Byline: Joel Newberger

From the Editors

You are so thirsty. You may even be dehydrated. Scorching was the summer that just past, and wet classes and wet friendships are not yet arrived. But relief is near. For if you are reading the Nassau Weekly—and we surmise that you are reading the Nassau Weekly—you are about to become rather damp.

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Being There

Egypt is the place to be right now. Personally, I don’t want to be there, but it is certainly the best place to be. I am jealous of those who are there right now. Before I explain why, a little … Read More

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Peer Review

Joel edits Will’s college essay.

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in the morning, in the light

Breath-poem.

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Brown Eyed Man

If you have never heard Van Morrison’s yearning, keening voice—its blues and jazzy swag , the way it stretches words into birds that fly you to heaven, its worn beauty—well, then, you’ve never heard it. But I bet you have; … Read More

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Download G.O.O.D. Fridays

Kanye West divides and provokes and resides like few entertainers suspended in the stratosphere of fame. His skill as a musician is indubitable, but so is his misbehavior. To some, he is a prophet of the heavens, speaking Truth to … Read More

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Levinski Park: Abroad, Alone, and Adrift

My friend James is soft-spoken; he talks instead of screaming and whispers instead of talking.

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End-Times Tunes

An album that encapsulates an era.

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Arcadian Rhythms

I sit and breathe and try to recall my whole life. I now sit serenely in the brush by this shouldering road. It winds tightly through the Peloponnesian town of Megalopolis, where I sit, through the pink stucco homes clinging staccato to the high side of the mountain our bus, heaving, climbed. Rapt speech in the restaurant behind is mere chatter.

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For the Superior Wiper

Said a pseudo-American prophet, “p— is sooooo crucial!” I am really American, so I believe in this very hard. And, as really important things must happen in cool places (the defenestration of Prague was in the castle, births and deaths … Read More

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Beach Baby

Rarely is one so revised by experience, which like a river washes away the calcified sand of the soul to describe itself there anew. Rare, too, is the ability to recognize this revision. School had just ended, its shoulder-weight just … Read More

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WIll My Eyes Be Closed or Open?

Ordinary, suicidal thoughts in Emerson and Bjork’s “Hyperballad”.

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