I hate the blog­ging and any­thing remote­ly blog­gish and all of the crap networking–interesting, yes, for about two weeks after you’ve seen all the avail­able pho­tos of your now shock­ing­ly cor­pu­lent high school acquain­tances.  I’d like to see BLIP force­ful­ly posi­tion itself as a place that doesn’t ask to be “liked” or “friend­ed” or “tweet­ed” but read and engaged.  A place where work, in a now rad­i­cal –more

Damian Dressick

Cleaning House

Kristin vac­u­ums our apart­ment for the sixth time today. She takes her sweet time inscrib­ing elab­o­rate hiero­glyph­ics in the wheat-col­ored wall to wall. A word here, a phrase there. She is writ­ing, she tells me curt­ly, the sto­ry of our mar­riage.

Sarah Salway

Separate Beds

They slept in sin­gle beds. My sis­ter and I would sneak upstairs to lie on them when Granny was in the kitchen. We’d divide by gen­der. Laura would take Granny’s and I would take Granddad’s.