The Friday before Halloween sees queues for New York City’s Fright Shows snaking round corners, but two Curator writers and a half dozen of their friends coiled into Tribeca’s City Winery to peek into John Wesley Harding’s Cabinet of Wonders. While nobody screamed in horror, the evening is worth an explanation.
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Why devote a year to a stunt? Wasn’t there something inherently suspect about that? Might it not be a waste of time?
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You are named, and yet unknown, and today, that is good enough for me.
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Is this just another way that consumerism has seeped into me, making me think that the way my accessories sculpt my surroundings offers the best means of knowing my true self?
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Can a quiet, neighborly life intersect with a desire to help the oppressed, the afflicted, the hungry? Is brotherly love sufficient if it starts small, inside the walls of my house, on our short street?
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Harry Frankfurt on the importance of what we care about.
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Like any good loyalist, I’m perfectly willing to laugh when we’re making fun of ourselves, but I can’t stand to hear mockery from outside.
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By the time you read this, the name Joshua Cacopardo will be no more.
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“At seven o’clock, the sun set across the edge of her cheek, as she faced south and the violet evening turned dark and empty, her voice still resounding, now with an elderly tremble, oscillating between a broken yowl and a soft lullaby.”
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