Articles

Why Fight

Egil opened his eyes. The gods had given him another day. He could tell by the light streaming in through the slats in his barn wall that he had awoken late, closer to midday than to dawn. He couldn't remember what would have made him sleep so long, or why he had slept in his barn. His favorite donkey looked at him, and he looked back.

Lawrence Tries

They say that New York is the city that never sleeps. Maricopa was more like the city that hits snooze five or six times, takes long naps, and has a TV by the bed to make sure it never misses its favorite reruns. Even the mild climate seemed to indicate a relaxed attitude to life, as if the local seasons couldn't motivate themselves to work up any extreme temperatures or serious weather events like the ambitious, go-getter seasons in other towns. But it advertised itself as a friendly place, and that's what made the man think it would be a good place to commit crime.

A day at the market

She pushed the cart forward along the rocky path, reaching out to steady it as the wheel went over some bumps. It was before dawn, and even though this was usually a warm part of the country, the damp air chilled her fingers as she pushed some flowerpots back towards the center of the cart. She had never sold her flowers in this market before, and she would have to remember not to take this path the next time she came.

The Readers (full text)

The academic life aims at a certain kind of dignity. Certainly that's the impression you get if you hang out with academics. They take themselves and their place in society seriously, and are often to reluctant to laugh at a joke that's not sufficiently highbrow. The reluctance to laugh freely is always what made me suspicious of academics. What kind of person, I wondered, would give up one of life's greatest pleasures merely for the sake of some imagined social prestige?

The Readers, part 4

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Mislavsky was different from his roommate in a few important ways. He didn't have the nervous fidgets of a typical maladjusted history student. His hair was styled and his clothes looked expensive and harmonious as if he actually knew how to dress and put effort into it. He was able to make eye contact and grip my hand firmly to shake it.

The Readers, part 3

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"So what's your impression so far?" my partner asked earnestly.

The Readers, part 2

(Click here to read part 1.)

The Readers, part 1

The academic life aims at a certain kind of dignity. Certainly that's the impression you get if you hang out with academics. They take themselves and their place in society seriously, and are often to reluctant to laugh at a joke that's not sufficiently highbrow. The reluctance to laugh freely is always what made me suspicious of academics. What kind of person, I wondered, would give up one of life's greatest pleasures merely for the sake of some imagined social prestige?

The X

I was just trying to clean up, because I thought it would help me feel better. There was a knife out in the kitchen, and I picked it up and tried to put it away in the knife block - one of those wooden blocks meant to hold knives of all different shapes and sizes. As I pushed the knife in, I met more resistance than I had expected. I thought it even made some high-pitched noise as I pushed it in, but maybe that was just my imagination. Maybe I had put the knife in at the wrong angle, or maybe there was some kind of debris stuck in it.

I miss November

I miss November
and I miss the way you kissed me.

I thought if I were free
I could be strong, and brave
too. Instead I find myself
an ineffectual knave.

A slave to fashion and
ambition, doomed to
strive for phantoms weakly,
womb to tomb.

The right striving is
to find the proper shackles.
There is a limit that can
umlimit, a relieving yoke.