One More Year to Remember
Dan Lukiv

Do we take time to notice “little moments,” imagistic events, snapshots in time as we head through each day? In 1974, after discussing one-to-one algebraic mapping from one n (dimensional)-space to another with one of my mathematics professors, in his mouldy-smelling office, we eventually moved on to three-dimensional space, our space, the space on earth that flesh and blood and bones occupy.     full text >>>

Philosophical Meditations on Outcomes and Assessment
Jeffrey Paris

Part I: Meditations on Outcomes and Assessment
As I complete my third year as a professional in educational facilitation and information transference for a comprehensive state university in the largest advanced public education system in the country, I turn my sights to a promising gauge of success—the assessment of students and the production of outcomes.  Have I, a philosopher, effectively and successfully been preparing students for the professional world?  For business, management, teaching, or whatever is the employment of their choosing?  What are the tools by which I can measure such success?  Having previously placed these essential reflections on the back burner, I, like Descartes in his famous Meditations, today propose to momentarily clear away my cares and meditate on this concern.
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“That’s so gay:”
A Narrative Vignette of My Experience as a Lesbian in Catholic School
Tonya Callaghan

I was born into an Irish Catholic family in a rural community on Prince Edward Island, the smallest maritime province in Canada. Both my mother and my father come from large Irish Catholic families that count nuns and priests among the siblings, uncles and aunts. The promise of a better economic future convinced my parents to move our young family to western Canada. In Calgary, Alberta, my sister and I both attended Catholic school together from kindergarten to grade twelve. We attended church regularly and assisted with minor tasks during Mass.     full text >>>

Luna
Madeline Sonik

They were white, lanky-limbed, trim, with dust on their down.  Dust on their halos. Their long thread tresses swept their grey oceans. White exhaled into their velvet palms. Everything they touched, everything they swallowed, illuminated their chaste pallor, their triangular silver backs, their flat lily bottoms. Each breath they took, every murmur, droned with their deep pearl essence, their chalky exponential.     full text >>>