Blew through it Now she holds me in her grasp, tightly, lightly And the wind is settling my hair amongst my shoulders as I stride, I glide
Indeed, to her I was only one, White knuckles and clenched teeth Chipping against the wet pleasure of my tongue
I pass through momentarily only for her to mould me She knows I am something malleable She knows and this power belongs only to her
I have become part of the concrete Street, the beat, the sheets That hang silently in silent gardens where silent women Watch me pass by As if they know, they see, seen her Do this before.
We’re halfway through 2023 and critics are slouching towards their Best Records Of The Year So Far lists. They’re rarely happy about it. If dicing releases every 12 months is arbitrary, then six months is labor on a factory line, wood chips for the content mill. But this year, I feel like they hate these lists more than usual. They’re having a hard time picking much. And maybe you are, too. P...
At the close of 2022, Bitcoin wasn’t just down—it was so down that its precipitous fall was breaking records. One report from Bank of America suggested that the collapse in value was the fifth-worst for any asset in financial history. Despite steady gains this year, it hasn’t even come close to its November 2021 peak, and now things are about to get shaken up like a bead in a baby’s rattle w...
In Ari Aster’s 2016 short film C’est La Vie, Chester Crummings, a homeless man, speaks directly and combatively to camera about his life and society at large as he wanders the streets of LA, surviving, begging for change and casually murdering people. At one point, he says: “You know what Freud says about the nature of horror? He says it’s when the home becomes unhomelike. Unheimlich.”
In Sig...
