Author:

David Denby Is A Sad, Sad Man

For the past five or six years, I’ve been a fairly regular reader of the film criticism of David Denby, which appears in the column “Current Cinema” in the final pages of every other issue of The New Yorker. Denby’s … Read More

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Dearly Beloved

While Facebook stalking this week instead of writing that Dean’s Date paper, you might come across pictures of Rachel Price ’07 in a wedding dress. These photos won’t be from an impromptu trip to the Salvation Army to giggle with friends about being married some day: these are from that actual wedding day.

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What’s In a Name?

As a self-proclaimed solipsist, I have always attached much importance to my name and seen it manifest itself in the least expected of places. But in my pampered youth of Plaza teas surrounded by the redolence of a fine Cavendish … Read More

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31 Stories in 30 Words or Less

30 Words: The grasshopper sat serenely. Its multifaceted eyes, though expressionless, were wise. The wind blew gently, and did not move the furrowed dirt. In the flicker of an instant, it hopped. 29 Words: “We are the faithful,” he said, … Read More

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Again My Hyperactive Intelligence

I’ve been here for forty days. Each day is the same, by which I mean they are all different. The walls of my room are supposed to be beige, but they’re not. They’re grey. I tried to draw the solar … Read More

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Lines Removed From a Eulogy

And what’s more there’d be too much to tell, with his folded-up face and our proximity, the fact that we’d lived so close to each other growing up, that in high school we’d mostly talk to the same girls and … Read More

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The Anniversary

We need a number to plot our love, to propose a first THC, whiskey fake lust romp as love or it would be to us, also, the night a boy walked through a glass door like magic, with sound. When … Read More

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Smoke that Thunders

A hump of grass bulges into the spray of Victoria Falls is one of the world’s seven Wonders are easier to count than to Think of the woman on the bulge Gardens usually accept water like hands into a Hand … Read More

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Bush

In His bone-white palace, abuzz all night, Sits George Bush, hedged in by Left and Right. And He thinks of freedom, justice and His Ranch. His dreams, now becoming overwhelming, Send Him down to a secret cubicle delving. A single … Read More

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Belh m’es quan vey camjar lo senhoratge

I am happy when lordships change again, when the old let their homes go to the young― men can leave behind so many children one must earn a name that may be sung; then I am happy, the world now … Read More

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Allegory

A beautiful woman of equestrian breadth, Lets the ends of her hair dandle in her wine, And the talons of love and the poisons of nightclubs, Give her marble skin lifelessness and gloss, And she teases Death and ridicules Debauchery, … Read More

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Sunken Town

The blaze that engulfed my hometown began before I was born. It began with the first dry leaf from the first almond tree they planted on the side of the town hall road. My mom planted it as a child, around carnival time, the year when her dad the Mayor decided that the town would grow.

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