We use cookies to improve our services and remember your choices for future visits. For more information see our Privacy Policy and Terms of Use.
We use cookies to improve our services and remember your choices for future visits. For more information see our Privacy Policy and Terms of Use.
The mss. following, For Want Of originated in my desire to make a simple statement about animals: our egotistical, destructive “categorical separation” of Life, our overtly cruel treatment of animals for often pointless or, at best, ambiguous studies.
By L.September 1976Citizen’s Band radio is the biggest thing to hit the market since television. It is also the biggest revolution in communications since the telephone. There are two main facets to this phenomenon — fad and function.
By David SearlsSeptember 1976My academic career was in ruins. I had just been expelled from McDonald’s University having been caught in lewd acts with Ronald McDonald, that depraved clown.
By Karl GrossmanSeptember 1976Most Chapel Hill acquaintances have known only my student work (’64-’68) and the past year’s oil paintings of the University campus. I hope these drawings demonstrate a wider range of interests than that indicated by a limited knowledge of my work.
By L.S. GilliamSeptember 1976ARK-BRUTE the LARVA
zone-chief No. 1, a human potentate related to the present author, a duck-shirted Uranian Rememberer, PULVERO, Overseer of Earth’s eastern seaboard.
Certainly it’s difficult to survive as a writer in America, but it may be more difficult to sustain oneself once having been published than it was in one’s first, frustrated, unpublished silence.
By Christopher BrookhouseJuly 1976I live now like a deposed king, which is to say, with a slight air of once-proud nobility I cling to as I cling to the rags and tatters of my existence because it’s all I’ve got left.
By Norm MoserJuly 1976So here I stay, along with the others who shamefacedly admit that yes, they too graduated from the university years ago and no, they cannot think of a better Southern spot in which to live and perhaps grow old.
By Gwen P. HarveyJuly 1976My thumb was out and Interstate 86 out of Providence, Rhode Island was getting hot. Me and my St. Bernard, Roger, were thumbing across America. It had been a messy morning.
By Karl GrossmanJuly 1976Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
Subscribe Today