The Paralyzed Apocalypse: A Poem

Our posit on a curled hook, hanging straight like slaughtered beef in lockers of our chosen chill. Our sins and organs all contained. The cows had no choice. And I lament our still lives on their way to death. We shut down music in the mid-stream of a song. (Unwind, is all) we often say. […]

Andrea Barrett

Andrea Barrett

"I know really good writers who live in New York City and work, but I can't. If I stayed there for five or six years, would I find a way to carve out a ritual solitude? Probably, yes. I am a writer; I'd find a way to do it."

Ilan Stavans

Ilan Stavans

"This whole issue of Latino, Hispanic or the sub-categories, Cuban-American or Mexican-American announces or establishes that we are so involved in shaping an identity. Using language as a category is a way to say who we are in front of a mirror. But in the end, words are perishable."

Groping Marlon Brando’s Face: A Long-Overdue Confession

I can't recall exactly what triggered the incident, but it started like this: I was sitting on a sofa in a dimly lit room...gazing down at the face of a sleeping Marlon Brando...unable to resist the urge to do the unthinkable. Now, let me make one thing perfectly clear—none of what happened that night was

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