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There are more than 200 results, only the first 200 are displayed here.
Can a chatbot write a poem? The answer reveals something about the heart of human interaction. True connection, like true poetry, requires discomfort, vulnerability and a richness of experience that defies the simplicity of algorithms.
The rhetoric of elites / sets off his built-in shit detector. He much prefers to eat / with hookers, drunks and tax collectors.
Nam Le is one of the strangest writers in the history of Australian literature and is also one of the most incandescently brilliant — which is very weird if you bear in mind that his primary claim to legendary status is a book of short fiction published in 2008. With 36 Ways of Writing a Vietnamese Poem, Le returns with a new work that encapsulates the brilliance and complexity that fans and critics have come to expect.
Dante and Hopkins named it lavishly: Christ’s vita nuova, shared to Easter in us; Ignatius of Loyola called it: magnanimity . . . How could we then, receiving, hoard or dispense it stintingly, like Scrooge before his Christmas haunting?
You open the atlas and run your fingers along the edges of continents, climb mountains, trace valleys, pause at coastlines of sand and wave. This is where you have been and this, fingers arched, is where you want to go. Death is too faint to be seen. Though you know it’s there, the undiscovered country.
‘The loss of memory by a nation is also a loss of its conscience.’ As the loss of conscience grows with each succeeding generation, one day righting the boat on the sea of forgetfulness will become impossible. In the end, what people don’t know, they won’t miss.
While its virtues are ubiquitously / touted and near-idolized / as advantages in efficiency, / improved contact rapidity, / and enhanced global connectivity, / it takes but one malfunction, / not to mention piracy, / to wake us up to see / the cost is very high for / an increasing faith in / and dependency on / messianic promises and marvels
I don’t expect to find the leaves of a plant with your name formed by the veins. No god will have gifted you the future as a flower when flowers are losing their footholds.
It's hard for a guy to cry endlessly and helplessly. It is. Some remote part of you shouts Man, get it together, this is totally beyond the bounds. But I couldn't stop. (From 2018)
Some people pray in church, some pray alone, some share their prayer through song, and others use poems as prayer. Each carries its own line of faith that they believe unites them with something outside themselves. This union is reached through words written and words said.
In The Fickle Pendulum, Paul Scully deftly weaves centuries of human exploration — from the doubt of St Thomas to Galileo's scientific certainties. Journeying through epochs, blending faith with skepticism, Scully makes the arcane comes alive, offering readers a profound immersion into the expanse of human introspection.
I sense them in the air when it’s said there’s little or no chance of a storm — they are apostrophes to themselves, shaped like diacriticals. This is a mundane observation to offer up when the flash closes the light out —that loss of speech to pyrography.
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