Author: BradQuan Copeland
Page: 2
By BradQuan Copeland. SAUGERTIES, N.Y. – November 15, 2025 – Sheets of rain mercilessly hammered my windshield as the wipers worked in overdrive to preserve my view. The shadow-soaked highway, coupled with the erratic mist kicked up by sixteen-wheelers, presented a hellacious obstacle worthy of weathering on my way to Saugerties. There, at The Local—a […]
By BradQuan Copeland. Holiday mystique tends to fade with age, unless one has children, which I do not. Such days often blur into any other, Halloween being one of them. Without plans but a refusal to bow to boredom, I did research to see what the city had to offer. “Lark Halloween Pre-Party with Laura […]
By BradQuan Copeland. On the third Thursday of the month, I parked my car and pressed my way through the brisk autumn wind of a hushed, dusky evening to the Stella Pasta Bar and Bistro, where the Brian Patneaude Quartet was set to take the stage at the adjoining Van Dyck Music Club. I couldn’t […]
By BradQuan Copeland. Recently, I stumbled into the opportunity to experience an event I’d only vaguely heard of in passing: roller derby. Located at the Washington Avenue Armory in Albany, I entered the facility bearing a childlike curiosity. After purchasing my $15 ticket, half of the proceeds benefitting a local women’s nonprofit, I entered the […]
By BradQuan Copeland. It was about a year ago now that I had the opportunity to see Troy, New York’s own Hank Stacks perform live at a community rap event. It was the summer, it was late, the street was flooded with bar hoppers, artists, photographers, and spectators. People were making their way in and […]
by BradQuan Copeland. As a neurodivergent being, I’ve often struggled to communicate and connect with those around me. The umbrella of normality casts an overbearing shadow, suffocating the liberation of the oddly unique. I’m an outsider in a world where raw, ugly truth bearing its own peculiar beauty lies calcified beneath layers of ignorance, molded […]
By BradQuan Copeland. What does it mean to be a writer? I ask myself that every time I struggle to pick up a pen and stroke its point against the loose-leaf canvas. Thoughts live as murmurs within the oubliette of my mind that I struggle to make sense of and set free, leading to the […]
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