Category Archives: Literature

A Book Review: The Museum of Innocence by Orhan Pamuk

This gallery contains 1 photo.

“In fact no one recognizes the happiest moment of their lives as they are living it. It may well be that, in a moment of joy, one might sincerely believe that they are living that golden instant “now,” even having … Continue reading

Gallery | Tagged , | Leave a comment

The Move

This gallery contains 1 photo.

As soon as we passed Buena Park, the freeway grew larger, the lines wider, the cars bigger, the palm trees taller, and the lights sped away with a more arrogant glare. Irvine, California was only a few miles farther. Our … Continue reading

Gallery | Tagged , | 2 Comments

Remembering Les Plesko

http://venice.patch.com/groups/police-and-fire/p/novelist-identified-as-man-who-jumped-from-venice-building-monday?a_dgi=aolshare_facebook Someone told me that as much as Les Plesko’s suicide is a pain we’ll carry for the rest of our lives, but knowing that he is finally free (free from his pain, free from the harsh life, the humiliation, … Continue reading

Posted in Les Plesko, Literature, Memoir | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Manos Lindas

This gallery contains 1 photo.

This music inspired me with this visual, these words, this image: There is a man This is a road, walking A road, walking toward the dusk The road, drained, tired The dusk, sweating alone The man, dreaming, His eyes barely … Continue reading

Gallery | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Salman Rushdie and The Freedom Of Expression

This gallery contains 1 photo.

 On Velentine’s Day of 1989, Ayatollah Khomeini issued a fatwa against Salman Rushdie for his controversial work, the Satanic Verses.    If Salman Rushdi hadn’t bought a defective alarm clock, we would have never met. On the flight 694 from … Continue reading

Gallery | Tagged | Leave a comment

The Silent Growth of Trees (End of Chapter 3)

This gallery contains 1 photo.

On the way back to the detention room, Mr. Farsi and I barely talked, but the coins and the keys ring in his pocket never stopped jingling, and it reminded me of the way Father used to walk, holding his … Continue reading

Gallery | Tagged | Leave a comment