my name is kevin. im 10 today. i had to lie, of course, when i went to get my email address and when i went to start this blog, and when i went to open my first facebook account. i had to pretend i was 20.  why? so i could be a ‘person’.

you see, 10 year olds aren’t real people yet. we can’t write what we want. we cant say what we want. we can’t have facebook. we can’t do fuck all. and yet, believe me, ive SEEN it all when my parents were out of the room. and when my teachers were out of the room.

parent, teachers, all of them are so so sadly messed up. they say they want to ‘protect’ us from things by blocking websites at school and by our parents putting computers in the kitchen so they can peek over our shoulders when…

Hans Werner-Sinn, a noted German economist and Professor of Economics and Public Finance at the University of Munich. He is also President of the Ifo Institute for Economic Research and serves on the German economy ministry’s advisory council. In this interview he talks about a disciplined but also radical and flexible pro-Europe path out of the present impasse, for Greece and for Europe as an idea worth cherishing and taking into the future.

The very last thing I ever learned in High School was the importance of Backup Battery Preventative Maintenance. In fact, the entire senior class of 1978 at Rockbridge High School in Columbia, Missouri learned this lesson at the same time. It was during the graduation ceremony in May while the students were walking across the stage to receive their diplomas.

I had already received mine and I was back in my seat sitting between Tracy Brandecker and Patrick Brier (we were sitting alphabetically. My name is Breazile). Pat was sitting on my left and Tracy was on my right. We were grinning from ear-to-ear to be graduating. My friends from the second grade, Mark Schlemper, Russell Somers and Brent Stewart had just walked across the stage in the gymnasium while a storm raged outside. As my friend from the fifth grade forward, Matt Tapley was walking across the stage there…

Car în piept o inimă grea

ca piatra de moară.

Mă clatin, genunchii îmi tremură,

pasu-mi e şovăitor.

Broboane mari de sudoare se adună

pe frunte

şi cad grele ca picurii ploii în ţărâna.

Aceasta îi soarbe însetată şi buzele-i crapă

de dor.

Sunt sărate ca lacrimile.

Oamenii trec pe lângă mine grăbiţi

şi mă rănesc nepăsători.

Le încurc paşii cu inima mea

mare.

Hei, doamnă, nu vezi pe unde calci!?

Ce dacă e aşa, uriaşă, crezi că nu-o doare

pasul tău

plin de ură?

Pardon, domnule, fie-ţi milă, n-o lovi,

că nu ştii cât suferă!

Ce-ai, cucoană?

Treci printre noi cu inima ta uriaşă

şi-ai vrea ca noi să avem grijă de ea?

Du-o la ospiciu, nu are ce căuta

printre noi,

oamenii normali!

E un monstru,

un defect genetic,

vrei să ne molipsim de

boala ei?

Noi suntem ocupaţi, nu avem

timp şi nici chef

să menajăm ciudaţi…