The epic violence that has plagued Mexico in the last decade or so can seem incomprehensible in its brutality and scopeespecially as it manifests in cities near the U.S.-Mexico border. And given our many ties with Mexico, its nothing less than an outrage that its issues are not more prominent on our national radar.
It was September 1945. The war in Europe was over. I had spent the previous two years chasing all over France and Germany with the 28th Infantry Division.
Two years ago I was deciding whether to move to New York or New Mexico. A professional clown in Madrid, New Mexico asked me to watch her land for the summer while she was away. I would have to feed her dogs, water her plants, fill in a ditch, and pick tumbleweeds.
To jump or not to jump is the question that thousands of depressed, suicidal individuals ask themselves on the Golden Gate Bridge. About 1,500 have answered in the affirmative and have leapt to their deaths. Countless others have answered in the negative and walked off the bridge alive. A few take the leap and live to tell the tale.
On April 4, 2012, during the morning rush hour in central Athens, a number of passers-by and people exiting the subway witnessed a horrifying sight. A retired 77-year-old pharmacist stood beneath a tree, put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger.
An old woman strings up red lights from her balcony and gestures to student protesters to raise the volume. Kids paint red squares on the windows of their schools, their teachers waving from behind as thousands march by.
A poet and critic of minor gifts, Silvio Artifoni moved to Williamsburg after jazz musicians and painters had consolidated, but before developers, architects, and graphic designers arrived.
Wild, Cheryl Strayeds new memoir, is a book that needs to be loved. If Wild were a person, it would be scouring online personals and begging friends to set it up on a date.
Finally: a collection of Gayle Rubins writings. It is long overdue and sorely needed.