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Josh Wagner
Josh Wagner is a senior staff writer, studying romantic poetry (and sometimes philosophy). He spends his time navigating the treacherous bike paths near the Main Quad and reciting his favorite George Herbert sonnet to strangers.

The Dualist: The ruined image

There is no photograph that is not a failure. To take a photo of something (and not another thing) belies an implicit ethical relationship to that thing; to be seen is to be loved. The implicit goal of the photograph is to depict a portion of reality in exacting detail, to reproduce the world as…

Badlands: Q&A with head curator Reilly Clark

Reilly Clark (’19) and Reily Haag (’19), co-presidents of the Profession Art Society of Stanford, head-curated an art exhibition, Badlands, currently at the O’Donohue Stanford Educational Farm. Focusing on indigenous photographer Josué Rivas’ photographs of protests at Standing Rock, Badlands also features work directly responding to Rivas’ intense images. The Daily sat down with Clark…

Respecting silence

Philosophy comes too late. The point at which an aesthetic idea or concept is formalized and widely accepted enough to persuade a publisher, receive a book deal, meet a deadline and enrapture an audience is the point at which it becomes embalmed. Like a motionless monument, the Academy transmutes the living and breathing into deadened…

Us and them

Josh Wagner meditates on how we know people, and the connection between the self inside the mind and self revealed to the outside world throughout actions.

The long present

I do the same thing every morning. And I convince myself that I don’t. Surely, I can’t have been going through the same actions, in the same order, for the past four weeks, the past five-and-a-half quarters, the past 19 years. But I have. And – now that I’m thinking about it – it makes sense.…

Fact: I can’t remember anything

The mitochondria are the powerhouse of the cell. In 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue. Rosa Parks led the Montgomery Bus Boycotts in the 1960s. All of these basic facts about the world that we were taught in school are inside all of us. Regardless of where we were educated in the U.S., the chances…

What I’d like to forget

I don’t remember most of my life. What I ate for breakfast last week, how I spent my January 2007, the color of the grass in Los Angeles in mid-September, what it feels like to be in the second grade are all gone, erased from my mind. If I was asked what I did on…

Writing through the body

Write through your body! I return to this seemingly simple command every few weeks, whenever I am faced with difficulties writing. At first glance, “writing through” seems like an odd expression of the physical act of composition – a neural impulse that registers in my brain and is transferred to the appropriate nerves that move…

The face of another

I can’t remember faces. Whether it’s someone I quickly met waiting in line at Coupa or a friend from my freshman dorm, I have trouble placing faces, especially from a distance or if they are laughing. It seems that I’m always looking at people who I feel I should know, or who I do actually…

In search of a lost major

I don’t want to have a major. I don’t want to have to specialize within an ever-changing field. I don’t want to take prerequisites for the sake of qualifying for a higher-level course. I don’t want to check boxes on a major requirements form. Even though I could just choose a major like comparative literature, which…

Living with art

I want to live with an original piece of art. Sleep underneath it. Solve p-sets within arm’s reach. Feel its presence as I attempt to find a matching pair of socks. And the easiest place to find art is in a museum, namely at the Cantor. So, last week, excited by the idea, I walked…

Cadets discuss history, challenges of ROTC at Stanford

Three times a week, Nicolas Lozano-Landinez ’18 wakes up at 5 a.m., dons his Army Reserve Officer Training Corp (ROTC) uniform and orders a ZipCar while many Stanford students are still asleep. The only sounds that Lozano-Landinez hears as he walks to the car is the rustling of his uniform and the echo of his black shoes on gravel. He is joined by Pablo Lozano ’18, the other Stanford Army ROTC cadet, before they travel to Santa Clara University for training.
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