When Dr. Seuss published "Are You My Mother" in 1960, he chronicled the adventure of a newborn baby bird in search of its mother. The newborn is hatched into a world where its working mother is on errand for food and finding himself alone he instigates a search. The world is filled with options, after all, and off he goes inquiring of the kitten, a hen, and then a cow all of who match his question with a qualified, "no." Raising the stakes he chases a boat, yells to a plane, and even climbs into the teeth of smoldering power shovel and shouts "Are you my Mother?" True of the paradox, the power shovel kindly delivers him back to the nest whereupon mother greets him with worms, the obvious introduction and its subsequent warm conversation.
The Virginia State Capitol was home to the Confederacy and rivals even the proudest southern plantation. The James River surrounds her like a mote, raises her like a Grecian temple into the sky and captures her reflection as it slithers through the storm. The White House of the Confederacy is but a vest-pocket version of our President’s principle work place at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, and led the retinue of those determined to fight for southern labor. That the matter was settled upon an estimated 620,000 soldier’s lives, we, their progeny, are left behind to sift, sort though and search for the reasons supporting the deadliest war in American history.
The Declaration of Independence is a statement of purpose, intent, and principle that was adopted by the Continental Congress on July 4, 1776. It announced that the Thirteen American Colonies, then at war with Great Britain, were now independent states, rejected British imperialism and asserted their right to revolution. Originally ignored, it’s stature grew over the years, particularly the second sentence, a sweeping statement of human rights: We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
The premier issue of Charlatan Magazine blew through this economically bone-tired town like a tumbleweed: dispersing the seeds and social spores of savvy deliberations. We were called "too liberal" on one end of town and considered "not liberal enough" at the other. For some, the magazine reinforced stereotypes, while for others it was a journey toward the eradication thereof. Our intention and content were called into question, and whether you were a staunch supporter, an active dissenter, or just a casual observer we thank you for allowing us to pass on through. For in so doing we take the spirit of the Queen City with us as we continue on our journey through the South.
Holy and beautiful the custom which brings us together: To face our ideals, to remember our loved ones in absence, to give thanks, make confession, offer forgiveness, be strengthened and to celebrate. Through this blessed place, in this sacred moment breathes, the worship of ages. So, let us be alive to this moment and be joyful. The Reverend Elizabeth Tarbox, of the Universalist Unitarian Church, began our ceremony thus as we stood knee high in waving grass against the world. It was bewitching, after all, the notion of my happiness revolving entirely around another person. And while I declared my love that summer in 97, I was haunted by the suspicion that love, as a point of fact, had yet to be tested.
The first time that I’d ever heard the word ‘Muslim’ was on 9-11. Embarrassing, to be sure, as I’d graduated from one of the most prestigious and privately owned religious universities in the United States. Religion was a contextual and mandatory part of the curriculum and, as a philosophy major, our course work was arranged around a curricular vitae of secular history. How had I missed this detail? I remembered the East and, of course, the West. Judaism, Christianity and Buddhism were all terms I was familiar with. But what about that big chunk in the middle: That arid desert region known for its crude, its political conflicts and its distinction as the very Cradle of Civilization.
When the Moon is in the 7th House and Jupiter aligns with Mars, then peace will guide the planets and love will steer the stars...Indeed, The Age of Aquarius refers to the astrological cycle whereby the Earth’s northern zenith points gyrate toward one of the 12 zodiac regions in outer space. Arguably, each Age lasts an approximate 20,000 years and by combing all 12 one can calculate, measure, and chronicle the entire lifespan of our planet. Because Aquarius is ranked 11th of the 12 signs, however, it is important to note that astronomers believe mother earth to be quite near the end of her lifetime.
Charlatan Magazine is dedicated to, and in service and celebration of, the gay communities of the South. While Charlotte, Charlatan’s host city, has achieved prominence as the second largest banking center in the United States it is sorely lagging in recognition of the LGBT community. In fact, behind the facade of only a handful of bars, bookstores, and a courageous community center, there is little to chronicle an identity that corresponds, supplements and richly collaborates with the City of Charlotte.
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