An interesting and astute piece on all things “Phildickian” over at Chronicles:
*Dick and Percy: Separated at birth?(!)
An interesting and astute piece on all things “Phildickian” over at Chronicles:
*Dick and Percy: Separated at birth?(!)
A nod to Kierkegaard and Walker Percy: existentialist tomfoolery, political satire, literary homage, word mongering, a year-round summer reading club, Dylanesque music bits, apocalyptic marianism, poetry, fiction, meta-porn, a prisoner work-release program.
Søren Kierkegaard
Walker Percy
Bob Dylan
Literature & History
Letters from an American
Beau of the Fifth Column
This American Life
The Writer’s Almanac
San Diego Reader
The Stranger
The Inlander
Adoremus
Charlotte was Both
The Onion
From Empty Hands
Ellen Finnigan
America
Commonweal
First Things
National Review
The New Republic
All Manner of Thing
Gerasene Writers Conference
Scrutinies
DarwinCatholic
Catholic and Enjoying It
Bad Catholic
Universalis
Is My Phylactery Showing?
Quotidian Quintilian
En pocas palabras
William Wilson, Guitarist Extraordinaire
Signposts in a Strange Land
Ben Hatke
Daniel Mitsui
Dappled Things
The Fine Delight
Gene Luen Yang
Wiseblood Books
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It’s very tragic about fetuses but what about the live children and adults and animals?
Although I was being sarcastic, obviously it’s not something one wants to have done, and I felt guilty about having one almost thirty years ago now. However, I don’t think women’s lives should be wrecked because of something they did not themselves perform by narcissistic men or by other women.
I am reminded of Roe vs Wade because I happen to live in Roe Green – a suburb of London – where it has sounded for the last four and a half years like every paedophile in a car or with a pilot licence has been out to get me.
Apart from organising – I presume – mutilating surgery, I have lost good teeth.
Even so, they gas me when I eat out (or use the oven or turn on the pc) and punctuate my thoughts at home with electric radiator clicks (I can’t have the central heating on for even five minutes), the volume depending on their interpretation of the mood of the narrative, and occasionally there’s a sensuous drip of the tap.
And if I go to repair the shed roof, there’s a merry increase in wind, as there has been hail in spring when I’ve returned across the Green from the doctor’s.