Telling Stories
How Television Skews Our View Of Society, And Ourselves — An Interview With George Gerbner
The notion that exposure to violence incites violence is itself media-driven. Exposure actually does something much worse than incite violence: it cultivates a sense of insecurity and dependence that makes people submit to indignities no human being should ever have to bear.
Like A Leaf In Autumn
A Reconsideration Of The Good Death Of Scott Nearing
Although from the very beginning I noticed occasional inconsistencies in Helen’s account of Scott’s death, I assumed they were simply the internal equivalent of the way different witnesses remember different versions of an accident. Only, in Helen’s case, the versions differed over time, rather than from witness to witness.
Memories Of Chengdu
At first I thought it was something in my head, like a dream you can’t shake during the day, or a memory of something that hasn’t happened. Something akin to madness, I reasoned. So I consulted a therapist.
Warja’s Feast
I was struggling to open a can of powdered milk with a pocketknife when Kombate clapped his hands outside the window of my house and called, “Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle!”
The Illustrated Diary Of Doris Koppleman
Only about half the number of people come to Ma’s funeral as to Dad’s. And Paul didn’t even bother to show up. I might have been madder if he did, anyways. At church Father Dietz didn’t have much to say about her. A woman’s life is not worth as much as a man’s, especially on a farm.
We Domesticated Plants And Animals
And we’re still staggering like oxen laden / with too many wine barrels: what to do with all this time? // We were little more than plants or animals ourselves, / scratching in the dirt like chickens. Find, eat, find, eat.
They Leave You Here Alone In The Dark
When I was 4 years old they put me in the hospital / to remove my tonsils and adenoids. / The night after they operated / I could not sleep so I got up // and I wandered down the huge corridor, / nobody in sight, and I came to 2 big doors / so I went through them and that is when / I first heard the sound of real pain
Anniversary Of My Father’s Death
For you, Dad, I turn on the ballgame. // It doesn’t matter which game, exactly, / does it? // So familiar, the way you spent the long hours / of your freedom, soaking up the drama, huge / warrior men in combat, lifting themselves / out of the mud
