Sink into your mat like it’s quicksand.
OF QUICKSAND MATS AND PEACEFUL MEDITATION BY ASHLEY COWGER 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 03
Natalie stifled a chortle. Here was this tranquil voice telling her to let her body sink into quicksand, being swallowed alive, without a fight. She tried to picture the mat as quicksand, containing her and forcing her body into complete immobility, but it seemed ludicrous. It was a mat, inside a room, inside a gym.
YAWN HATES ME BY SE DIAMOND 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 03
Jan hates me. He has thin blond hair tied into a ponytail, and his name is pronounced yawn—not like the American girl’s name Jan. Our Czech Foreign Relations class has just ended and it’s Friday. “Na Sled, Jan.” I smile and suck in my cheeks as I say good day to him. Come on Janny, like me. I just want your country to like me.
Little about Zihua was as expected.
ON HOLD IN ZIHUA BY STEVE HICKS 34TH PARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 03
He had asked his travel agent to set up his vacation in Zihuatanejo because he was a fan of the scene with Tim Robbins in The Shawshank Redemption. Zihua reminded him not at all of that movie. In fact, little about Zihua was as expected.
Words are all we have.
The glimpses that we have of the intensely private Beckett from his friends reveal a man, a writer, driven by his commitment to words, not just any words, but words stripped bare, edited, and reduced, as if by doing this he could remove every inconsequential modifier and reveal meaning in its simplest form, the most direct form, without embellishment, without fluff.