The sixth trip up the stairs I see them. Sometimes you can go the whole day without seeing anyone, and I thought it was going to be like that. Little did I know.
Fiction: Moving Day
When I Go Back Home
“I came back because there are places that do not merely exist on maps; they exist inside the blood. I came back because no matter how far a person travels, there is a particular dust that remembers his feet. I came back because the village that raised us deserves more than nostalgia. It deserves attention. It deserves roads that do not punish the poor for being poor. It deserves schools where children can dream without apology. It deserves healthcare that does not force a family to choose between medicine and food.”
No Music On
A behemoth polemic from musician James Quentin Devine.
Magpies’ MixTape: Folderol
Nonsense! Gobbledygook! Gibberish! Balderdash! Folderol!
Memory Beyond the Mind
“Taken together, these examples challenge the idea that the past disappears once it is no longer actively remembered. The past often remains present in quieter and less obvious ways. It stays in what is unsaid, in the places people move through, and in the physical traces of those who came before them.”
Walking out of the ShopRite at Dusk in June: Letter From the Editor, July, 2026
Heat wave ramblings.
Fiction: Blood Orange
I wonder where these guys are from. I wonder if they’re far from home. I wonder if they have kids or wives or parents or dogs who miss them. Or, maybe, who are glad they’re gone. Which would be worse?
The Art of Dancing in the Storm: A Philosophical-Practical Approach to the Enigma of Suffering and Existence
“You cannot command the oceans, nor can you dictate the trajectory of the winds. But the mastery of the helm—the art of adjusting the sails—is, and forever remains, your sovereign right.”
Recognizing Beauty: An Interview With Patrick Joust
“Much of what has the most meaning relates to small stories and moments. This isn’t all there is to it, but recognizing beauty is really a big part of that too, especially if it can be highlighted in places that are unexpected or overlooked.”
On Finding My Grandmother’s Portrait
For generations a formal portrait wasn’t a mere document but an assertion of self-hood: I’m here. Remember me.
