Category: Yo Ivanhoe

  • Some Old Words While I Unpack My Bags: A Common Misconception Regarding Paradise

    I’d like, if I could, to correct a common misconception regarding Paradise. The animal sanctuaries are actually, in fact, offshore, a couple islands just off the coast which have been set aside for cats, primates, and horses. As with humans, however, not all cats, primates, and horses are admitted to Paradise, although virtue is not…

  • Walking The Dog Through A Cemetery

    A man needs only to be turned around once with his eyes shut in this world to be lost. —Henry Thoreau Man will never find the end of the trail. —Robert Hofstadter Probe and rummage and ruminate all we want –through, past, back, forward, beyond, up, out, now— we can’t see through any of it,…

  • The Sort Of Thing That Used To Trouble My Sleep

    Back in my drinking days my stomach would for damn sure be a lousy mess, and my liver would feel like a fat wad of pate throbbing behind my ribs. I couldn’t sleep for shit and I’d be up and down prowling the drafty house all night in the dark, handling the various little talismans…

  • Youneverknow

    That, of course, was purportedly legendary whack-job Joaquin Andujar’s favorite word, and it should be the mantra of every fan at this time of the year, when it’s easy to get carried away with the first optimistic rush of spring training. It’s hard, though, not to get carried away. The day pitchers and catchers report…

  • What This Is, And Isn't

    I don’t know, to be quite honest with you. There does, though, seem to be some confusion on that question, if the handful of puzzled emails I’ve received in the last week are any indication. I’m still trying to get a handle on who stumbles in here, into The Rake‘s little sidecar in cyberspace. I’m…

  • A Brief Primer On Insomnia, Along With Some Personal Anecdotes

    Waking, by reason of their continual cares, fears, sorrows, and dry brains, is a symptom that much crucifies melancholy men. —Robert Burton, The Anatomy of Melancholy All he could do was transcribe the interminable babbling voice of the night, the insinuating perverse voice of the demons. —Pietro Citati, Kafka One time I was in south…