Mockingbird tells the truth By some (alright, maybe close to millions) deemed an epic story – albeit with the initial appearance of being as a nostalgic, maybe fictional, childhood memoir – it still took me years before I considered investing time to explore To Kill a Mockingbird (i.e. not...

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vivunt spe Intelligence. How to measure it. How to identify it. That is the question. I have come to believe currently applied modes of measuring this elusive aspect of our minds, ourselves, our bodies may, in many ways, be seriously flawed. For one, I am quite doubtful of current...

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Juno, the screenplay extraordinaire With some precious time to spare, I got the opportunity to analyze the lauded film Juno, or rather its screenplay, written by the infamous (or whatever) Diabolo Cody. The film itself is narrated and acted out by the most perfect cast, as well as being...

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About being lost in Naples Adam constructs Eve, forces her – by definition – to conform to his conditions, and so constricts her movement, development and existence. She is denied the most fundamental of rights, in every possible way. She is denied her the right to become, denied he...

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Soon after I finish reading any of those accomplishments, there is no solid memory of them left within, no specific words in strings attached remembered. Still, these written pieces of artefacts don’t leave me be, are gotten under my skin, into my heart. And I am changed. Or maybe,...

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Our train whines its tracks downwards, and our faces are near-blinded by a glorious, soon to be blood-orange, sun setting into the Mediterranean Sea, just west of the island those Greeks referred to as the île de beauté (in ancient Greek, of course). And just like that, I am struck...

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Maybe some famous poet told you. Paint, and you will never be alone. No. You knew, even before there were words. You knew, even if no one saw what your eyes could see. When your hand reached for that pencil, or a brush of colour you trusted it more than...

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There it lay – on some table, near the stairs to the store’s underground – covered by no humble hill, plenty of gray clouds and heavy mist. I was not the least in the know about what a monumental tale its pages contained. I was suspicious of the claims...

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my name is lucy barton, it says on the cover, and while i neither really care for the title, nor feel inspired by the name lucy itself (although i suddenly come to think of plenty of fictional lucys that once inspired me, or made me laugh), i pick it up – this, so called, bestseller...

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