The skin of death stretches over the racetrack.
It does not haunt the track, the cars, or the drivers, but lays like a mask on the face of a man, a dark man, elegantly dressed, and vigilant. He is the only man not sweating. He is stern,
Victoria Woodhull was once one of the most recognized names in America. Today, one is likely to draw a blank stare when that name is mentioned. But in the mid-nineteenth century, she dominated the news more than just about any other woman in Ameri
I know, it’s tough not to. The mobility-reducing skin-tight skinny jeans. The made to look antique brand-new t-shirt. The painstakingly manicured I don’t care how I look facial hair.
Yes, it’s very easy to condemn them. The blasé ev
SOME WEEKS AFTER THE HEINOUS EVICTION FROM WHAT I NOW CALL THE PERVASIVE LAP OF LUXURY, Lisa’s back is to me while we spoon, post-sex, in a teenage girl’s bedroom, decorated with all the expected, or unexpected accoutrements. Luckily we have o
Art History—the West
Cave wall: Man, bear, antelope, sunrise
Inscribed clay tablet: Man covered in thick body hair and perhaps a boat (fragmentary)
Tile fresco: Several effete men, marble