California
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Where the Highway Splits
I’ve spent twenty years searching for the girl in the black shorts with a cold can of soda pop in her hand as though going through the steps of locating a lost wallet.
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This Week in Trumplandia
Welcome to This Week in Trumplandia. Check in with us every Thursday for a weekly roundup of the most pertinent content on our country, which is currently spiraling down a crappy toilet drain. You owe it to yourself, your community,…
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The Saturday Rumpus Essay: The Diggins
I was told that I was “a good digger” if I was behaving as a young child, working hard, and not talking back. Like nursery rhymes, the rhythm of racism cannot be forgotten.
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This Week in Indie Bookstores
A bookstore display for Ivanka Trump’s new book was rearranged to more accurately reflect the first daughter. California legislators might amend a fraudulent memorabilia law championed by Luke Skywalker actor Mark Hamill in order to allow authors to sign their…
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Back to the Places I’ve Left
“No one knows how to handle it,” I tell her, but I can see she’s angry and I’m speaking into the wind.
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The Rumpus Mini-Interview #80: Jon Raymond
Jon Raymond is one of Portland’s finest wordsmiths. His writing spans TV, film, short story, novel, art criticism, and a hefty array of magazine work. His new novel, Freebird, is the story of a Californian Jewish family entangled in clashing…
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The Saturday Rumpus Essay: The Savage Mind, Pt. 1
The violence came in and we were not just in danger of being victims of it. We were in danger of being violent ourselves.
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The Evolution of a Trigger
Perhaps they are really saying: This will not happen to me. I will be prepared. And, in hoisting that hypothetical gun, they feel they are made safe from the appalling vulnerability of living.
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Swinging Modern Sounds #78: Conceived as a Playlist
Shadowbahn […] is among the most unusual, and most extreme, in a literary career that has often been marked by its unpredictability.
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The Storming Bohemian Punks the Muse #18: Keeping Our Balance in a Time of Turkeys
Yesterday, walking home along the wet pavement twinkling under the sunshine, I spied a flock of no fewer than twenty-four wild turkeys parading down the street, mostly chicks. I don’t see them today, as the rain has returned, and all…
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Albums of Our Lives: Frightened Rabbit’s The Midnight Organ Fight
Something about the twangy banjo and the melancholy vocals just made me feel less alone. And I hated being alone.
