Live Questions from Dead Poets: Elizabeth Crane vs. Shakespeare
"I think I can kick a summer’s day’s ass any day. Of any season."
As I Lay Wired
At home, my parents, both children of the '60s, eschewed the "evils" of caffeine in lieu of wheatgrass shakes and soy milk slurpees. However, thrust into my newfound fame, I fell full-bore into the lifestyle.
“You Call Those Nipples?”
You pour it all into a poem: your skeleton, your bile, your oozing primordial remnant—your private parts. To be told that the fundamental you is not up to snuff—that's hard murder.
Featured Author: Tyler Smith
After growing fatter in Houston, Texas, where he allegedly received a degree in Latin American Studies and English at Rice University, Tyler Stoddard Smith decided to put his degrees to work by going to the nexus of English Lit and Latin American Studies—Prague. He ran around in Prague for a while with his friend and …
Five Alternatives to Throwing Your Penis at the Police (A Cautionary Tale)
Perhaps lofting your penis toward a cadre of the Windy City's finest as they descend on your house is not an ideal defensive maneuver.
A Beat in the House
The first time I met Allen Ginsberg he peed on my foot. But, that is not the only thing I remember about the vaunted poet of the Beat Generation.