Author Archives: Ziek

…Or, Why I Hate Subjunctive History

I hate subjunctive history.

It’s absurd; it’s misleading; it’s epistemologically vicious, and it’s stupid.  I say trash it, get rid of it, pay a dubious-looking voodoo artist in New Orleans an inordinate sum to push pins through its glassy, grammatical eyes.  Anything to make it stop.

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…Or, “It was so much harder than I ever imagined.”

Because sometimes men are confronted with things that simply and inescapably reduce them to what evolution has designed them for: a lusty, hopeful, lecherously awkward adolescent looking to spread his genes.

Case in point: Jessica Biel.

Ahh manhood.  Sometimes being a guy is just fun.

-Ziek

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…Or, Bright White

Today, I walked outside.  And, as sometimes happens when the piled-high banks of pure white snow lining the dusty edges of Cambridge sidewalks reflects the winter sunlight with preternatural brightness, I had to close my eyes.  And I smiled.

And I realized as I headed through the park on my way to class that there is something indefinably comforting about those moments when the whiteness all around becomes so beautiful, you can’t even look at it.  It’s warm, and encompassing, and safe.  It reminds me of the opening scene from John August’s The Nines.  And it reminds me of the rocky mountains, and Colorado, and of home.  And it makes me smile.

Which is perhaps all one can ask of a chill winter morning.

-Ziek

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Filed under Caterwauling, Stories

…Or, Tales of an Eighth Grade Fumbling

 

It stands to reason why any God-fearing adult would ever deprive young adults of the sultry and often slippery adventures that seem to invariably accompany those awkward years of discovering one’s sexuality.  Obvious though the absurdity of this endeavor may be to those of us who have only recently stumbled out of the brambles of adolescents (dare I say we remain in the shallow meadows of her forests’ border?), it seems the powers that be (or rather, were) at a certain boarding school on the outskirts of London deemed it prudent (perhaps merely prude?) that young men and young women attending the institution should not be provided any space in which to come into intimate contact with one another.  

Thus begins our story. Continue reading

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…Or, A Nun in History Class

News Flash:

Today in history class, a nun was spotted playfully eyeing and joyfully cackling at the witticisms of one, Ann Blair, during her lecture on the intellectual ramifications of St. Thomas Aquinas’ reconciliation of reason with faith.  During the course of the lecture, said nun reportedly bit her nails, tucked her hair under her habit, and smiled periodically towards the professor, who is 24 years her junior.  Though reports are still forthcoming, experts speculate the nun may have missed the plane that was scheduled to take her to the lenten retreat this weekend, and arrived in the class by mistake.  Recently released photos of nuns splashing about suggest the holy student may be trying to reenact Mickey Mouse’s Pagan tradition of controlling ocean waves during a tempest.  More reports to follow.

 

-Ziek

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…Or, Proof of the Existence of My Social Life

It is a proven fact of nature that there exist several types of people in this world with whom I do not interact well.  To give a short (but by no means completely exhaustive) list:

  • People who do not know how to cut hair, yet insist on marketing themselves as “barbers” or “stylists”
  • People who wait on the side of a road waiting for the little man to appear when there are no cars coming in either direction.  For miles.
  • People who blog obsessively.
  • People who do not believe philosophy has anything to offer to the development of modern thought. (Hello?!?!  A priori reasoning?!  Anyone?!?!?!)
  • People who are intolerant of other people’s cultures.  
  • The Dutch
  • People who make assumptions

My faithful readers may perhaps criticize this final category as unnecessarily broad; surely I don’t not interact well with everyone I’ve ever met?  Though I grant them the recognition of the category’s rather all-encompassing nature, I deny that it is too broad.  How can I make this assertion?  Via two arguments:

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…Or, The Red Coat

 

And through the park she went,

her thick heels sliding gracelessly across the ice; 

her soles found muck and threw it into the air, 

and above all this, only red: 

infinite perfection in the flawed drapes of deep, cunt-stuck ache.   Continue reading

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