[Photo Credit: Dylan Larson-Harsch] This milk bottle, from the Everyday Items Transformed by the Conflict exhibition at Healing Through Remembering, was converted into a petrol bomb through a rag stuffed inside it (“Milk Bottle”). The bottle is emblematic not only of the
Dublin Reflections I. Hot days don’t burn away humidity rather, they congest it turning sunny to sticky gluing my thighs to a park bench sun heated aluminum foil burning on my fingertips. II. Usually temperatures carves itself
When you really love someone, you love everything about them, even the little things. You’re in love with Ben and Jerry: you love everything from the source of all their milk down to the very smallest chocolate chip. You know
“Thanks for Coming Out” (June 24, 2017) Dublin is a city infested with flaccid rainbows stretched out over every available inch, smeared across windows, buses, faces–smothering acceptance too eager to be genuine; slogans smelted in the blue fire of revolution
Dancing in the Rain Doom and Gloom and Sadness. This is Ireland, I’m assured. But though I try, It’s just not the Ireland that I see. When I walk the streets of Dublin, When I chat up a country
Disclaimer: I was not able to take any photographs of the site myself for fear of disturbing the faery folk. My research into the lives and careers of the following brave, presumably mortal photographers was not able to uncover any
Underneath Lily Arnold’s set at the Abbey Theater, Dublin, a motor pulls on cables attached to a turntable, spinning the stage in one direction or another. The execution is flawless, as it has been perfected by four hundred years of use.
In several of his poems, Seamus Heaney uses various bog bodies, found throughout Ireland and Denmark, to connect past to present. The bodies are generally considered to be Iron or Bronze Age sacrifices, preserved by the anaerobic conditions within
DUBLIN NIGHTS a piece of flash fiction by CRISTIAN HERNANDEZ I have tasted the streets. The indistinguishable fish-and-chips, beef-and-Guinness pie, stew of the same, Nutella-ringed donuts from Off Beat, full-Irish breakfast complete with bacon, sausages, black pudding, poached eggs, soda
The rhythm of the land keeps time with your heartbeat. Mother churns the butter while sister rocks the cradle, the blacksmith beats the time, the weaver strums his creel; the earth is ploughed into a treble staff, while crops are