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In Your Absence, the Magnolia Outside My Window
A week ago, their buds held tight: points poked from shells…
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The Sculptures that Surround Us
Brief descriptions of artistic objects you walk past on Princeton’s campus.
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The Perfect Fetish
Whether or not we agree that the iPod somehow essentializes the twentyfirst century–an intriguing claim, if not intentionally exaggerated–the more general principle underlying that claim is reasonable enough: the idea that one might “read the state of the cultural spirit [Geist] off of the sundial of human technology.” (1)
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Yo, man…I’m feeling this
We here at the Nass are great lovers of literature and, if we do say so ourselves, the latest in a long line of great participators in the epic, Wilsonian tradition of the precept. We love few things more than a lively precept involving a close, thoughtful reading of a poem and an exhilarating discussion…
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The Gates of Life
A French damsel and I decided to take a train To New York to see the Gates and be at play. You were late to the Dinky and had to book It to meet me by the stop to pause, smoke, and spring Off the platform—covered in Bohemian clothes, your petite frame We set off…
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The Myth of the Reclusive Writer
In Rich Homie Quan’s 2013 classic, “Type of Way,” he joins a three thousand-year tradition of literary recluses in a single rhyming couplet: “I got a hide away, and I go there sometimes, to give my mind a break/ I find a way, to still get through the struggle, what I’m tryna say.”
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Amphorae Transported
a Palestinian transports wine amphorae West. state government export programs should be. implemented as opposed to the arguments. about policy intervention strategies. an eager Roman transports wine amphorae East. execute the social change, “I am invulnerable. like a trade’markâ€, says a Palestinian, the role. of legal rules is to asses without clear goals. intervention strategies…
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Cardboard, White Tears, and the Inevitability of the British: The Jungle at St. Ann’s Warehouse
A play that claims to portray the authentic refugee experience . . . for fifty-two dollars.
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Anne
We have known each other for a long time, since we were four years old and living on the same block of brownstones in Brooklyn, going to ballet lessons at the Albee School of Dance, where our teacher Nana made odd, mime-like faces that were never quite comforting. I do not remember much of being…
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The Heady Days of Grade Inflation
Those were the heady days of grade inflation, now long since past. Those were the days of rowdy shouting and whispered promise, vanished now like the morning mist.