Crimson staff writer

Dylan R. Ragas

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It is All Half Lights* / Before Memorial Day

The androgynous mind sleeps, it is halting/halted, faulting/faulted —


Weaver’s Way / In Blue

And the ceilings are high, voices echo from two rooms over among arches and paneling. Dark water. A river, green and lapping in a distant country in which I’ve never stepped foot —


In Italy / Mary & Joanna

In Italy I learn things that I did not learn


Inherited / Northeast Regional

Inherited For somewhere, there’s a house that’s burning. An old man rambles how after a hard day of work the first thing


“Elite” Season 7 Review: All Glamor, No Grounding

After a promising and carefully-planned first three seasons, seasons four through six of “Elite” signaled the show’s definitive decline, and unfortunately, season seven seems poised to be the final nail in the coffin.


Absence / Siren

Dylan R. Ragas ’26’s column, “Yard Sale Organs,” is a collection of poems that attempt to make sense of a past — real, imagined, but mostly somewhere in between.


Blood Gone Red / Blood Song

Dylan R. Ragas ’26’s column, “Yard Sale Organs,” is a collection of poems that attempt to make sense of a past — real, imagined, but mostly somewhere in between.