A man used to be measured by his calluses. All work and no play made him dull before his time. His hands were gnarled more than tree root, more arthritis than hands. Bitter and broken a few times, a few removed by machines they never could understand. What was lost was regained by learning what they needed when bad things happened. The more calluses the more a man. This is […]
Donna DiCello | Zenith
Orion, a nebula shimmering in anticipation and prospect, simple, like van Gogh’s brushstrokes, righting its alignment. Spirited unfolding, black then blue then yellow, forming something intimate and recognizable. Night turns to dream shawl and velvet, silvery strands of water and horizon, I stand there watching, as day appears in a single eruption, as the sun shines as if for the first time. The constellation leads out into day a rendering […]
Thomas M. Atkinson | Standing deadwood
THE RACCOON TOOK A CRAP IN MY TRUCK LAST NIGHT. Inside the cab, in the cup-holder. I was still a little bleary this morning and my coffee thermos wouldn’t sit straight so I kept trying to push it down. That’s how my day started. That and a sore knee. He must have dropped down out of the pine and pushed in the cardboard I had over the busted rear window. […]
Stephenson Muret | Shooters and saints
The mindscape of the shooter may very well remain unknown to the rest of us forever. What follows is my own speculation, an amplification of what many nonviolent anti-social people feel about society, and a projection of their complaints into a mind that reacts with homicidal aggression. I do not write this essay as a justification for the shooter’s atrocities, but as an attempt to unmask what motivates them. IT […]
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