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A devout child, at the age of five she was praying in her church in Córdoba when she heard beautiful, ethereal. . .
“I was having coffee with my subconscious. He was a peculiar looking man. Small, with a waxed mustache and crossed legs.
After a friend tells me names and dreams occupy the same part of the brain, which is why we forget both.
Worker dissent brews at an iconic New York bookstore.
On providing therapy for agents of state violence.
Two Palestinian novels confront the ghosts of the Nakba.