Category Archives: Stories

Stories are tale we tell one another. They are, by their very nature, always true. A fictional story is simply a narrative. Please don’t confuse them.

I Resent Cheerleaders

There were several lessons to be learned from last night’s Harvard football game against Brown.  First up:  I resent cheerleaders.

After all, who told them they could lead our cheers?  We can do it ourselves, thank you very much.  After hearing the cheer, “M-O-V-E… Move… the ball!” closely followed by “T-A-K-E, Take that ball away!” we stopped paying attention, so the cheerleaders started copying us.  We would start a chant of “Defense!” and they would follow suit; we would speed up, they would fall behind.  Cheerleaders indeed.

Next lesson is for the football team: if you bore us, we will find ways of entertaining ourselves, as we showed with the endless squadron of paper airplanes cascading down over the fans’ heads onto the front rows, the band, and the field.  They hit their peak around half time when the football game was at its least engaging, then trailed off as the game picked up in intensity.

I think the turning point came when a high-flyer cruised over, headed toward the field.  Its flight was stable, its trajectory was good.  We started cheering it on, and it floated out and out, further and further onto the field.  Our cheering built, and we erupted in applause when it landed a good ten yards past the sideline.  Then I noticed that the Harvard defense had also, coincidentally, sacked the Brown quarterback.  Half of us were cheering for the paper airplane, the other half for the great play.  Oh well.  That’s Harvard sports.



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Filed under Caterwauling, Stories

The 4:00 AM Birds


As the Spring semester grinds inexorably by, I see rare hours of the clock on a more consistent, more intimate basis.  Last year as a freshman, I often wrote papers in Lamont library, and any truly late-night battle with the Lamonster resulted in a small but meaningful ritual: conversing with the 4:00 AM birds.

The reading rooms in Lamont are overheated, and the air is dead.  Noise  Continue reading

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Filed under Stories, Visions

…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.



Filed under Caterwauling, Stories

…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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Filed under Caterwauling, Poetry, Stories