A cold Monday night, I was sitting on ‘the bench’. If I told you that I had seen two cats and three hedgehogs as of that point, you could probably tell how long I had been there. My body was cold to the bones and it never stopped shivering as the night got late… but
On the train I move at birdish speeds. I see buildings blur into living embers, points stretched into foreign conversation and foreign frames and the infinity of presence upon my sight. And the train too is looking, spawns a second set of eyes, mirrors me in its glass. My doppelgänger in the window glides in
Hopes and dreams trapped in objects: waiting to be unleashed, or ready to be discarded? Easier just to keep it all, stuff it in dresser drawers and cupboards, hide it under a duvet at the back of the linen closet, until one day, through some trick of fate, it ceases to be invisible again …
“Impasse 1: ‘…whether the elements have being potentially, or in some other way…’”
Prepare to engage in the story of a small, motley crew of BCB students – with little to their names but enthusiasm and sometimes-precarious ideas – organising the next Liberal Education Student Conference, through a series of impasses.
David Kretz is a BCB alum from the class of 2016 currently completing his Ph.D. in Germanic Studies and Social Thought at the University of Chicago. Early this May, he gave his time to write up insightful and constructive responses to my questions on his academic journey leading up to and since BCB, his current research, projects and opinions relating to a liberal (arts) education, words of advice for current and graduating students, and more.
(Sick) boy meets (sick) girl. They fall in love. It ends in tragedy. It’s a story I’ve heard many times. Hollywood has a way of recycling narratives and tropes that have been moneymakers in the past, and I can hardly blame them. You have to do what works, right?
We’re approaching that time of year again: Commencement. Like the empty space after a chapter before the next one begins, or that small pause between an inhalation and exhalation where you’re not quite holding your breath but just letting the fresh air sit there, comfortably and in anticipation, it looms six short weeks down the road from thesis submission day.
There was once a boy in a bubble. He had, for all eighteen years of his life, lived in the same country, resided in the same house, and been surrounded by the same people. His plans for the future quite resembled his past: graduate from an American high school, go to an American college, then