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Travel gets the ashes stirred up, gets the fire moving again. Travel gets the heart agitated. Travel makes the dust motes disappear. Travel makes the eyes light up and the stomach say howdy.
By Lorenzo W. MilamSeptember 1985The interpretation of the holy teachings has long been the sole activity of the monks of the Gaesheen Valley. They read ceaselessly the sacred scrolls and ponder to themselves the precise meanings to be gained from them.
By Thomas WilochOctober 1984The chickens calmed down and began to develop their social positions. Chickens threatened other chickens, pecked and clawed, clucked and squawked. From the cacophonous mass, seven hens emerged dominant.
By Jon RemmerdeAugust 1984To a wedding reception in Buffalo, across the endless Atlantic, with LSD to a raki bottle with a note inside
By Our ReadersAugust 1984My hands begin to hurt from the constant pressure of the crutches. Jaggers of pain run up my arm. It feels as if I have bared every nerve in my arms. I am sweating, and the sweat runs down my forehead, into my eyes. I have to stop each few steps to wipe the sweat from my eyes. Then I put sore hands on crutches again, and walk a few more steps, then I must stop to wipe my eyes again.
By Lorenzo W. MilamAugust 1983The frustration was intense. It was a sense of pain, a yearning to know something that could change my life and perhaps the lives of those around me. I felt irritated with myself. Why couldn’t I find the words to express the longing?
By Reshad FeildJune 1983I never took quite the same kind of photograph again. From that moment on I regarded the taking of a photograph as a personal act, as personal as the writing of a poem — deep and perilous, intellectual and beautiful.
By John RosenthalMarch 1983Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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