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The Sun Magazine

The Sun Interview

Free Radical

An Interview With Noam Chomsky

There was more protest against the Gulf War than against any other U.S. military action in history. . . . Can you remember another instance where the American people protested a war before it began?

Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Us And Them

Time was when I knew the racists were the lunch-counter owners who refused to serve blacks, the warmongers were the generals who planned wars and ordered the killing of innocent people, and the polluters were the industrialists whose factories fouled the air, water, and land. I was a good guy, boycotting, marching, and sitting-in to protest the actions of the bad guys.

Waiting For Emma

At midnight I’m still waiting for my name to be called in the Emergency Room at Beth Israel Hospital. My wife, Lauren, is three months pregnant, but tonight we’re afraid she might be having a miscarriage. She’s somewhere in the system now; I have to wait outside.


A Portrait Of Angels

“But Rabbi,” Anna said, “I know I saw him. He’s been peeking in the living-room window at me. He’s tall, and not at all well behaved. I thought angels were supposed to have halos around them.”

My Journal Of The Plague Years

It’s not “dying of AIDS”; it’s “living with AIDS.” It’s not being “an AIDS victim,” or even “an AIDS patient.” Instead, we say, “He’s a PWA” — a person with AIDS.

School For Love

We don’t make it to Hungry Hearts soup kitchen too often lately because I don’t like to stay in situations where Bonnie is cranky. I’m feeling guilty about it, though.

The Dream Jar

Eugene brought me here to the Barstow County Hospital night before last, and I would like to take this opportunity right now to thank all the doctors and nurses who have been so kind to me while I’ve been here, even though they know I am a murderer. I would especially like to thank Dr. Fowler (who Eugene don’t trust because he’s so young) for talking kind to me all the time and arranging for me to go to the Barstow County Mental Health Center twice a week until I get straightened out, if I ever do.

Readers Write


When I was eleven, my father flew my brothers, my sister, and me to Philadelphia for a wedding. I can’t remember who was getting married — probably a cousin from his side of the family whom none of us knew. My parents had been divorced since I was six months old, so I didn’t know my father very well. In many ways, we kids had grown to think of him as the enemy. He popped up every few months in a flashy sports car to unfold his wallet, show us pictures of his new wife or baby, and speed off again. He lived hundreds of miles away.

Personal Stories By Our Readers ▸


All of life is a foreign country.

Jack Kerouac

More Quotations ▸
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