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Refugees in a Banana Republic
Literary

Refugees in a Banana Republic

Early dawn, when fog hung…

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A Day with Breanne Mc Ivor
Interview

A Day with Breanne Mc Ivor

Meet Breanne Mc Ivor. She…

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Nocturnal Conductions
Humor

Nocturnal Conductions

The first time it happened,…

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The Lady of the Water
Fiction

The Lady of the Water

I’d thought Central America would…

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Never Will I Leave Home
Literary

Never Will I Leave Home

You have not seen our…

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Two Blind Men
Flash Fiction

Two Blind Men

They knew well I was…

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An Interview with Ernest Brawley
Interview

An Interview with Ernest Brawley

Ernest Brawley, a native Californian,…

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Far too many words have already been written about him for one more hack to scribble lines that may sound worthwhile. Yet how do you go about avoiding a man who changed your views on life and literature? What more can you say about the written word when sentences take you beyond the mundane, beyond the skies into a realm that even the gods have not trodden upon?  We who live lives bordering on some kind of inanity, we who pontificate on half-baked values, what  more can we do but seek relief in a writer who finds order in chaos, or, when you come to think of it, slapstick magic in harsh realism? Early 1983. Modern Book Depot. Guwahati. One picks up the book merely because one had picked up each year’s Nobel laureate as a matter of habit. No name-dropping. No attempt at some kind of high brow activism.…