“Well, look here. Your grandma started out with a neurologist at Sound Shore. An older gentleman by now, recommended, respected, you know what I’m saying to you. She gets dizzy sometimes. Dad tells you when she goes to the hospital.”
Until the February of his eleventh year, Joseph Cohen felt an inordinate kind of sympathy for all earthly things he encountered, even—and in some moods, especially—for inanimate objects.
Before, she had felt as though of the night as a separate space—a sealed pocket of her life—but now she was reminded that everything that existed around the pool at daytime still stood by at night: the black hardtop of the basketball court, a racquetball wall, and the town Rec Center itself, a building which tomorrow would reveal to be little more than a grey dome without windows.
At 99 years old, Poppa is more scowl than man. Death it seems has forgotten about him, letting him linger and decay far past what can be natural. His life, far past being led, is endured and he swears to … Read More
“The editor of Analecta, the official literary and arts journal of the University of Texas at Austin, was flipping through some old volumes when she came across the writings of former UT student and current filmmaker Wes Anderson. Published in … Read More
Wes Anderson has always been a divisive filmmaker. There are those who revere him and those who think all his films are simultaneously overwrought and underdeveloped. But whatever you may think of him, it is hard to deny that he … Read More
The Date “I guess I just don’t know how to deal with loss.” “No, yeah, me neither.” My date had been crying for most of dinner, and I was kind of getting sick of it. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. … Read More
