“We are but a moment’s sunlight fading in the grass …” I was kneeling on the floor next to the big radio, weaving to the music. It was late afternoon. We had drunk perhaps foulest concoction ever, boiled dope tea, never to do so again. But the stoned-ness, ah, the stoned-ness. The extent to which one was stoned, the way in which one knew oneself to be utterly, thoroughly, completely stoned, washed over me in that special dope way, a feeling of both sinking and rising at the same time, much as a feather might float this way and that upon the air. Read the rest of this entry »

Society has let its girls down in every possible way. It has refused to assert—or even to acknowledge—that female sexuality is as intricately connected to kindness and trust as it is to gratification and pleasure. It’s in the nature of who we are. Caitlin Flanagan.

Who is just terrific. Reading her Atlantic archives has been like devouring a pan of fudge.

Real fudge. Starting from scratch, using a candy thermometer, beating it like hell. Grainy parts and smooth parts and watch out it doesn’t burn you—but it will. You greedy, joyous little fucker.

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Here’s a question we Israelis won’t ask ourselves about the Palestinians, especially not about Gaza. The question is taboo. Not only won’t anyone ask it out loud, but very, very few people will dare ask it in the privacy of their own minds …

… The question we have to ask ourselves is this: If anybody treated us like we’re treating the people in Gaza, what would we do? Read the rest of this entry »