Sublime

an explorer of the unknown and as yet unseen.

We are a culture and a people in need of hope.

Not to know one’s true identity is to be a mad, dis-ensouled thing—a golem. And, indeed, this image, sickeningly Orwellian, applies to the mass of human beings now living in the high-tech industrial

Nguyen

He has a kind, round face and the relaxed, easygoing manner of someone who’s spent most of his life in California.

Passaient les jours, revenaient les nuits, recommençait la mort. Intraitable. Les cadavres en décomposition dans les lits des ravines, sur les terrains vagues, faisaient corps avec les immondices, témoins l’un et l’autre d’une époque déchiquetée afin qu’aucun souvenir ne subsiste. Aucun. Dodo, dans son délire, dans son alcool, disait que la vie c’é

For historical custom dictated that conquest be celebrated between the legs of the local women, and each succeeding conqueror had added a river of fresh genes to the local population. Thus they asked themselves, sometimes, in the coffeehouse: Who are we? They were Bulgars, a Turco-Tatar people from the southern steppe, chased down here in the sixth

I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk

down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs

to let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you”

when someone sneezes, a leftover

from the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die,” we are saying.

And sometimes, when you spill lemons

from your grocery bag, someone else will help you

pick them up. Mostl