Articles tagged ‘Fiction’.

Two!
At the last CI staff meeting
It’s CI’s birthday! Two. How would you live without us? Let us know! Congratulate us. Conditions of congratulating us: 1. No hate bloggers...
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Sunday meditation: Vent 329
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By Jeremiah Ganicoche* You know when you’re facebook-stalking your ex and you find out that she’s married and your fucken world falls apart? Well,...
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Saturday poem: The pathway finally opened
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By Mahsati Ganjavi (12th century). English version by David and Sabrineh Fideler The pathway finally opened When my heart came to rule in the world o...
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Saturday poem: I have always lived in Cuba
Heberto Padilla
By Heberto Padilla Translated by Andrew McKenna I live in Cuba. I’ve always lived in Cuba. Those years of wandering the world that people have ...
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Saturday poem: Like tangled hair
by Dogen (1200 – 1253) Like tangled hair, The circular delusion Of beginning and end, When straightened out, A dream no longer. Dogen, sometimes...
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Sunday meditation: The father’s prophesy
A CERTAIN man was wont to tell his son, while thrashing him, that he would never come to any good. The boy grew tired of these rebukes, and ran away f...
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Saturday poem: Cuban poets dream no more
Heberto Padilla
By Heberto Padilla (1932-2000) From Out of the Game Translated by Andrew McKenna Cuban poets dream no more (even at night). They’ll close the do...
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Saturday poem: Yakut prayer
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by Yakut (Anonymous, 19th century) My words are tied in one With the great mountains, With the great rocks, With the great trees, In one with my body...
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Sunday fiction: Christ in a lift
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By Jeremiah Ganicoche It had been a short, hectic day and I was glad it was over. There were some reports I had not gotten around to but that my manag...
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Saturday poem: Let us see
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by Pawnee (Anonymous, 19th century) English version by Daniel Brinton Let us see, is this real, Let us see, is this real, Let us see, is this real, T...
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Sunday meditation: What can we do?
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By Jeremiah Ganicoche* How did it get like this? Tired of the way things are turning out? Do you think something is wrong but not sure what? Want to d...
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Saturday poem: The Lord is in me
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By Kabir, 15th century The Lord is in Me The Lord is in me, and the Lord is in you, As life is hidden in every seed. So rubble your pride, my friend, ...
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The 1851 Monster Meeting of Diggers
David Watson, Tim Heath, Angus Read-Hill at a recent re-enactment
By Jan ‘Yarn’ Wositzky There’s a hidden history at Castlemaine. It’s where the political action that led to the Eureka Stockade began. Today ...
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Sunday fiction: The Telltale Heart
Edgar Allan Poe
By Edgar Allan Poe TRUE! nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why WILL you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my se...
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Saturday poem: On this summer night
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by Jusammi Chikako (14th century) On this summer night All the household lies asleep, And in the doorway, For once open after dark, Stands the moon, b...
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Sunday fiction: The fool by heroin overdose in the bathtub
Brock Lesnar: Rhodes Scholar
By Jeremiah Ganicoche* I’ve never played Cluedo but if you were ever dealt my card that is what it would say. It’s a killer hand. They don’t tel...
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Saturday poem: Stony grey soil
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By Patrick Kavanagh O stony grey soil of Monaghan The laugh from my love you thieved You took the gay child of my passion And gave me your clod-concei...
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Sunday meditation: Story is everything
Episode 8, by Josie Emery The Tweet Files A month of writing, distilled from a Twitter diary. We tweet in 140 characters – including spaces and ...
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Saturday poem: Poetry
Heberto Padilla
By Heberto Padilla Translated by Andrew McKenna Tell the truth. Tell, at least, your truth. And afterwards let it happen, whatever: they smash your p...
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Sunday fiction: Curandero
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By Jeremiah Ganicoche* When I was 15, I saw my familiar spirit. My room was in a bungalow in the backyard and most nights around that age I would stay...
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Saturday poem: Are we there yet?
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By Adam Ford*   are you ready for this? forget I asked there’s no way you could be ready for what has to follow the necessity of the next i...
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Sunday Meditation: The visitation
Story is everything, everything is story Episode 7, by Josie Emery To read what follows. I offer Allen Ginsberg’s advice on such matters and paraphr...
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Saturday poem: Sometimes
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The Ojibway (Chippewa) are one of the most numerous nations of Native Americans. Traditional Ojibway lands are centered in Michigan, Minnesota, Saskat...
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Sunday meditation: The brewery of eggshells
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By T Crofton Croker Mrs Sullivan fancied that her youngest child had been exchanged by “fairies theft”, and certainly appearances warrante...
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Saturday poem: I taught myself to live simply
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by Anna Akhmatova I taught myself to live simply and wisely, to look at the sky and pray to God, and to wander long before evening to tire my superflu...
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Story is everything, everything is story
By Josephine Emery Episode 6 The other day I gave a hitcher a lift from Castlemaine to Maldon. He was stumbling along the road carrying a metal detect...
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Saturday poem: Grant us knowledge from above
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by Edith Kanaka’ole (Hawaiian, 20th century) E ho mai Ka ike mai luna mai e O na mea huna no eau O na mele e E ho mai E ho mai E ho mai Grant u...
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Sunday meditation: Castlemaine: what really happened
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This story was submitted anonymously to CI. The writer appears seriously unhinged, but that hasn’t stopped us from publishing any of the others....
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Origins of Western poetry in troubadours’ songs
Medieval singer-songwriters tended to write songs about chivalrous, illicit love.
By Max McClure My heart takes root in her and grips with its nail, holds on like bark on the rod, to me she is joy’s tower and palace and chambe...
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Saturday poem: Catholics and Communists in Latin America
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By Roque Dalton Translated by Andrew McKenna I was expelled from the Communist Party long before they excommunicated me from the Catholic Church. That...
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Sunday meditation: Story is everything – everything is story
Part 5 By Josie Emery I stand at the back door with my morning coffee in my hand. A bird bursts into song in the garden and then flutters from its tre...
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Saturday poem: Yes to revolution
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Roberto Fernández Retamar (La Habana, 1930) Translated by Andrew McKenna But what matters is the revolution the rest are just words in the background...
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Sunday fiction: Flory Cantillon’s funeral
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By T. Crofton Croker The ancient burial-place of the Cantillon family was on an island in Ballyheigh Bay. This island was situated at no great distanc...
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Saturday poem: Raglan Road
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By Patrick Kavanagh On Raglan Road of an autumn day I saw her first and knew That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue I saw the...
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