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"Let us bring to daylight the impulses of midnight contemplation."

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Hearth and Ash

Arthur’s brain secreted a few lines in meter and rhyme as it was wont to do. His vista like the moon, set ‘gainst the dusk, this dim room…. “The shame I’d feel if my head were a pen!” thought he. The two lovers sat in the attic which years have fashioned crudely like a library. Arthur’s dream of titanic leather chairs, a furnace, and high shelves endlessly laden with bound eloquence had come true in a curious but blessed way.

tea sachets

just this moment, i noticed that i never squeeze out my tea bags anymore. i used to do that, a habit i picked up from my mother, before i would take the sachet out and throw it away. i don’t know when and why i stopped but tonight i was really fascinated with the recoiling effect of the boiling water on my fingers.

the petersons

imagedo you remember when we met up with them for lunch during our layover in atlanta? we ate at that diner on the that side street. i was sixteen and young and budding. i took photographs of the fork and the spoon and the ring of coffee around that chunky white mug. the waiter was brash and mean but somehow incredibly endearing seeing as he knew we were outsiders and he was a native. he poked fun at us for that entire hour. i remember the how the sun looked that day. georgian sun is radically different compared to rhode island sun. it slows things down. it slows things down.

frank street

when i was young, my Grandmother would to bring me to her friend’s house down the street for a banana. i don’t remember the Woman’s name but i remember she looked like my Aunt Bea. i used to think she was my Aunt Bea. my Grandmother would hold my hand as we walked down the road. it was the summer. my hair was blonde and wet from the pool and my boyish sneakers would softly pad against the scorching pavement. we would sit in the Woman’s kitchen with the lights turned off. i was happily occupied with my banana, mushing the sweet and bitter substance against my unevenly spaced teeth. my Grandmother and the Woman would talk about their putting swings. they would laugh like women would laugh. i would smile too, just to be included.

smoke rings

it was the way the corner of lips curled so slightly at the ingestion of my words. it was the way you hugged my waist from behind. it was the way you opened your snowy circle in the woods for a fledgeling like myself.


remember hiking in the desert woods of texas? i regret not caring so much about the natural value of that place. i was mainly focused on my love life and the alkaline trio album that was playing on my ipod mini.

Ice Storm 08

Photos of the Saint A's Campus during the Ice Storm of 2008

Ice Storm image









test of flickr

test of flickr

Group Admins

Art - dnolan, Professor Asbury

Film/Theater-  Professor Asbury

Commentary - dnolan, edejulio, Justine Johnson

Community- dnolan, edejulio, Justine Johnson

Literature - kgoll, the real ned brady, Sophie O'Reilly, Matt Hurd, dnolan, Kathleen Masterson

Music - edejulio, Tom Moses

Philosophy - Noelle, edejulio, jared a. butler

Photography - Justine Johnson, Kristin Harper, Nicolette Kafasis

Poetry - Matt Hurd, edejulio, dnolan, Tom Morgan

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