Based on the memories of my uncle, “Tio,” Alberto (or my reimagination of the inherited narrative of a reimagination) “I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library.” -Jorge Luis Borges We were young. It was the Buenos Aires of 1950. The Spanish Civil War was so recent all the Argentinean Spaniards (of which... »

A piece I wrote April 25. Green-Eyed Face(book) By Deborah Stokol I remember when it was new. When no one had heard of it. When no one was “on it.” When some classmate told me to join this cool new site just for college students and to “friend” him too. For some reason, we figured, keeping something... »

Reported October-November 2008, Written November 2008 *Joanna is not her real name. Were I simply to click through her Facebook photos, I would say Joanna Reginald* lives a life of charmed leisure. In picture after picture of the more than 4,000 she has up, I see the blonde with a frayed bob cut luxuriating in hot tubs,... »

Written and performed by Deborah Stokol, 2006 Teal A few words on the piece: I have synesthia. Always have. In my case, that means I can visualize numbers and letters in color. So in my mind’s eye, the letter “F” has ever adopted a middling shade of blue. I wrote Teal in the key of F,... »

Written and composed by Deborah Stokol, 2001. Performed by Deborah Stokol, 2006. The Sky Brightens Lyrics: The sky brightens over the ledge in the morn The fair lady’s young, and she’s not so care worn Her grin is so clear, and her skin feels like dew There’s a sun up above, and the rays need no gloves they can cut with the... »

Music composed by Deborah Stokol, 2001 (while on a flight to Athens, Greece). Poem by J.R.R. Tolkein from Return of the King, 1955. Performed by Deborah Stokol, 2007. Voices at the Door Photo by Deborah Stokol. San Sebastian, Spain. 2008. »

Memories are self-contained bits of the past we’ve locked away in our minds. You can have them stored away for years without remembering you still have them, and then suddenly, a random thing will trigger some recall that brings to light this forgotten treasure. We’ve got a trove full. Losing them, of course, does not... »

It would take one school year, perhaps, beginning in September and ending Bloomsday, June 16. It would include but four works, ending with a fifth, composed by the students, for the students. And the reading list would encompass an odyssey–literally–through literature and the various takes authors have had on the Greek story since Homer. The... »

Ah, but I don’t. I think it has, for some strange, inexplicable reason, achieved a status completely non-commensurate with its beauty or distinguishing characteristics. But sometimes I feel alone in this assessment. I certainly did that Friday. She wore a little yellow button as a pendant and was one of about 10 folks smoking on... »