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April 2016, vol 12 no 1

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Kyle D. Craig


What enrages my soul are persons who witness a beautiful skyline and cannot resist pointing out pollution is the culprit for the array of colors, who are certain God is an internalized attachment figure, or who inform me the 40 % discount on my dress shirt is a ruse that has something to do with the marketing term anchoring.

Or when it comes to the Taj Mahal, those people who ignore the love story of Shah Jahan, the symmetry of those immense walls rising above the Yamuna, or the parchin kari work of the Mughal lapidarists smoothed into the marble surface, only to focus on how the craftsmen spent twenty years sweating in the Agra sun.

But I work hard not to embrace the lure of nihilism. After all, some faith was restored this evening when reading to my daughter and tucking her into bed, at least until I turned off the bedroom light and she whispered, "Daddy, is it true we all die?"

autumn wind . . .
the neighbor's daughter
using again