in-between the essays, there are messy journal entries. Such as this one:
Today, the tar from the cigar sits heavy in my lungs. The night is heavy—the air has been heavy all day, and my body feels heavy too—leaden—my mind, my heart as well.
I am suddenly aware of the weight of my… toes—the weight of the life the old man from whom I bought the cigar leads. The weight of the cigar, grasped between two fingers seems immense, and so does the weight of every word I write.
This month’s Postcards from Cuba are brought to you by my creative and illogical approach to finance. You can help! Be my patron, won’t you? Support Postcards from Cuba and Nothing By The Book. Buy me a coffee? A $5 donation is delicious:
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First time here? Visit the landing page for the Postcards from Cuba project.
You: “I’m here for that unschooling talk?”
Me. “Right. Go here & maybe roam through Undogmatic Unschoolers while you’re at it.”
See you next tomorrow, for this week’s feature postcard:
Are you or have you ever been a member of the Communist Party?
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