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Identity
Past Futures
billy woods on the Cycles and Patterns of Human History
It just takes the right person, at the right time, to light the right spark and make what previously would have seemed impossible the law of the land. When I was a child, Somalia had a government. They might not have one again for the rest of my life.
November 2024Thoreau and Me
Thoreau was the same sort of hippie I am. The main difference between us is that I do not want my writing to be as absolutely sexless as his. I want to be a Thoreauvian capable of lust.
October 2024Grandpa’s Gavel
I take it into my hand, and / it’s now 1959 and I’m in the room: NAACP gathered, / Grandpa pounding the sounding block to call / order—here, big decisions get made; here, activism // happens, ingrained into mallet and memory
October 2024A Thousand Words
A Thousand Words features photography so rich with narrative that it tells a story all on its own.
October 2024Enemies of Freedom
Like the breeze that blew through the campus that day, whipping up the leaves and our hair, the student strike had stirred me, as if from sleep. Certainly, in deciding to march despite my fears, I woke up a little: I saw more clearly than I had before that my teachers weren’t my parents and my parents weren’t God and that I could risk a little disapproval without my world falling apart.
October 2024Mind the Gap
Melissa Deckman on the Challenges and Strengths of Gen Z
The lion’s share of Gen Z organizing on the Left is being done by young women, because they care passionately about the issues. I think there’s less of that drive among young men. Instead there’s a sense of rootlessness. We’ll have to see whether that actually translates into conservative voting behavior or support for certain policies.
October 2024Sunbeams
September 2024Every man must decide whether he will walk in the light of creative altruism or the darkness of destructive selfishness. This is the judgment. Life’s most persistent and urgent question is, What are you doing for others?
still lives
The omen comes in the ruin of a robin’s egg on the sidewalk: fractured blue splattered with the pink makings of a flightless thing. A plum membrane of skin stretched over eyes like bruises. I make the mistake of looking back at this small disaster, and then the calamity of it fingers the threads of my morning.
September 2024Transvestite Freak
Many confident, gorgeous men stare at me from the walls. They all seem to be wearing makeup. This is what a man can be too, I imagine them whispering. I’m nervous, but I want what they have.
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