Galanty Miller/Re-Tweets

Galanty Miller/Re-Tweets

  Photo by Clark Tibbs on Unsplash   by Galanty Miller Columnist I truly believe that Internet pornography is ruining society… but improving the Internet./ At least my son died doing what he loved. (He loved dying.)/ First day of school?!?! Then where the...

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Jim Palombo/Politics

  Holiday Contrasts by Jim Palombo Politics Editor here are two dumps located in this area of Mexico, one in the vicinity of San Miguel Allende, and the other, about 30 miles away, is near the city of...

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A Crack in the Sidewalk/Barbara Rosenthal

A Crack in the Sidewalk/Barbara Rosenthal

Happy New Year! Don’t worry. I’m not going to write about the coming apocalypse. What is occasioning this month’s column is a recent email from Ripley Whiteside, a wonderful studio assistant I had last year, who left for a full-time job but offered to continue helping via the net. I have been putting off hiring his replacement because I knew I’d be away on tour soon, and didn’t want to cause a gap in a new-hire’s employment. But beyond that civic concern, internally, the requirements of my multiple projects have been growing so complex that just doing it all myself trumped the dread of explaining and overseeing, at least until I get back (more later). That led to thinking about the nature of the job itself and also to doing a little research in my Archives.

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Then and Now/Steve Poleskie

Then and Now/Steve Poleskie

The word “boy” stings. I realize he has purposely chosen the word to convey the feeling of how it must have sounded to generations of black men. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything, really. I was visiting a friend in the Peace Corps and now I’m going home.”  I have said the wrong thing again. After two weeks in the country I am aware that most people here are not too fond of Peace Corps Volunteers. Most Sierra Leonese think of them as American spies.

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Fabia Wong/In Search Of …

Fabia Wong/In Search Of …

Photo by Randy Colas on Unsplash/Champs-Élysées, Paris, France *** The Serious Man and the rise of the mob: A contemporary contemplation of the works of Simone de Beauvoir and Hannah Arendt   by Fabia Chenivesse-Wong Columnist [dropcap style="font-size: 46px;...

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RUNNING WILD

Running Wild is as of 9-17-18 a new column/blog designed to let you know who's doing (variously) what, when and where... leaving the "Why?" for you to figure out.... if it matters. Send us your stuff: Subject Line, "Running Wild".    ...

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Then & Now, Stephen Poleskie

Then & Now, Stephen Poleskie

ur turn came and we shuffled our bikes up to the starting line. My eyes should have been on my own set of lights, but I couldn’t help looking over at the Hustler’s “Christmas tree.” He got the green and took off. My eyes flashed over at my own set and, after what seemed like a long time, I got green. I took off. Glancing up I could see the Hustler, which appeared to be half way down the ¼ mile track. But I was gaining on him. I ran my tach to red line in each gear. I was right on the Hustler’s tail. I risked a glance up at the finish line. And then I was passing him. I held on and crossed the line first.

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Barbara Rosenthal/A Crack in the Sidewalk

Barbara Rosenthal/A Crack in the Sidewalk

For this month’s column, I’ll quote three people, Beatrice S. Madregiore, Linda Montano and Lawrence Weiner. All are artists but none are any I’ve conversed with lately, as inspired my last few columns, and the first person isn’t even real. Beatrice Stregasanta Madregiore, the artist character in my novel Wish for Amnesia, thinks “Nirvana” when something startling happens on pg. 219: “She stood still, eager to savor and monitor her first impressions and reactions…. Thus she could position her psyche aloof, blank enough to register as consciously as possible the sense of each sensation by itself…. In that way its natively abstract, descriptive power would flow through her nervous system directly into her creative subconscious. Nirvana, crossed the artist’s mind.”

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