The symptoms of my depression are beginning to show again. It may be time to seek therapy.
Is it frailty or just some fundamental defect in my person that leads me to this path time and time again?

Above all, I think it is the fault of my fearful, decadent flesh. I want to lay in my sheets, cocooned from any possible failure. It’s irresponsible, yet I persist.
Why? Is it so much better to sit around and hurt myself than to make even the smallest effort towards progress?

Seriously, fuck this. I’m going to go do my goddamn homework.



Our Comprehensive Living Archive of Apples

In its original home, near Almaty in Kazakhstan, the apple can be the size of a cherry or a grapefruit. It can be mushy or so hard it will chip teeth. It can be purple- or pink-fleshed with green, orange, or white skin. It can be sickly sweet, battery-acid sour, or taste like a banana. Preserving this biodiversity can become a massive project, in life and art.

See more. [Images: Jessica Rath]

This is such a lovely interview about the secret lives of non-supermarket apples. We’ve got a feature about heritage apples too—coming to your internets soon. Or pick up our latest issue on the newstands!