Author Archives: Elizabeth Boleman-Herring

Elizabeth Boleman-Herring, Publishing-Editor of Weekly Hubris, and a columnist for The Huffington Post, considers herself an Outsider Artist (of Ink); a bargain-basement love-child of Lenny Bruce and Sylvia Plath (out of Erma Bombeck). The most recent of her 15 books is The Visitors’ Book (or Silva Rerum): An Erotic Fable. Her personal columns (written sans mask) make some readers squirm; her political columns, usually incendiary, make other readers squirm. (Boleman-Herring believes squirming is the 21st century’s antidote to sitting on the sofa watching “America's Got Talent” and “Project Runway.”) Thirty years an academic, she has also worked steadily as a founding-editor of journals, magazines and newspapers in her two homelands, Greece and America. Three other hats Boleman-Herring has at times worn are those of a Traditional Usui Reiki Master, an Iyengar-Style Yoga teacher and, as “Bebe Herring,” a jazz lyricist for the likes of Thelonious Monk, Kenny Dorham, and Bill Evans. (Her online Greek travel guide is accessible at, and her memoir, Greek Unorthodox: Bande a Part & A Farewell To Ikaros, is available through

The Face in My Nightmares: Trump

“Usually, it takes decades for people to cross over from my present-tense, analog life, into my dreams . . . and nightmares. But Trump has jumped my blood-brain barrier in record time.”—Elizabeth Boleman-Herring By Way of Being By Elizabeth Boleman-Herring “When someone shows you who they are, believe them; the first time.”―Maya Angelou “. . […]

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Our Evil, Our Shadow, Our Trump

“This past year, and over the entire course of the US presidential campaign, we have all borne witness, whether conscious, less conscious, or unconscious, to yet another dangerous dance with Wotan, with the archetypal other that I believe sleeps just beneath the skin in every Homo sapiens; and, the less sapiens, the more lightly Wotan, […]

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Love, Fear & Loathing, Etc.: In The Eye of One Beholder

“Most emotions, and perhaps all—and I posit there are thousands of them, shared to a greater or lesser degree by many sentient beings on this planet—have something in common: they depend on . . . time. On a perception of time, in its several tenses (in its several, perhaps innumerable, perceived tenses).”—Elizabeth Boleman-Herring By Way […]

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After One Was Three

“My ‘advice,’ the crone-wisdom of 2016, differs dramatically from what I had to impart, to say, as a young adult mother in 1987. For our world—that of my granddaughters and me—has morphed quickly into a place becoming, by the moment, less and less hospitable to our species, and to almost all others among whom we […]

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At a Loss: Last Words

“Floating through space on the wings of Pioneer 10 and 11 spacecrafts were, are, the so-called Pioneer plaques, humankind’s early-1970s ‘messages in a bottle’ to the universe. If and when they are ‘received,’ and if ever they are ‘understood’ by other beings—a possibility so remote as to defy all probability—perhaps someone, somewhere, in some dimension, […]

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Transitional Object

“Those 28 moves have taken me from a subur­ban Californian home surrounded by poppies and bird-of-paradise plants to an apartment in Kolonaki with a Corinthian maid and a view of the Parthenon. Then, along the way, too, there was half a villa in Psychico, a brownstone in Chicago, a couple of one-room Cycladic farmhouses, and […]

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Daddy . . .

“Your only child, I am now seven years older than you were the day you died. (I marvel at children who, through one mishap or another, never meet their fathers, lost as men are in war or removed by less calamitous engines of separation.) But I very much had a father, and was fathered.”—Elizabeth Boleman-Herring […]

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The 84-Year-Old on the Ladder

“But Verne seems not to have a similar ‘governor.’ And I believe men, especially young men, are genetically programmed to view, and treat, themselves as cannon fodder. Not only do they generally overestimate their fitness (for any task), but they push their mortal flesh to perform beyond their abilities, from early adolescence to the grave. […]

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From Keats through Kolbert: I’m Still Writing Poetry

“I now accept that Keats’s words are not ‘immortal’—no one will read sonnets (nor read anything) when the last homo sapiens is gone. No sentient being will recall what language even was, when language disappears along with our species. But still, somehow, for the brief duration, I will write the occasional poem, and read (if […]

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Cruz, Trump & Kasich: The Three Heads of Cerberus

“Whichever head you listen to, the bark may be slightly different but the bite is the same: vote Republican in 2016 and you’re voting for the whole Tea Party megillah. It’s a nativist, racist, imperialist, misogynist, and supremely Luddite platform that conflates church and state, and it’s based on the fear of a small, loud […]

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