Purple Rain, Dirty Dancing, E.T., or Back to the Future? (One of my all-time faves, Fanny and Alexander, was released in 1982.)
Or do you recall these words?:
“Mr. Gorbachev, tear down that wall,” or
“Just say no!” and
“It’s morning again in America.”
The ‘80s decade was a dark time. 100 thousand dead from AIDS. The space shuttle explosion. The Chernobyl meltdown. The Union Carbide plant tragedy. The crack epidemic. The doubling of the U.S. prison population. John Lennon’s murder.
It was a time of firsts: Sally Ride went to space. Sandra Day O’Connor sat on the Supreme Court. Mac introduced the personal computer. and CNN debuted (MTV, too.)
In the 1980s, we said goodbye to John Belushi and Gilda Radner, Alfred Hitchcock, Bob Marley, and Andy Warhol, Roy Orbison, Grace Kelly and Ingrid Bergman, Marty Feldman and Andy Kaufman, Marvin Gaye and Count Basie.
In the 1980s, I lost a job, found two new ones, moved five times, graduated from college, welcomed my daughter to the world, bought a home, and had my mind rewired by Joseph Campbell and The Golden Bough.
Bill Moyers, too. RIP.
Some favorite Moyers’ interviews, beside the series with Joseph Campbell, were with Coleman Barks and Jane Kenyon. The late and truly wonderful columnist Molly Ivins wrote in 2006, “Run Bill Moyers for President. Seriously.”
Call for Submissions - September 2025
Give us your impressions of the 1980s. Send us your creative work by Wednesday, August 6, 2025. Send to info@krazines.com.
Let the Journey Begin
In the last edition of our newsletter, I shared some background on and a video from Parzival Sattva about journaling solo role playing games. Parz and his wife, Aleesha, introduced me to this creative practice, and they encourage you to try it too.
Check out the latest episode on their YouTube channel, drawingxpressions, for Parz’ prologue to his solo-role playing tale and gain tips on how to embark on your own creative writing journey.
While you’re watching, consider subscribing to their channel and pressing the like button. Show your love for creative projects like this one.
The Muse Keeps Odd Hours
In the last newsletter, I also shared bits about my own start in the role playing game, The Journey. In order to participate, I had to root about the house to find a board game where I could rob it of its dice, collect a deck of cards, and pay a visit to Michael’s craft store to buy a new journal. (Is it just me or does everyone experience an endorphin-high when getting a new journal? Ah, all that possibility which lies in those blank pages! The idea of seeing it filled with stories and drawings is intoxicating.)
I don’t know where in the Universe that my Muse lives, but it certainly isn’t in the Midwest USA. She nudges me awake at 4am, whispering storylines and inventing characters, and she won’t allow me to fall back asleep until I turn on the light, find my glasses, a pen and my journal (which are always in another room of the house), and jot down the words she’s telling me.
She’s less of a Muse than a Bitch-of-a-Boss who knows no boundaries.
“Take this down, Johnny,” she says, in a voice that sounds like its coming from Patty Bouvier, the chain-smoking, gravelly-voiced Sis of TV’s Marge Simpson. I can practically smell her.
I can’t ignore this woman. (And Lord knows, I’ve tried.)
If I protest, she fills up my bladder, so I’ll get out of bed. She rattles the blinds to let some early morning light bleed into the bedroom.
She’s relentless.
I recall a story that Elizabeth Gilbert told about singer/songwriter Tom Waits when his Muse dropped in while he was on the L.A. turnpike.
Waits said to his Muse:
Excuse me, can you not see that I’m driving? If you’re serious about wanting to exist, come back and see me in the studio. I spend six hours a day there; you know where to find me, at my piano. Otherwise, go bother somebody else. Go bother Leonard Cohen.
As I wrap my arms around my pillow like it’s a life raft, she rips it free, and tells me that if I don’t write down what she’s telling me - right this very minute - I’ll forget it in a few hours.
“I … don’t … effin’ care! ,” I cry and press my eyes closed. Remembering Tom Waits’ words, I tell her, “Go bother someone else. Go knock on Parz and Aleesha’s door. They live 12 hours away. They’re probably up right now and would love to see you.”
You can guess the outcome. She wins. She always wins.
Sigh.
Until Next Time
As I write this, the thermometer is rising, teens and adults with arrested development are readying their firecrackers, and the polytonal, often dissonant, frequently gorgeous music of Charles Ives is on the stereo. It’s become a summertime ritual that I listen to the songmaster of Danbury, CT in the weeks leading up to the Fourth of July.
I’m also reading his biography as the calendar turns to the Seventh Month.
Diana Skinner, writing for Violinist.com, has this to say about the composer:
When I think on Charles Ives, I think of a man who is the essence of America — a freedom to pursue and express one’s creativity and ideals in diverse forums. This is a man who famously said, ‘In ‘thinking up’ music, I usually have some kind of brass band with wings on it in back of my mind.’ Oh, what an image!
My love of Ives arrived thanks to a librarian I never met. In the early Oughts, I heard of the composer but did not know where to start with his music. My local library’s collection of it was meager.
I expressed my interest to a friend, Barb, who lives in Madison, WI. In turn, she approached Martin, a Madison Public Library employee, who suggested I start with Leonard Bernstein and the New York Philharmonic’s recording of Ives’ Second Symphony.
It was love at first listen, and I have been tuning my ears to Ives’ music each Fourth of July ever since.
Thank you, Barb.
Thank you, Martin.
And God Bless You, Charles Ives.
I’ll be back on July 16th with a new edition of this newsletter. If you enjoy reading this online publication, let me know by liking this post and sharing a comment. You might also consider subscribing to A Moss Piglet Primer, either as a free or paid subscriber.
Paid subscribers receive access to all editions of this online newsletter. Their contributions help support Krazines in its efforts to showcase the work of artists and authors through the Moss Piglet art and literary journal.
As many of you already know, Moss Piglet is published monthly without ads. It survives through subscriptions, single-issue sales, and donations. Even with that income, it runs in the red.
I’m blessed with a lovely, patient wife, who grimaces but does not protest the continuation of Krazines and its journal after seeing the credit card bills and IRS tax filings, as they pertain to this boutique publishing operation.
