Browse Topics

No Enemies, Except Ourselves

Book Review

Women conspire to be manipulated and used while simultaneously controlling others in subtle but equally manipulative ways, and neither behavior is necessary, to be who we are.

Cartoon By Steven Fisher

The cartoon from the selection is available as a PDF only. Click here to download.

Back From The Dead And Goofy As Ever

Book Review

Characters in the novels of Anne Tyler are imprisoned by people, places, things, by the whole fabric of their past lives, but they dream — some of them — of escaping. Their means of escape is through other people. They envision in the other a life more like the one they want to lead, and their decisions to change are sudden.

Editor’s Note

Sunbeams

When you come right down to it all you have is yourself. The sun is a thousand rays in your belly. All the rest is nothing.

Pablo Picasso

Tales From Inside

As Manny walked he was overwhelmed by the delicate, inviolable crown of the stars. Freedom was a feather brushed and swept across the heavens, now sweeping his tongue, his nostrils, his lungs. There was nothing more he needed. 

Artists And Magicians

Within the intuition of magic is an inborn drive to always remain on the edge. The artmagician appears to be mad or, at least, very strange. He goes to the gas station or restaurant and eyes follow him. He is feared or admired; it matters little which. His passage leaves a backwash of affection.

Something Does Push The River

David Spangler On Community And Commitment

The Christ is the manifestation of a basketball passing through the table of our universe. It’s a multidimensional event which we are trying to grasp four-dimensionally. We would see it as history, as a succession of events. Which means that the event is still happening. It is not in history, it is history, it is still happening. We are in the midst of it at this moment. I don’t know just where we are along the basketball.

Fugitives

I arrive late, as usual, paper ends flapping from my briefcase, crumbs clinging to my coat after a crackers-and-cheese lunch between stoplights. Picking my way across the muddy yard from my parking place in a tow-away zone, I glance at the glassed-in central staircase of the high school to check the time.

The Well