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The happy people with big hips and watery lips pulled up by the river and sat down, spent. There trout bubbled at them, trees shaded and grass waved.
By Norm MoserDecember 1975The dust of sham recognition settled over the furniture where I should move about. Do I stir it and sneeze, or move so delicately that only molecules will notice me?
By Gayle GarrisonJune 1975In order to come together with people that share common interests, we have traveled around the U.S. for the last five months, hitchhiking with very little or no money and carrying only what we could stuff into our pockets. We shared with many people.
By Lowell and MuffieSeptember 1974I’m not down on Chapel Hill. With me it’s a matter of finding out that I don’t have to live there in order to be up. I have not always felt this way. In fact, I had a bad case of what I call the Chapel Hill Syndrome.
By Fred B. ThompsonSeptember 1974Like everyone, I was looking for inner peace and happiness. There were the days of booze and drugs. The two hours each day of Yoga positions which included breathing exercises that almost blew my head off. Concentrative meditation which was preceded by a primal scream for everyone to be quiet.
By Tommy DeanJuly 1974Warm fantasies are easy to weave on this pleasant, sunny day. I look into people’s faces as if well acquainted with their pain and joy.
By Leaf DiamantJune 1974Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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