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Eventually, his monologue began to darken, and I could see his regally poised body begin to implode. He launched into a frenzied diatribe, describing how he had seen friends get their faces blown off while he was sitting in a Jeep talking to them, and how when he got back from his last deployment he started going to bars, drinking, snorting cocaine, and seducing women while his wife stayed home with their infant daughter. “I would call my wife from the bar, screaming and crying,” I remember him saying, “but I couldn’t stop — not even my baby girl would make me stop.” –“The Enemy Inside,” Daniel Baird, The Walrus
Born in Kenya, raised in what today is Pakistan, a resident of the United Kingdom during World War II, Desani settled in India to create one of the most original novels of Empire’s decline. A mannered crazed contortion of various idioms of South-Asian-English, All About H. Hatterr follows the titular character—half-Malay, half-Anglo, all about exclamatories!—in his consultations of seven sages in seven cities, trying to determine what life, and this tale, too, is all about. –“The Heirs of Joyce’s Ulysses,” Joshua Cohen, The Daily Beast
Where does dough pounding rank among the world’s most dangerous professions?
in Indonesian politics: sex appeal and “Splitting open the Durian”;
in South Asian religious tensions: the Ahmadi oath
I hate BP, but I admire them too, in the same way I respect the work ethic of serial killers. I remember the day I learned that BP was using a submarine…with a web cam…a mile under the sea…to feed live video of their disaster to the world. My mind screamed “STOP TRYING TO MAKE ME LOVE YOU! MUST…THINK…OF DEAD BIRDS TO MAINTAIN ANGER!” The geeky side of me has a bit of a crush on them, but I still hate them for turning Florida into a dip stick. –“Betting on the bad guys,” Scott Adams, The Wall Street Journal
More from Rafe Bartholomew:
Freddie Gray’s relatives arrived for the trial in the afternoon, after the prep-school kids had left. By their dress, they seemed to have just gotten off work in the medical and clerical fields. The family did not appear at ease in the courtroom. They winced and dropped their heads as William Porter and his fellow officer Zachary Novak testified to opening the doors of their police van last April and finding Freddie paralyzed, unresponsive, with mucus pooling at his mouth and nose. Four women and one man mournfully listened as the officers described needing to get gloves before they could touch him.
The first of six Baltimore police officers to be brought before the court for their treatment of Freddie Gray, a black twenty-five-year-old whose death in their custody was the immediate cause of the city’s uprising last spring, William Porter is young, black, and on trial. Here in this courtroom, in this city, in this nation, race and the future seem so intertwined as to be the same thing.
Minimum number of cats fitted with high-tech listening equipment in a 1967 CIA project:
Zoologists suggested that apes and humans share an ancestor who laughed.
A former prison in Philadelphia that has served as a horror-movie set was being prepared as a detention center for protesters arrested at the upcoming Democratic National Convention, and presumptive Republican presidential nominee Donald Trump fired his campaign manager.
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“Matt was happy enough to sustain himself on the detritus of a world he saw as careening toward self-destruction, and equally happy to scam a government he despised. 'I’m glad everyone’s so wasteful,' he told me. 'It supports my lifestyle.'”