Sometimes an easy way to find someones heart. I know very well the feeling of getting an sudden present. The relation it’s just changed. Not to long ago I got from my parents a watch. I still have a few Relic watches that I got as gifts and they work flawless. The rush that I got when I was unpacking it… It was perfect for casual wear. Few years got by and I am now looking to buy a new gift from a family member.. maybe it will be a watch.
With all the options and the social media networks it’s hard not to get inspired “what gift to get”. Last year I made an experiment and posted on my twitter this question: “what to buy for my parent for Christmas?”. I can make tons of list out of there. And all that ideas from the replyes I got from my followers.
“The Missouri Review is, quite simply, one of the best literary journals in the world.” —Robert Olen Butler Still some twilight and the fire blooms against the smoke trees and horizon line, visible to campers in the desert foothills seven miles away. They pull him from the car trunk, his shroud a nylon pup tent. Gold tequila, draining to the worm. And the salt grains on their writs, also glowing, as their hits of windowpane reach cruising altitude. Already the pyre stings their eyes—creosote, sage, and stalks of ocotillo that have caused their hands to bleed. The engine idles in the headlights’ shimmer as the tapedeck plays the dead man singing The Return of the Grevious Angel, then the reedy heartbreak of Wild Horses, his cover that shamed the Stones, and they lug the cans of gasoline, circling the pyre twice, talking of the President’s resignation and that spaceship that crashed in Roswell, New Mexico, in Nineteen Forty-Eight, for one of them knows someone who knows someone who saw the aliens’ silvery corpses in a secret airforce hangar. Their eyes, he says, were huge as apples. And now the body of Gram Parsons, O.D. at twenty-seven, stolen by two friends from the airport morgue at LA-EX, flares and almost trembles as the fire scalds their faces in the plaintive wash of Thousand Dollar Wedding, the Grevious Angel rising in his stoned un-Rilkean splendor, rising from the dirges of his own angelic orders, from cinder spray and crackle as the tape goes hissing to its final song, and the speakers cough the radio’s dead air, and clicks of static immense, celestial. Observer theme by Zack Sultan
“The Missouri Review is, quite simply, one of the best literary journals in the world.” —Robert Olen Butler In 1972, Speer Morgan, an MU English professor and current editor of The Missouri Review, read Stoner while riding shotgun in a 1964 Volkswagen. He was en route to MU from Stanford University to start his new job as an English professor. Morgan wasn’t sure what to expect from the English department given its portrayal in the book. After finishing the novel, “I asked my wife, ‘Can we go back?’” Morgan says. However, he has come to respect the novel for its sobering tone and believes it could make a good syllabus addition. “It’s the perfect book for teaching modernism or late modernism,” he says. “Set in the heartland, it’s the struggle of one man and the difficulties of a life choice.” Observer theme by Zack Sultan