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The double-entry ledger system, pliés, a workable bicycle
By Our ReadersSeptember 1989They are lovers. He told me last night at 3 a.m., after we had taken several long walks, talking and coming to no resolution. After weeks of fighting, absolutely at cross-purposes, as though we were speaking entirely different languages.
By Catherine MadsenJune 1989Take note, Father, for I have sinned, for relentlessly thinking of his warm body while hers lies cold. For looking beyond this day and this tree-lined cemetery and expecting nothing. For feeling just the aching cold and ill-fitting shoes. For wanting to see his face and know the truth.
By Anna SchachnerMay 1989Phillip Fanno was playing with his food. He gave his pork chop a mashed potato beard and moustache, a julienned-carrot nose and mouth, and, not finding suitable eyes on his plate, cast about the table for them.
By Kay Levine SpencerSeptember 1988During this holiday season, Sharon has gotten into the habit of counting how many of her ex-lovers show up at any given party.
By Kim AddonizioNovember 1987This is something Freud had no idea of, that where there is love, there is no lust connected to the sexual organ, the lust is for looking, the lust is for proximity, the lust is for touching of the hand, the skin, the lust is for the interchange of some cosmic, electrical energy — and it is done, it is accomplished simply by proximity, by the sharing and exchanging of warmth, by the touching of skin to skin, it is done by body warmth, as a child, when it wants to be loved, wants the body warmth of its mother, the skin contact.
By Kay JohnsonDecember 1984As soon as we were seated at the Su-En, the couple left for the restroom. While they were away, an Oriental woman walked in, sitting next to me. Yoko Ono! Seconds later, in came John Lennon!
By Nyle FrankFebruary 1980His heroes are frail — but also strong and unbreakable, because they cope with these realities, not blurring or distorting what is there, what they have done, or how they feel. And this rubs off on us, makes the reader braver about acknowledging the truth in his or her own guts.
By Judy HoganFebruary 1979Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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