"You found me," the man says, again, and I wonder what he's trying to tell me. There is a wine glass on the table with a hint of red dried on the bottom. Next to it a container filled with yellow cupcakes. His sweater is pilled, his hair like silk thread.
WRR: What do you think Mitt really thinks of Barack?
Alice: “You used to be much more...'muchier.' You've lost your muchness.”
WRR: What do you think Barack thinks of Mitt?
Alice: "I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then." (Ch. 5 - Advice from a Caterpillar)
The old woman sips her coffee and complains that it is tasteless. Then she lifts her eyes from her coffee cup and stares at me and says nothing. I look at her with surprise, waiting for to say something. Finally, she says in a hurt voice: "Its so sad! What on earth is happening to our beloved city?"
"We're really the only organization that both celebrates and defends freedom of expression," Suzanne Nossel, Executive Director of PEN American Center, explained in an interview with WBUR. "We have a case list of over 900 writers all over the world who are jailed, persecuted, threatened, for what they write and for the expression of their views."
There’s a poem called “Myrtis,” about the recently discovered remains of a young woman from long ago, who appears to have starved to death in a famine. She didn’t have a name, so they decided to give her one, Myrtis. When you name things you bring them alive, make them yours. So Myrtis is now our contemporary too.
From the Marcellus Shale in the Appalachian basin in Pennsylvania, where the fracked gas boom is in full force, to Trenton, New Jersey, just south of Washington's Crossing––where, on December 25, 1776, General George Washington and his troops made their famous crossing and launched the Battle of Trenton––the question moved from neighbor to neighbor in the communities along the pristine upper reaches of the Delaware River, one of the healthiest watersheds in the United States. "Have you heard about the pipeline?"
For a philosopher, staying with the open question means turning it around and examining it from all sides, without trying to force any particular answer or conclusion. But it also means not being afraid to follow wherever the argument leads. Evan Thompson, Waking, Dreaming, Being: Self and Consciousness in Neuroscience, Meditation, and Philosophy
Benjamin Franklin said “A penny saved is a penny earned,” what say you?
Miguel Cervantes: A little in one's own pocket is better than much in another man's purse. 'Tis good to keep a nest egg. Every little makes a mickle.
Mariana Griswold Van Rensselaer brought a distinct sensibility to American landscape criticism that evolved from her knowledge of art and architecture and from her belief in the value of science. Because of the anonymity typical of editorials in nineteenth century magazines and scant attention paid to her writings on landscape architecture, scholars have failed to celebrate her as one of the major figures in American landscape history.
In celebration of Wild River's launch of "Brief Eulogies at Roadside Shrines," we invite you to stop a moment, create a shrine and photograph it. Or maybe photograph a shrine you find on the street. Post it on our Facebook Page - Brief Eulogies at Roadside Shrines.
Eyes bulbous and rolling, he was toad-like on his haunches drawing twisted, disjointed figures on
the sidewalk, his long, yellowed nails scratching the concrete as he sketched, mumbling in rhymes.
I’d asked him if he’d seen this young woman recently, this brilliantly beautiful young law school
graduate in the picture—“Have you seen her? Please, sir, have you? She’s my daughter.
Red ochre, the red of fire, strength, courage, invulnerability. The color of birth and life, of the butcher and the battlefield, of hope and despair. Brown ochre, lighter than umber, darker than sienna: the color of the earth, of all things natural, of adobe and deserts, the brown skin of our tribes. Tlaxcala red: the perfect mix of ochres, red and brown. Of passion and vengeance and rage and love, glory and loss, succor and treachery. Of hope and possibility.
When I was a child growing up in the Bahamas, my grandmother came to visit from Germany. One day, while we were building sandcastles on the beach, she paused to tell me about East Prussia – a place of great beauty where Trakehner horses pranced across dandelion meadows and elk herds swam in green rivers.
“Ost Preussen,” she said, with a soulful sigh.
Hearing the sadness in her voice, I glanced up sharply.