My parents wake me up, both of them together in the doorway of my room, their faces wrinkled by concern and slightly shiny because of the sunlight streaming through the windows.
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‘It just seemed like the right thing to want, the right thing to do.’
My parents wake me up, both of them together in the doorway of my room, their faces wrinkled by concern and slightly shiny because of the sunlight streaming through the windows.
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‘The anglophone world, we have to infer, has run out of words for its own feelings.’
Daisy Hildyard on the wisdom of scarecrows.
‘What is the read receipt for?’
Lillian Fishman on texting, power and the ethics of leaving a friend on read.
‘Like pretty much everyone who uses the internet, I have seen many terrible things that I did not search for and that I cannot unsee.’
Rosanna McLaughlin on what the internet thinks she wants.
‘I have a pathological addiction to the internet, which I indulge with the excuse of making art. It rarely translates to anything good and mostly leaves me overstimulated and afraid.’
Paul Dalla Rosa on excess and the internet.
‘rumors of bees on speedwell, / no oxidative stress just / effortless pollination’
Two poems by Sylvia Legris.
Uzodinma Iweala was born to Nigerian parents in 1982 in Washington, DC, the second child of four. After attending St Albans School, he graduated from Harvard University in 2004 with a degree in English. His first novel, Beasts of No Nation, has been translated into eleven languages. It won the Sue Kaufman Prize for First Fiction from the American Academy of Arts and Letters and the John Llewellyn Rhys Prize, among others.
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‘Fifty years I’ve played here, except for stretches in Arizona and Mississippi, after my divorce.’
Fiction by Kate Lister Campbell.
‘One did not have high hopes for Gettysburg. Nor for Pennsylvania in general. Having grown up in Indiana, Diana felt she’d earned her condescension.’
Fiction by Jessi Jezewska Stevens.
‘The burden in law on the pregnant person is to show that they are at risk, in need; they must ask, and hope, rather than demand.’
Memoir by Andrea Brady.
‘On Good Friday, the priest in the livestream video stood inside the darkened sanctuary.’
Fiction by Nicolette Polek.
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