I should not be here to tell this story.
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‘It's that simple: there is a day in my past, a day many years ago in Santiago de Chile, when I should have died and did not.’
I should not be here to tell this story.
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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.
Ariel Dorfman is an Argentine-Chilean novelist and playwright. His books include Other Septembers, Heading South, Looking North, Many Americas and a novel, Burning City, written with his son Joaquin. His plays include Death and the Maiden, which received its London revival in the autumn of 2011.
More about the author →‘Chile, for all its imperfections and failures, found a way of responding to the terror inflicted on us (yes, us, we Chileans), a path of peace rather than war, a path of understanding rather than retribution.’
‘But it is not only external, physical problems that Chilean culture is facing. By suddenly being forced into the open, artists and intellectuals are now coming up against an internal dilemma.’
‘Unlike the other comic strips in the magazine, ‘The Adventures of Mampato’ was conceived, illustrated, and entirely produced in Chile.’
‘I turn to O’Connor’s music when I get tired of lying to myself. Her songs are allegorical free-falls. Spiritual chiaroscuros, even.’
Momtaza Mehri on Sinéad O’Connor.
‘I lied about my age and I lied about my location and I lied about being horny.’
Fiction by Avigayl Sharp.
‘One morning time trips a reel / and I’m confronted with / the object I will become / carpentered for eternity.’
An extract from John Freeman’sWind, Trees.
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