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You wake up in a desert with a huge and mysterious headache. You're covered in dust. Behind you, there's a post with a hawk sitting on top of it. Tied to its talon is an envelope with your name on it.

(Aspiring to Be) Inspiring Writing Prompt #3

This should be a fun one.

Last night was a regular night, though something didn’t settle with you. Maybe you had the feeling of being watched but chalked it up to your usual paranoid tendencies. You fall asleep alone, soothed by the regular sounds of your town or city, be it chirping crickets or a constant flow of cars.

When you wake up, the only thing you see is white. Could this be heaven? Your head is searing with pain, and in the shocking heat, this is the only thing you can focus on. You know you’re not in your bed. And when you look around, all you see is a desert with no sign of humanity, not even in the far off horizon.

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The Tale of Persephone

The Tale of Peresphone

To many, Persephone is a scandalous love story about a young girl taken from her mother by an evil, dark god. Others might view it as a twisted coming of age tale, with some not-so-subtle-allusions between “womanhood,” fertility, and the bright red colors of pomegranate that Persephone eats. A more promising and philosophically poignant meaning lies underneath the tale. What makes Persephone’s tale so tragic is its necessity: the allure of death, and death itself, is inextricable in the continuation of life, rendering us all paradoxes in disguise. We live and thrive in our dissonances and conflicts, our beauty conceived by melancholy.

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History I Have

The History I Have

Creeping around corners
What is that I see?
Two big eyes staring
Staring straight back at me

Somber stories are worn
Somber stories be told
Of a child much wiser
That never grows old

The stairsteps, creeking
My thief’s gloves are peeping
What is it I need?
The warm heart that’s beating

Their secrets be theirs
My secrets be mine
To be stolen, unwoven, retold
By trepidatious time

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The Cuban Exile Community of Florida: Forever Full of Contradictions, Even Today.

The Cuban Exile Community of Florida: Forever Full of Contradictions, Even Today.

I have always been personally fascinated with Miami. Ever since I watched all seasons of Dexter and read all three books, I investigated the cultural climate of the area, reading news articles and blogs, trying to ascertain what could produce such a violent but gripping drama. What I found were stories of trailer park revenge, of people using priceless art to smuggle drugs in their motels, of a man running into the middle of a freeway, naked, covered in peanut butter. And, more recently, a man receiving a court-ordered ban from ordering pizza ever again.

But then I discovered a strain of American history I hadn’t fully explored before, evoked in the show with the beautiful string music of the Buena Vista Social Club playing as Dexter roamed through Miami on his midnight hunt. With just a few Google searches, I found a large community of Cuban-American exiles, who came to Miami to escape the Cuban Revolution.

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Spiritual Meanings & Arbitrary Events

Should We Believe in Spiritual Meanings for Arbitrary Events?

In a Marxist group retreat I attended in Berkeley, California, one man, a city college professor in U.S. History, sat us down at a picnic table to divulge his thoughts on mysticism. (In retrospect, I might have called this “mansplaining.”)

He shared that, when he was on the train to get there, a pigeon flew straight into one of the windows of his train car. This was, unfortunately, its last moment of life. Everyone on the train gasped, and the women sitting directly in front of him started discussing what this could mean. Could God be trying to communicate something to them? Could it be their “spirit animal” committing suicide to send them a message of impending doom?