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Whether we’re somebody big or a shadow
Everyone has a right to express their creative side
Anywhere on their body—a picture of Madonna,
Resting near our heart, or words from an ancestor.
The whereabouts of your artistic placement
Adds to its emotional want—your own galleria.
Tobacco grey may be the color of choice, or a light
Teal to fill in parts of a full moonset.
Oblige imagination and make your body a fresco
Or a secret message of graffito.
January 24, 2067 AD was not really Rei's last day on Earth but it was his last day before entering quarantine. It was the last day he would ever spend with his family and the woman who he thought was the one true love of his life. At least until he met Rome. Part 3 of 4.
“Sure,” Rei said. “This thing is worth a hundred pair of sunglasses.” He sat down to examine the present more closely. He reached into the box, fished out the set of earbuds and placed them in his ears. He held up the other end [...]
There’s a new film on the life of the Beat poet, Jack Kerouac: On the Road. It’s directed by Brazilian filmmaker and film producer of international prominence, Walter Salles. There’s also a new book on Kerouac by American award-winning author of fiction and nonfiction, Joyce Johnson: The Voice Is All: The Lonely Victory of Jack Kerouac. Both are reviewed in a recent edition of The New York Review of Books, 21/3/’13.
This review in The NYRB stimulated my thoughts on Kerouac, a poet who has been in my life in one way or another since he rose to fame in the late [...]
WE went tiptoeing along a path amongst the trees back towards the end of the widow's garden, stooping down so as the branches wouldn't scrape our heads. When we was passing by the kitchen I fell over a root and made a noise. We scrouched down and laid still. Miss Watson's big nigger, named Jim, was setting in the kitchen door; we could see him pretty clear, because there was a light behind him. He got up and stretched his neck out about a minute, listening. Then he says: "Who dah?"
He listened some more; then he come tiptoeing down and [...]
Not for the first time, she wished her father had stuck with honest trade. She had no evidence that what he did here was illegal, but his silence on the matter spoke volumes. Most times he gave her more information about their endeavors than she wanted for the sake of her education; she was, after all, supposed to inherit the ship from him in his twilight years. The thought that the Maker's Mark might already be hers battered her will, and the fact that she might immediately lose the ship through her inability to repay the debt shamed her. How [...]
"Thank you," Allette said, trying to avoid eye contact with the merchant and the guard. The merchant wrapped the fruit in a square of burlap. Pulling up each of the four corners, she tied them into a secure package and handed it to Allette.
Knowing she could not move directly back into the shadows since she was being watched, Allette also didn't want to move any closer to the guard. If he intended to accost her, she wanted as much of a head start as she could get. The longer he watched her, the more convinced she became that he would [...]
Nobody witnessed the white Ford cargo van as it obeyed the traffic laws and made its way along Brentwood Blvd., in the town of the same name.
This wasn’t the Brentwood in the suburbs of Los Angeles that was made famous by O.J. Simpson. This was a small town in the East Bay of San Francisco, filled with fruit farms that invited people to pick their own every summer, and corn fields that the town held an annual festIval for.
No one was around as the van proceeded on its route. It was after all, only three thirty in the morning on [...]
R.S.V.P. Myra St. Claire.
He had been two months in Minneapolis, and his chief struggle had been the concealing from "the other guys at school" how particularly superior he felt himself to be, yet this conviction was built upon shifting sands. He had shown off one day in French class (he was in senior French class) to the utter confusion of Mr. Reardon, whose accent Amory damned contemptuously, and to the delight of the class. Mr. Reardon, who had spent several weeks in Paris ten years before, took his revenge on the verbs, whenever he had his book open. But [...]
Thou, from the first, unborn, undying love,
Albeit we gaze not on thy glories near,
Before the face of God didst breathe and move,
Though night and pain and ruin and death reign here.
Thou foldest, like a golden atmosphere,
The very throne of the eternal God:
Passing through thee the edicts of his fear
Are mellowed into music, borne abroad
By the loud winds, though they uprend the sea,
Even from his central deeps: thine empery
Is over all: thou wilt not brook eclipse;
Thou goest and returnest to His Lips
Like lightning: thou dost ever brood above
The silence of all hearts, unutterable Love.
To know thee is all wisdom, and old [...]
Allette wasn't going to give him the chance to squash her. Throwing the rest of the fruit at the man, she turned and ran. It gave her a only few steps' advantage over the man; he recovered quickly and used his long legs to outpace her. Only Allette's lithe movements, sudden and seemingly at random, kept the man's hands from closing around some part of her.
People stood shocked and gaping as the two approached, but as the shock wore off, a wide avenue cleared before them.
"Stop her!" the guard behind her yelled. No one stepped in front of Allette, and [...]