His blue-jeaned ass is emblazoned on the cover of 30 million copies of Born in the U.S.A., swaying and teasing. In ’80s concert footage, he’s a sweat-dripping, fist-pumping powerhouse with muscles bursting out of a sleeveless flannel and fuzzy sweatband. He’s earned his title as the hardest working ...
A few months ago, I read The Anthropocene Reviewed by John Green. In the book, Green portrays the modern human experience through small anecdotes from his own life. Each chapter is centered around a seemingly mundane topic and conveys a specific message that connects unlikely subjects and themes. At ...
It’s an uncommonly warm Friday night in Providence, and fans are slowly filing into AS220, a local nonprofit venue, for a night of rap and companionship with Osiris and Friends.
On Saturday, October 19, I dreamt that my mother died. I woke up at 8:32 a.m., the grief my dream persona experienced ebbed into relief as I realized it wasn’t real. As my heartbeat slowed to a steady pace, I sniffed and felt tears rolling down my face.
The white tiles of the living room were cool to the touch of my bare arms and legs. In between the gaps of the tiles were lines of grout, some light gray, some dark, some brown, and the uneven surface discomforted my forearms and chest as I lay down on the floor. My mind was not wary of my body. Before ...
In the late 1800s, predictions about futuristic technology such as the electric floor cleaner, a flying postman for faster information travel time, and a telephone with pictures to see who you are calling were prophesied. We have these today, but in wildly different forms than were once imagined.
Every holiday, I take the same train home. Even though I live in a tiny town, the Amtrak stops 12 minutes away from my house. I know all the stops along the way: New London, Mystic, Westerley, Kingston, Providence. Something is a bit different every time—the snow is fresher, more trees have fallen, ...
The woman across the street hardly knows your name, yet she lets you pass first along the busy street, before any of the men ahead have the chance. The girl in your third-grade class offers you a slice of her orange despite being explicitly told that she shouldn’t share her food. Your mother runs ...
When I left California for Rhode Island, I said a permanent goodbye to a world where the people I held dear were amassed in one place. My relationships to them began to take root more in memory than in the present. Meanwhile, my love found new footholds with a sparkling web of college friends, whom ...
For thousands of days, I have woken to birdsong. The street where I grew up is flush with trees, some a century thick, that provide home to robins, cardinals, house finches, and mourning doves cooing in the blue-black of early morning. These birds scatter in my wake on morning walks. They snip at each ...
My grandparents came to Providence last weekend. Truth is, I was scared to see them. On Saturday, they had said they would drive through on Sunday, so I cleared my schedule to be with them.
Here’s the thing: I left home to become a writer and now all I want to write about is home.
Ukiyo-e (“Pictures of the Floating World”), a genre of Japanese art focusing on the portrayal of ukiyo (“The Floating World”), flourished from the 17th through the 19th century.
Solutions by The State News
