★★★ Blue patches moved fast among the morning clouds. There were wilted plants in the raised bed, collapsed and stringy.
“Are you ready to experience this unlimited experience?” asks Miss 2.0, a PC Music avatar, as she stares out from a chat window, an unblinking green-lit icon declaring that she is eternally online.
in the underside eternally midgety soul – insertable – duct- taped to my arteries (mon semblance – mon squeeze) little shade who called shotgun on our dirty ride through this too- too flesh – better grow a home because this one’s leaving you (bland) immortal vegetable / left to rot out in the sun :: now watch me drive my spirit–mule – old bones I beat and hide inside – over yon hill where I’ll scrape you off on the singing soil / then they’ll force me down the trail of dried-out eyes Mark Conway’s poem is from a new manuscript with the working title Fuse. Other poems have appeared or are forthcoming in The Colorado Review, Iowa Review, Ploughshares, American Poetry Review, Kenyon Review Online, the Virginia Quarterly Review, and Field.
Turn the lights down low and pour a glass of wine for the steak and a glass of wine for yourself. Candles aren’t strictly necessary but they do help set the mood.
The Web is a Millennial. It was first proposed twenty-five years ago, in 1989. Six years later, Netscape’s I.P.O.
In the summer of 2011, a friend convinced me to try make a profile on OkCupid. I filled my profile with jokes because I wanted project a certain personality: “haha look how not seriously I am taking this, I am a carefree and fun girl, please date me.” When OkCupid asked what I spend a lot of time thinking about, well.
If you haven’t heard SZA, this song, a subtly produced showcase for her voice, is as perfect place to start.
“Get me off your fucking mailing list.“
For a profession lockedsi into a perpetual psychodrama with Facebook, I think journalism underestimates Facebook.
★★★ “The sun puts water in my eyes,” the three-year-old lamented, as the morning brightness met his congested head.
This year I graduated law school, took and passed the bar, and was admitted as an attorney in my state.
The J. Peterman Company: Owner’s Manual No. 121 By John Peterman The J. Peterman Company, 74 pp., $0.00 Not long ago, I spent an afternoon in a sparsely populated cafe on the bank of the Seine with an older gentleman, an Ernest Hemingway-type in rolled-up sleeves.
“You don’t use fighting words and then become really surprised that it’s caused a fight. If I said, ‘Fuck you and your mother with a stick,’ you’d say, ‘Whoa, Jack!
★★★★ The only trace of the past day’s soggy unpleasantness was a curbside puddle or two. The light was golden and abundant, the chill on the wind wintry, but not winter.
After eleven years in New York City, I moved back to my native northern Virginia suburbs a few weeks ago.
By Larry King’s estimate, Jack Hanna’s January 11, 2001 appearance on Larry King Live was at least his twenty-fifth.
My mother, who had been dead for seven years by the time Zelda popped onto the planet, gave me the single best piece of parenting advice I have ever received: “Even babies need privacy sometimes.” At the time, my baby brother was happily playing in his crib, and I wanted to get him out to play with me.
Where do songs come from? Some appear alone. Others are willed into existence by better, sturdier songs that need help filling an album.
Julia Scheeres, on writing about the Jonestown Massacre. The more I understood what actually transpired in Jonestown, the more offended I became by the notion that Jones’ victims “drank the Kool-Aid.” I felt a duty to defend them, to tell the true story of what happened in Jonestown… That unfortunate phrase has worked its way into the cultural lexicon, but few young people know of its Jonestown origins or how offensive it is to Jones’ victims… As you’d imagine, the phrase offends survivors.