Essay

By Fiona Case

By Neima Nour

Joan Didion writes a simple four-page essay on why she writes. She stole it, just as I plan to do here, now.

Cheesy lemon chips with butter, olives, rice, then figs; chowed by the fox.


 

The snow is melting. The mornings are getting warm, accompanied by slow, chilly gusts of wind. The grass is finally visible, but it isn’t pretty. All of the snow that has melted, has caused mud. Too much mud.

Beep,beep,beep my alarm rings its 6:50am. I woke up late. I hear my mom yelling at me and my brother to get up. I get up to turn my light on. I walk over to my closet to find something to wear i grab leggings and a hoodie.

Tree Thoughts

I have so many ideas for a sixth sense for human beings, but one, in particular, stands out to me. Examples include the ability to do any one talent of your choosing fantastically, and a heightened sense of intuition.

I recently came across a translation of Euripedes’s Medea by David Kocas. It felt more like an encounter really, like I'd come across Medea herself: an icon in a barren church, a window into God’s abandoned feminine half, a woman burning with grief.

Basketball has been my life for as long as I can remember. It’s the biggest commitment I’ve had to make in my life. Hundreds of hours spent on the court, watching tape, thinking about ways to improve.