15 things we say today that we owe to Shakespeare

In celebration of Nebraska Shakespeare's annual performances on UNO's campus, we thought it would be fun to share why Shakespeare has stood the test...

How Shakespearean are you?

Check out this wonderful tool from Oxford Press. It's a "How Shakespearean are you?" meter. In it you copy and paste some text into...

Learn ‘How the Scots Invented the Modern World’ at the Kaneko-UNO Library’s next book...

Looking to join a book club? If you're looking for lively discussions and good reads, you might want to swing by the Kaneko-UNO Library. The Curiosity...

13th Floor Magazine wraps second round of submissions, plans for future

 

The second round of submissions is in and 13th Floor Magazine has begun the editing process.


First autoerotic novel, Marcella, celebrates 40 years

Marcella, the first English book ever published that explored sexuality from taboo standpoints, will celebrate its 40th birthday this month with the release of a 40th anniversary limited edition of the classic version.


“YOLO”

You only live once.
Achieve your dreams.
Cherish the ones you love.
Make omens to heal.
Plan vacations that you WILL take, no matter how extravagant.
Hold on to family roots.
Break down doubt.
Mend broken promises.
Follow your spirit.
You only live once, so live.


Twitch

You twitch in your sleep.
At first, your face is peaceful,
a swell of silence, a blank lullaby,
waiting, twiddling its thumbs for lyrics
written by Queen Mab's calligraphy.
Instead, the honest Puck
Sneaks up with dustings of tripped
Up fairy musk, curling up
Your nose with its more or less distasteful
Scent.
Like an old dog twitching at a
Bad dream, you shoo away Hermia's
Irksome trouble, or at least, you try.
It frightens me a little, the way
Your body stutters, as if the
Weird Sisters are casting Macbeth's
Prophecies, and nights of
Invisible blood.
If I could, I would brush away
The spider beds, inked with dew and anxieties
From your head.

I love to see the lullaby when you sleep.


The Replacement

My face hits something hard as I fall out from the mirror.  There's a sickening crack and blood and bits of teeth fill my mouth, and I almost pass out from shock.  I welcome the pain.  It reminds me I'm real again.
Dim orange light reveals a row of toilet stalls.  Guttural whisperings echo from the mirror.
"You've lost him."
"It doesn't matter."
"He was our best."
"We'll replace him."
I shrink back against the wall, become one with the shadows under the sink.  Whatever their words, I know they'll come for me.  They always do.