All posts by Eric Robert Nolan

Eric Robert Nolan graduated from Mary Washington College in 1994 with a Bachelor of Science in Psychology. He spent several years a news reporter and editorial writer for the Culpeper Star Exponent in Culpeper, Virginia. His work has also appeared on the front pages of numerous newspapers in Virginia, including The Free Lance – Star and The Daily Progress. Eric entered the field of philanthropy in 1996, as a grant writer for nonprofit healthcare organizations. Eric’s poetry has been featured by Dead Beats Literary Blog, Dagda Publishing, The International War Veterans’ Poetry Archive, and elsewhere. His poetry will also be published by Illumen Magazine in its Spring 2014 issue.

“The broken world waits in darkness …”

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Throwback Thursday: “Hitchhikers!”

This popped up on Twitter the other day.  Behold one of the biggest pains-in-the-ass of my childhood.

As you can see from my response, we called these “hitchhikers” on my native Long Island.  A lot of people from the northeast chimed in that they likewise remember the appellation.

People elsewhere know them as “travelers,” “stickers,” “bindies” and (drum roll please) “Satan’s Spurs.”  That last one is truly inspired.



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“Poppies,” Henri Fantin-Latour, 1891

Oil on canvas.

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A fourth piece of Pie.

The fourth issue of Pie & Chai Magazine dropped today, and it’s shaping up to be a great read.  There is a particularly insightful article by Martin Davis, a former opinion editor at the Free-Lance Star.  There’s also another terrific retrospective by Steve Watkins.

You can find Issue #4 right here.



“Cain and Abel,” Odilon Redon, 1886

Etching on woven paper.

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Knives Out.

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Poster for “Dead Poets Society” (1989)

Touchstone Pictures.

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Separated at birth?

Meep meep.

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Cover to “The Sandman Vol. 3: Dream Country – 30th Anniversary Edition,” Dave McKean, 2018

DC Comics.

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“And the deep river ran on.”

O look, look in the mirror,
O look in your distress:
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless.

O stand, stand at the window
As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbour
With your crooked heart.’

It was late, late in the evening,
The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
And the deep river ran on.

— excerpt from W. H. Auden’s “As I Walked Out One Evening”



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