Fleas dream of buying themselves a dog, and nobodies dream of escaping poverty: that one magical day good luck will suddenly rain down on them—will rain down in buckets. But good luck doesn’t rain down yesterday, today, tomorrow, or ever. Good luck doesn’t even fall in a fine drizzle, no matter how hard the nobodies … Continue reading
It happened in Amherst in 1886. When Emily Dickinson died, the family discovered eighteen hundred poems hidden in her bedroom. On tiptoe she lived, and on tiptoe she wrote. She published only eleven poems in her entire lifetime, all anonymously or under a pseudonym. From her Puritan ancestors, she inherited boredom, a mark of distinction … Continue reading
Mucho antes de que los niños ricos dejen de ser niños y descubran las drogas caras que aturden la soledad y enmascaran el miedo, ya los niños pobres están aspirando pegamento. Mientras los niños ricos juegan a la guerra con balas de rayos láser, ya las balas de plomo acribillan a los niños de la … Continue reading