Apr 132018

Dear Readers,

Unfortunately The Blue Paper has not been able to reach its financial goal and I have decided to step down as the Editor in Chief.

A heartfelt thank you to the 99 people who have pledged monthly support to keep this important mission going. Thank you to those who have contributed through one time donations, large and small, over the years. Without you we would not have been able to continue our efforts for this long.

I also want to thank those of you who have contributed to TBP’s mission with articles, letters, poetry, photography, and your own important investigative journalism work.  We have greatly appreciated your contributions and are proud to have shared this platform with you.

There is, of course, still much to be investigated and reported on: affordable housing, hurricane Irma recovery, school safety and discrimination, hospitals and health care, overdevelopment, immigration enforcement, animal welfare, accountability and transparency in government…

Arnaud Girard is still exploring the possibility of keeping TBP alive.  Arnaud welcomes any support and creative ideas that would help him to keep the mission going. You may contact him directly at 305-731-7299.

[Patreon billing will be halted [no further auto payments will be incurred].  I will contact Paypal patrons individually to ensure their billing is individually shut down. Anyone who feels they would like to receive a partial refund for their most recent [April] monthly donation [since we are halting publication mid-month] please contact me directly at editor@thebluepaper.com.]  

My best to you all!

~ Naja Girard

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Blue Paper Editor
Naja Girard
 April 13, 2018  Posted by at 2:49 pm News  Add comments

  5 Responses to “Blue Paper Editor Naja Girard Calls it Quits”

  1. Renting a studio apartment
    in Naja and Arnaud’s home
    gained me privy to how
    this blue moment came about

    for waves of mourners,
    the ones who do not mourn
    need the blue paper the most –
    If they only could see how many Pulitzers
    were awarded where bluebirds fly
    and even angels feared to tread –
    but they do not see.

    From another time:

    To a Skylark

    Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!
    Bird thou never wert,
    That from Heaven, or near it,
    Pourest thy full heart
    In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

    Higher still and higher
    From the earth thou springest
    Like a cloud of fire;
    The blue deep thou wingest,
    And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.

    In the golden lightning
    Of the sunken sun,
    O’er which clouds are bright’ning,
    Thou dost float and run;
    Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.

    The pale purple even
    Melts around thy flight;
    Like a star of Heaven,
    In the broad day-light
    Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight,

    Keen as are the arrows
    Of that silver sphere,
    Whose intense lamp narrows
    In the white dawn clear
    Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there.

    All the earth and air
    With thy voice is loud,
    As, when night is bare,
    From one lonely cloud
    The moon rains out her beams, and Heaven is overflow’d.

    What thou art we know not;
    What is most like thee?
    From rainbow clouds there flow not
    Drops so bright to see
    As from thy presence showers a rain of melody.

    Like a Poet hidden
    In the light of thought,
    Singing hymns unbidden,
    Till the world is wrought
    To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not:

    Like a high-born maiden
    In a palace-tower,
    Soothing her love-laden
    Soul in secret hour
    With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower:

    Like a glow-worm golden
    In a dell of dew,
    Scattering unbeholden
    Its a{:e}real hue
    Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view:

    Like a rose embower’d
    In its own green leaves,
    By warm winds deflower’d,
    Till the scent it gives
    Makes faint with too much sweet those heavy-winged thieves:

    Sound of vernal showers
    On the twinkling grass,
    Rain-awaken’d flowers,
    All that ever was
    Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass.

    Teach us, Sprite or Bird,
    What sweet thoughts are thine:
    I have never heard
    Praise of love or wine
    That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.

    Chorus Hymeneal,
    Or triumphal chant,
    Match’d with thine would be all
    But an empty vaunt,
    A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want.

    What objects are the fountains
    Of thy happy strain?
    What fields, or waves, or mountains?
    What shapes of sky or plain?
    What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain?

    With thy clear keen joyance
    Languor cannot be:
    Shadow of annoyance
    Never came near thee:
    Thou lovest: but ne’er knew love’s sad satiety.

    Waking or asleep,
    Thou of death must deem
    Things more true and deep
    Than we mortals dream,
    Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream?

    We look before and after,
    And pine for what is not:
    Our sincerest laughter
    With some pain is fraught;
    Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.

    Yet if we could scorn
    Hate, and pride, and fear;
    If we were things born
    Not to shed a tear,
    I know not how thy joy we ever should come near.

    Better than all measures
    Of delightful sound,
    Better than all treasures
    That in books are found,
    Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!

    Teach me half the gladness
    That thy brain must know,
    Such harmonious madness
    From my lips would flow
    The world should listen then, as I am listening now.

  2. Naja – no doubt you will be missed, but at least your hair has not turned gray as mine has! It is sad that you are leaving, but I hope you have much more fun in your next “career.” The paper is spectacular, but even up here, north of Tampa, people who write about waste, fraud, and abuse are not appreciated and many times accused of “fake news.” Personally, I don’t understand why people prefer to keep their heads in the sand, but nowadays, everyone seems to live in their own little bubble and don’t want reality to intrude. Sad. I hope Arnaud is successful, and I wish him luck. – Helana

  3. Sorry that you must close,The corrupt system has won. Many tourists will think twice about visiting Key West as the truth will now be hidden and make this an unsafe HOOD. The future is scary as nobody will be reporting the corruption and murders such as Eimers. You did save Wisteria island. You will be missed but we understand a system that keeps people from trying to help.