Yesterday I received a disconcerting letter from B. Jones' sister, Nora. She wrote that while she appreciated how much I had done for her brother, she was concerned about some of the work that I might choose to post on the blog.
I will state here publicly that Charles Jones explicitly stated to me that I was to be the sole guardian of his creative works and that he trusted me to publish or not publish them as I see fit. And while I will certainly do my best to exercise the utmost discretion with regard to the privacy of other's lives, I will not be censored in any way.
Yes, difficulties. Seems appropriate to let Iris Dement finish it:
I had a garden but my flowers died.
There ain't much living here inside.
And lately, I don't know what I'm holding on to.
But I'll never make it up to Couer d'Alene.
There ain't no chance of me forgetting my name.
And easy's gettin' harder every day
And it feels like easy, just keeps on gettin' harder every day.