BY DEMITRI ADDERLEY
I’ve always thought that the idea to pay to live on Mother Earth was one of humanity’s greatest crimes against itself. Clearly a supremacist philosophy– controlling grids, metering energy, suppressing fact, and dispensing taxes. These gentrifiers are dangerous! Buying communities out of their own land…foreign invaders from the shadowlands of the capitalist regime. Snaking deals from the pockets of Babylon merchants – leveraging your land, your children’s future over the strength of a failing dollar. Continue reading
BY STEVEN GRAY
I write reviews of films for people who have already seen them, and to let others know a certain film exists, however foreign, old, obscure, or obtuse.
I use a movie as a starting point and free-associate myself into an essay.
I come up with a five or six-page meditation on the automatic sin machine of cinema.
I may give away the plot or not, while questioning the mass psychology of entertainment. Continue reading
BY MARÍA CRISTINA HALL
For decades, communities of undocumented immigrants have been shrouded in poverty and institutional neglect. Their migratory status—sometimes an imposed condition, as is the case with children brought to the United States—condemns immigrants to a life in the shadows.
In this interview at the University Tecnologico de Monterrey in Mexico City, deported persons shared what it’s like to have to leave the country, what it’s like to be recruited in a gang, and what it’s like to adapt to Mexico having lived an entire life in the USA. They shared their stories and the stories of their mothers, sisters, and friends back home. Please give it a listen.
BY STEVEN GRAY
There used to be a video rental store in San Francisco which specialized in Japanese films. This was in the 1980s. I wandered in one afternoon, not planning on renting any tapes but curious what they had. In the back was a section for X-rated films. I started reading the titles and descriptions since the translations were so demented. In going from Japanese to English the words passed through a warp which left them scrambled.
The week before the election, I was teaching about domestic violence and sexual assault in my Introduction to Sociology class. I talked about the cultural discourse that circulates around these issues, and to illuminate my points, I brought in cartoons from Hustler Magazine that I projected onto the screen. One cartoon made a mockery of incest; another cartoon made fun of rape.
With the legal defeat of Hillary Clinton Obliterator of Nations conspiracies abound have flooded the internet about fake news and the possible Russian connection. During the campaigns of 2016 scores of websites which essentially amount to digital versions of the National Inquirer circulated the internet. These websites trafficked in fake articles designed to sway the election this much is true, but this is fitting for a fake election.
“Sit down.” Mom patted the wooden bench between herself and my brothers John and Tom.
They were yawning. She said, “Pacing back and forth won’t help. You’re too wound up.”
I shook my head. “It’s 45 minutes after the time they said to be here.”
Mom said, “They’re in charge. Not you.”
In 1920, my father, 16, was a guest of the British government. He was a prisoner of their forces occupying Ireland at the time, a group called the Black and Tans.
One day he and seven other prisoners were brought out of their makeshift cells to dig their own graves in a small walled compound. As tradition would have it, they would be shot into their graves and other prisoners would be brought out to bury them.
And the time could not be more fitting.
I just got home after one of those more frustrating nights.
You know, one of those nights where you just want to burst through your door to run to your bed and take hold of your pillows, not because you want to cry into them, but because you want to scream into them?
Or you know, one of those nights where you just really need a good walk, or just a really good drink, or just any god-damn really good something because damn this world can be so fucked up sometimes?