To begin with, I explain that Realism as the Foundation of Modern Politics in International  Relations (Machiavelli, Thomas Hobbes, Morgenthau) emphasises the following assumptions:  Politics is governed by objective laws rooted in human nature itself; Politics is a concept of  Interest expressed in the form of power; and The concept of interest does not mean expressed  in the form of power that is fixed and once and for all. Realists argue that with regard to war  and confli

1. Bottle-Green  When you were young you had a bottle-green velvet dress. Like all things, you loved it to shreds. You remember your clothes, you remember—the oversized leather jacket you wore all summer, the red boots you wore year-round to school and everywhere else. It’s hard, trying to remember the rest. Cloudy skies.  Last night you were kept up late trying to remember details about your childhood sweetheart. The one who died last year: September, motorcycle accident. Yo

Frost prints the windowpanes in little cats-feet. A crawl towards October hills, yet rooted in place. Dewdrops drooping flowers; the last cusp of honeysuckle twisted into weaving stalks. A hollow reminder of the dreary-cold— come and gone before noon showers. He stamped regret by the stairwell. Black ink sealing where locks couldn't reach. Ever-stilled, wrapped crescent stitch, statued upon Silicon Valley. An image captured across racing trains— come and gone amongst the crow

I’ve been overthinking (big surprise there) about human relationships, about my human relationships. About how I interact with others, how I don’t. How much I am. How little I am. How hard it’s to be around a person who tries but can never phantom to say the word “sorry”. How difficult it’s to love me. How you must slay a dragon and destroy a whole city to get to know me. How little of my real person I show. How little of me I know. How you must fight your way into my word an

1. Forest College life. Surrounded on all sides by trees, leafy greens. In the mornings it’s a comfort, in the nights the long aching branches become something other. Unwieldy forest creatures, skittish travelling through the brush. The leaves have begun to turn in earnest now, from greens to warm tones. The leaves, too, have begun to fall, leaving their homes on the branches and dancing to the ground. They leave the branches childfree and careless, crashing together with gre

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Flowers bowing with the rain on their shoulders. Morning dew on the grass at the park, soaking your shoes. A single drop falling on your...

An article by: Aishvara Michelle. What did you do today? Have you checked social media? How much time did you spend on  social media? How...

By: Victoria Diaz. I don’t know which side of the Internet you are on but if you are reading this we are probably on a similar one. And...