diary by Edward Mullany

I didn’t read it then, at least not in its entirety, but I got enough of a feel for it that it entered my imagination, and began to do its work.

diary by Edward Mullany

I first encountered it, I think, on a bookshelf belonging to one of my older sisters, when I was in high school, in the state of Minnesota.

diary by Edward Mullany

I’m reminded of The Screwtape Letters, by C.S. Lewis, which purports to be a series of letters from a demon named Screwtape to his nephew, Wormwood, a “junior tempter,” advising him how to accomplish his current task, which is to secure the damnation of an unnamed man who is living his life in mid-twentieth century England.

diary by Edward Mullany

And when the hour of our passing arrives, how well we have battled them accounts for how near or how far are our souls to their clutches.

diary by Edward Mullany

Here I am, a straight white middle-class English-speaking male, with much privilege, and virtually no experience of oppression.

diary by Edward Mullany

Part of me dislikes hearing me say such things, for there is something disagreeable, if not unjust, about the ruminating types of philosophy, at least when voiced by those who have lived through little suffering.

diary by Edward Mullany

For example, I say that I am in Brooklyn, and that is true, but if I think about what those words mean, I can begin to lose my bearings. Not geographically, but metaphysically.

diary by Edward Mullany

As I stand at my window now, and look out, I can see two birds on a branch of a tree that is technically on the property of the building behind the one where I live, but that, because of the way it has grown, is closer to me in its upper reaches.