Month: October 2018

Three Poems by Alyssa Harmon

Installment 34 of Car Poems slows down for a closer look at quotidien situations that we normally bypass. Alyssa Harmon’s vignettes invite us to linger upon car ads, sudden departures, and passengers for whom we take longer than necessary. *** a car advertisement jeep wrangler 1997 62416 miles manual transmission (that’s why he won’t hold your hand) gas meter not very reliable (or maybe it was just his poor judgment) cool ac for the sticky florida summers removable soft top for unplanned drives in storms a loud engine to fill the heavy silences one too many nights spent in...

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How Much Does Your Conscience Weigh, Mr. Foster?

Dear Norman, I just read the following in the Architect’s Journal: “Amid an escalating crisis over the missing journalist Jamal Khashoggi, Saudi authorities have announced Foster’s place on the advisory board of its $500 billion NEOM project. An official statement seen by the AJ and dated last Tuesday (9 October) announced that Foster is one of 18 ‘global experts’ on NEOM’s global advisory board, which would help realise the mission of the proposed desert mega-city, described as the world’s most ambitious project.” I know you superstar architects can never say no to a project when a generous budget is involved and you are given carte blanche by the client, not to mention immunity from environmental feasibility studies, community participation workshops, or building permit applications. Those things –like taxes– are for little architects. You would know better than anyone. I, for one, wish to hereby inform you of my refusal to cover the NEOM project in the future in any way, shape or form. And I call on all critics to follow suit. Sincerely, Rafa   P.S. Just so you don’t feel singled out, Rem was the recipient of a similar letter some years ago, on a similar topic. Source:...

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Cypress Hill — Elephants on Acid

Cypress Hill Elephants on Acid BMG For many of my generation, Cypress Hill formed a key component of the soundtrack of our youth.  For me, the first time I heard their ‘How I Could Just Kill a Man,’ I was hooked.  And floored.  They sounded like nothing else.  DJ Muggs created this paranoid, hallucinogenic world with his beats, which looped and swirled, but with a thumping back beat.  Rappers B-Real and Sen Dog offered brutal, heavy, and uncompromising views of the world, though delivered very differently.  B-Real, the main rapper, adopted a nasal voice, based on Ad-Rock of the Beastie Boys.  Sen Dog, though he didn’t appear on every track, was harder.  His voice deeper, threatening almost.  The Hill was also the first massive Latinx hop hop act.  And over the course of their first two albums, their eponymous début (1990) and the masterful Black Sunday (1992), they were dominant.  They were trippy, they were vicious, they were uncompromising and unforgiving.  And the beats were supreme. For reasons that remain lost to history, Muggs gave up the producers’ chair with III: Temples of Boom, sharing duties with RZA.  Sen Dog was also out of the group temporarily.  And this began The Hill’s journey into the wilderness.  Over the late 90s and 2000s, they became increasingly difficult to follow, their lyrics became a parody of their early 90s selves.  And Muggs seemed flat...

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Lost and Found by Yi-Wen Huang

Installment 33 boards a different mode of transportation than usual. Yi-Wen Huang’s unlucky passenger shifts from an initial sense of comfort, to the disorienting forces of turbulence, lost luggage, and lost vision. Just as things can’t get much worse, airports reveal the kindness of strangers–the sacrifices that people in transit make for those they will never see again.    *** Lost and Found On the plane from Toronto Canada to Copenhagen Denmark You sat next to me Luckily no one sat between us You looked so familiar Asian and White Sitting comfortably with both legs up on the seat...

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Beautiful Funeral by Gavin Mndawe

Our third installment of Anti-Genre is a thoughtful, unflinching rumination on death and the transforming moments that surround it, by Gavin Mndawe.   *** Beautiful Funeral Atoms roam round a tomb stone It takes more than a fool to know That funerals are for fools alone It is said that he’s dead What an illusion though I don’t consider it the end Maybe diffusion or moving along It’s sad that he’s dead At least it wasn’t by noose or sword Besides, the silver cord must be torn For the core to be loosed Man, you’re manure For intangible germination Ritual killing of kings Is sacrificial flogging Facing pressure They make impressions Not seeing beyond the vision Of decomposition And the end of anything definite And comprehended In a hundredth of a second Also known as ‘jiffy’ Let the dead in the spirit Bury corpses of the flesh Sacrificing in spite of the tension There’s a limping longing for lightning To reanimate him They say there’s never life Without the latter Reason why it’s got wings And a net to snatch us That’s liberation and captive Birth only took us backwards Chaos has been there Since day one Before expiry-date-slapped Sun Whose fuel will run out Was spun by the spit of the one When worlds weren’t whirled Into the wild It is the sentiment of Darwinism Representative of ascension One...

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