This week, the Nass is prepping for doomsday.
It’s Getting Late: Full Design
Pick up a copy around campus, or view the full design here!
Letter From The Editor
Dear readers, The second piece that I wrote for the Nass was a piece about the summer I spent in Iran visiting my relatives before my freshman year at Princeton. It struck me even then as a country on the edge of disaster; it has now toppled off of the tightrope. The US-Israeli war […]
Social Climbing
Notes on Princeton’s Outdoor Action Climbing Wall.
Kitty
“Penny had now reached the agent. She meowed. He didn’t look down. She meowed again. He said hi, but nothing more. He must not have children, Jess thought. Then, channeling David, she amended: He’s probably had a long day.”
moving/dream
two things are unique to a home: writer’s block and wetting the bed. in sleep my adult teeth pushed each other from my mouth like dominos. you held me, a wrinkled fetus with long hair– we can laugh at […]
On Bulls and Books
The Story of Ferdinand and censorship in Franco’s Spain.
Sea Lion Caves
“Every day, people lived and were happy in the aftermath of their mistakes. Eli made plenty of mistakes, lived, and was happy. Danny was careful and made none.”
At the Precipice of Gugelmania
You want a gugel and you want it now—a fashion analysis.
Battle of the Sexes
“Eleven was a liberating age because I had no hesitancy. My world was folk rock and grasslands, it was as large as Jackie, and I never questioned those bounds.”
If I Forget Thee, O Tantura
If I forget thee, O Tantura, let my right eye wither, For having witnessed the beauty of your beaches, But not the village that once stood by the sea Among pottery shards and murex shells And white lilies and sea-lavender and crimson kalaniot And little round stones sitting atop big flat stones, That my people […]
Dead Name Tally
Dead and chosen names—on painstakingly keeping score.
Prometheus Re-Done
Lift his body, the paramedics tell me. Hold him in your clay arms. When the firemen come, go sit among the planter pots, do not remember the shape of that char-black body bag nor the walls of that lime-white crematorium. Instead remember the stories he told you, his humid jungle and 12-count brotherhood. Tell […]