I am normal, I think, in all regards except for the fact that I still live with my parents. I read somewhere or heard somewhere not long ago that more and more adults these days live with their parents. It is comforting to know that I, that my girlfriend and I, are not in a league of our own, so to speak.
Time for another exciting Punch Card, in which we talk about things other people have written and add some text and links to jazz things up. Today, we’re taking on plagiarism and coming back with a shocking recommendation: Don’t do it.
“Once, a boy received a low grade, the lowest we could receive: a “U,” unsatisfactory. I remember he had sandy hair and very blue eyes. I think his name was Tommy. He cried, loud, heaving tears that made him hiccup and splotched his face red. Eventually, a nurse escorted him from the classroom.” Carla Dash on avoiding undue effort.
“Of course I couldn’t keep up with Anatoli/but that didn’t keep him from refilling my shot glass./In between the endless shots of vodka/I swallowed too many pieces of salted Black Sea fish.” A new poem by Dan Grossman.
In November of 1877, the sultry southern city of New Orleans became home to an accomplished journalist who was to become the most exotic of writers in an era of exotic writers. Born to an undisciplined Greek woman and a rakish Irishman serving in the British occupation army in Greece in 1850, Lafcadio Hearn spent…
Brexit is one thing. Cultural appropriation is quite another. Before British Conservatives go looking for their lost mojo, they need to get a clue.
Time to get another punch on your Punchnel’s Punchcard. This one’s about stuff we get for free and what that costs everyone involved.
In today’s Punchcard round up, we’re focused on fan fiction—the good, the bad, and the badly shipped.
“*This position is physically demanding.*/*This position is NOT topless.*/*You must provide own tail.*” A new poem by Christina M. Rau.
I should not have traveled; this much became apparent. I remained delicate since a previous surgery six months before. Yet I had succumbed to the lure of possible happiness. I am a law professor and had been invited to a conference in New York. I dashed off to Manhattan and drank like a bacchante. I…
“Up from he who once/said that the words of the dead are modified/in the guts of the living.” A new poem by Allison Rhodes.
1. The Tortoise and the Hare “All is flux,” said the tortoise, who fancied himself a philosopher. “Here I stroll one day in the brown light of February, to my destination which will have changed already when I do arrive, and the dead trees will again be green, and blossom. I will then leave, and…
“Throughout childhood we are led to believe that there is some ultimate feeling of grownup-ness—likely lurking somewhere behind our next milestone.” Gary Joshua Garrison searches for the elusive feeling of growth completed.
“One of our favorite activities is to compare genealogical lineage. Kinships are discovered and celebrated. Discussions of what might have happened in the gaps of our family records abound….Speculation is plentiful, but much remains unknown in many family trees.” Edward G. Gauthier on commemorating a 400-year-old cultural migration.
“Today is the fourteenth of February. My favourite day of the year. Christmas is a good one too, and New Year’s Eve is usually reliable, but there’s nothing quite so powerful as loneliness magnified by a day of cards, flowers, and displays of affection, all partaken in by other people.” New fiction by Anton Rose.
“Will take up very little space in your home./Good cook. Does own dishes. Will write you/sweet notes, at first. No recommendations.” From “Want Ad,” one of two new poems by Andrew J Khaled Madigan.