In July 2013, I ran a marathon up Mount Adams near Trout Lake, Washington. Nobody questioned my physical prowess, because the accomplishment was indisputable. But, if you actually pressed your fingers against my belly, you would have felt pudge, and you probably would have been surprised to not feel functioning abdominal muscles (you’d also be surprised to have your fingers on the belly of someone you had just met, but let’s skip that part). My abs weren’t important unless I found myself in the plank position, and why would I attempt plank when I could lie down, sit or run 13 miles? I learned how to engage my gluteal muscles for the first time in early 2014, when my new gym membership included sessions with a personal trainer. However, the fact still stands that I was able to complete a mountain marathon with scant help from my abs or glutes.

When you were ten you caught a fish

and showed your parents that pink flesh.

They whooped loud, mercury eyes! Silver guts!

That day all guzzled more than enough.

and that night, you grasped a new way to sit

that made the family round and perfect.

I’ve been trained in solitude.

I understood once how it went,

knew this job:

waking up earlier, laying down later,

with no one to bother,

and delighted

by no one.

I don't know why it's there either.

His thick shell has turned maroon.

Flies circle the fetid patch of pavement.His feelers

Fell limp, green, down. He makes me think

Of you.

The whole earth? I’ll take one plot,

Small, to die into and one to dance

Upon. Beyond that,

If you’ve got plenty of nothing,

Well, that’s something, in fact. Devil you know aside,

There’s a way that havings string

Shall I say that you are dead?

But you lived just a day.

The joke played

by the Creator is so sad.

Abstract nouns serve me poorly when I speak of my father. Consider these: autodidact, addict, narcissist, scholar, suicide. I want a clearer picture of that afflicted human who made me. So in this piece, I will compare the death of my father, William Cameron Pulman Jr., also known as Bill, with the death of my guinea pig Harry, who was alternately known as Prince Harry, Harry B., Ice-Cold-Rapper-Harry, and the Queen.

If my face were my heart, I would tear it to ribbons. If I could pick it open to reveal its insides, sear it with a hot compress, slow it with an ice pack, prick it with needles to release the infection—more exactly, the grief— or pinch it till it bled, it wouldn’t be beating now. The exposed parts of me have been healed through time and the help of an incredible aesthetician. Most of the inner parts have healed through a similar delicate and aggravating process

You go to Thessaloniki, Greece. Not to the parts of Greece rebuilt to escort tourists towards white statues of petty gods that no one believes in anymore, but Greece where the Grecians live and the water meets them.

I insert my fare card and two wings open wide enough for me to pass through Farragut West station towards the Kennedy Center. Gleaming in the silver dress my grandmother found at the Jewish women’s resale store and forty-five minutes away from my fifteenth opera, I am ready…

Architects, contractors, and building managers in New York and New Jersey who design and build office buildings need to keep distraction markers in mind when they make their plans. Distraction markers are an important part of code and need to be in place.

Companies are embracing using smart film, also known as switch or switchable film, worldwide. For one thing, the aesthetics are impressive and for another, it offers instant privacy, which is attractive no matter what industry you work in.

Did you know that one billion birds are killed in collisions with glass each year?

NYC Audubon estimates that in New York City, between 90,000 and 230,000 birds are killed each year. That’s a large impact not only to our feathered friends, but to biodiversity on the whole.

Hotel guests have an unforgettable experience when one moment, they look out on an expansive cityscape and the next, they flip a switch to have immediate privacy.

“David Biespiel was born in 1964 and grew up in Houston, Texas. He is a poet, literary critic, memoirist, and contributing writer at The Rumpus, American Poetry Review, Politico, New Republic, Slate, Poetry, Bookforum, and The New York Times, among other publications. He is the author of numerous books, most recently Charming Gardeners and The Book of Men and Women, which was chosen one of the Best Books of the Year by the Poetry Foundation.”

“Confession: From his prose, I wasn’t expecting Jay Ponteri to meet me so freshly groomed, polite, and soft-spoken.

It was sloppy for me to assume that Ponteri, the director of Marylhurst University’s undergraduate creative writing program, would appear slovenly or depressive or altogether not-hip in the fashion that he portrayed himself to be in “Wedlocked.”

“I was once at a yoga studio where I had recently become a regular and saw, three mats away, the teacher whose class I had regularly attended…”

“In July 2013, I ran a marathon up Mount Adams near Trout Lake, Washington. Nobody questioned my physical prowess, because the accomplishment was indisputable. But, if you actually pressed your fingers against my belly, you would have felt pudge, and you probably would have been surprised to not feel functioning abdominal muscles (you’d also be surprised to have your fingers on the belly of someone you had just met, but let’s skip that part).”

“There’s something wonderful about puppets. You’ve probably had the pleasure of slipping a puppet onto your hand or finger or placing a mask on your face. Or you’ve drawn a mouth and eyes on a paper bag and voila! Suddenly you’ve found another voice and persona, and with these, a new way to connect.”

“Before entering the Portland Archives and Records Center on the fifth floor of the PSU’s Student Recreation Center, I had to leave my purse in a locker, hand over my driver’s license, sign a form, and promise not to lick my fingers before touching anything, which is apparently a common unconscious gesture.”