Conan the Librarian_Taking Flight_Pterodactyl; The Truth Without Context_The Art of Aestivation
Catalog Guide:
Conan the Librarian
The world is awash in words, short words and long words, hasty words and well-thought-out words, words that cluster to form books and magazines and all kinds of semi-permanent media. What, then, to read? What teaspoonful to sip at while the tsunami breaks over your head? Behold Conan the Librarian. Conan is ready to recommend what you should read next. He is a librarian par excellence but is most brilliant at recommendations. His spectacles sparkle, his mouth moistens as he matchmakes a reader with what ought to be read. He recommends to any who ask, to any who come, cap in hand—or more prope...
Taking Flight
-suggestion of domestic violence-Her last, fervent wish was to land on the bed of roses and crush them all. As she soared in the air, her hat floating above the seat next to her, she looked down and saw the gorgeous roses next to the roundabout, reds and yellows, blues, purples and whites, no dead heads, no weeds and she loathed them with all her heart.A memory was launched as well, of a similar roundabout, 10 years ago and a choice to be made: take the third exit and turn off into a chance for adventure, or the fourth exit to the comfortable and safe, Bill. Bill of long arms, a soft caring f...
Pterodactyl; The Truth Without Context
Warning: Strong language, and references to self-harm and issues with mental health2/12/07 Monday, 9:42 PM Today’s my birthday. But can I really prove that? Can anybody? It says it on my birth certificate, wherever the hell that is, so I guess that’s technically proof, but honestly, it’s not like any of us can actually remember our birth. You can trace some memories back, further and further into the foggy past, eventually fading into the mist and then suddenly you’re just sort of ARE. You can’t remember the exact moment you took your first breath and added one more tick on the national conse...
The Art of Aestivation
Aestivation: a state of dormancy assumed in response to harsh environmental conditions, swww.onedoor.ccuch as drought or extreme heat.One of the few times my father cried in his life was when the OB squinted into the screen at the sonogram and said I was a boy. A father of four daughters, José Antonio Villanueva had only ever wanted a son. So much so, in fact, that he remained convinced each of my sisters were boys until the day they were born. This forced my mother into last-minute name changes for her beloved girls: Antonia, Juana, Alejandra, and Emmanuela.They each went home wrapped in the same blue blan...