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The Sun Magazine

Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Why I Like Dead People

Maud is eighty-six years old, and weighs just that many pounds. She is nearly bald; her thin, fine, white-gray hair has been rubbed nearly away by all her years in bed. At her age she is balding around her genitals as well, worn and loose where the catheter tube emerges. She is bare like a young girl, but the work of decades has left its erosion.

Red Dawn Over Tweetsie

In the recent film, “Red Dawn, director John Milius graphically portrays an invasion of the American heartland by Communist forces — Cuban and Soviet paratroops. On the day of the attack, a group of high school students escapes to a nearby part of the Rockies. By mid-film, they have evolved into a devastatingly effective guerrilla force called the “Wolverines.” They bushwhack convoys, liberate hostages, plant bombs, execute traitors — the whole Battle-of-Algiers schtick. At the matinee screening that I attended, the theater was packed with bloodthirsty, actually howling, adolescents; from press commentary, I understand that this vociferous reponse was a nationwide phenomenon.

Letters From The Road

Greetings from the Laundry Basket, or more accurately THE LAUNDRY B SKET, a laundromat in Austin. The tall and weathered man next to me has been listening to Talk Radio: an anti-pornography Texan made the shrewd point that cigarettes can’t be advertised on TV. Then time ran out.

Fiction

The Secret Of Life

It’s Summer, nighttime, late, and hot. Off in the dark somewhere some store’s burglar alarm has been ringing nonstop for the last half-hour and no one seems to care. I get up and pace the hallway, peer out the bathroom window, pull aside a wrinkled curtain (where is that ringing coming from) and jiggle the toilet in hopes its
dripping will finally let up. Back into the bedroom, I open the window wide. There is no breeze, only some child across the way screaming as it’s shook. Humidity muffles but does not mute entirely. I look up at the sky — no stars, only clouds. Tomorrow it will rain. I go back to bed. Not one star in the sky, only clouds, clouds somehow oddly white.

*NOTE: Original copies of this issue are no longer available. Unbound, laser-printed copies will be provided for print orders.

Readers Write

What I’d Most Like To Change

A cleanup in the sky: removal of all heavy metal vehicles. The ecology movement, along with organic gardening, tried working from the ground up, and while the movements are not failures, their moral energy has been thinned in a stranglehold. They have been lassoed by companies manufacturing high priced tools and techniques, and their bottoms have been branded with the profit motive.

Personal Stories By Our Readers ▸
Quotations

Sunbeams

We should be careful to get out of an experience only the wisdom that is in it — and stop there — lest we be like the cat that sits down on a hot stove-lid. She will never sit down on a hot stove-lid again — and that is well; but she will also never sit down on a cold one anymore.

Mark Twain

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