March 15, 2013
For two months
I have not writtena word.My voice, a lowgrumble, disturbsour quarterlike the rumbleof the millstonewhich having nothing to grindgrinds itself.
—Gevorg Emin, “The Block” (translated from the Armenian by Diana Der Hovanessian). theparisreview
Photography Credit Fred Herzog (via)

For two months

I have not written
a word.

My voice, a low
grumble, disturbs
our quarter

like the rumble
of the millstone
which having nothing to grind
grinds itself.

Gevorg Emin, “The Block” (translated from the Armenian by Diana Der Hovanessian). theparisreview

Photography Credit Fred Herzog (via)

March 13, 2013

Hope For The Best… Prepare For The Worst

via anoncentral

Hope For The Best… Prepare For The Worst

via anoncentral

(Source: basedinternet, via justwakethefuckup)

March 11, 2013
The food you eat or brush you’re using may have been made by a worker earning less than a dollar an hour — not in the developing world, but in the invisible workforce inside America’s prisons. Share this if you oppose prison labor for profit. 
 Source: http://ow.ly/iwTlY
When I was in prison I worked 3 shifts a day, 5 days a week, starting at 5 AM and ending at 8 PM. I was paid $5.25 a month. Pay for the inmates who facilitate UNICOR workers (by making their food, washing their laundry, etc,) is even lower than the wages cited in the above graphics. The prison industry is also a slave industry, and it isn’t just corporations who benefit. All the furniture you see in federal buildings, post offices, DMVs, etc, where do you think it comes from? Prison labor. I think a lot of people know about states that use prison labor for license plates, but fewer people know that the plaques on doors at city halls, and sometimes the doors themselves, come from prison labor. The incarcerated are a hyper-exploited class unto themselves, and almost no one seems to be helping them to organize.
93 cents is a little on the high side. In NYC’s Rikers Island, the largest prison in the world with 11,000 prisoners, raised their prisoners wage to 39 cents per hour during the Sandy recover. 
Of the estimated 11,000 inmates, 92 to 95 percent of the Rikers population is black or Latino. Yet whites make up the majority (44%) of NYC’s population.
via anarcho-queer

The food you eat or brush you’re using may have been made by a worker earning less than a dollar an hour — not in the developing world, but in the invisible workforce inside America’s prisons. Share this if you oppose prison labor for profit. 


Source: http://ow.ly/iwTlY

When I was in prison I worked 3 shifts a day, 5 days a week, starting at 5 AM and ending at 8 PM. I was paid $5.25 a month. Pay for the inmates who facilitate UNICOR workers (by making their food, washing their laundry, etc,) is even lower than the wages cited in the above graphics. The prison industry is also a slave industry, and it isn’t just corporations who benefit. All the furniture you see in federal buildings, post offices, DMVs, etc, where do you think it comes from? Prison labor. I think a lot of people know about states that use prison labor for license plates, but fewer people know that the plaques on doors at city halls, and sometimes the doors themselves, come from prison labor. The incarcerated are a hyper-exploited class unto themselves, and almost no one seems to be helping them to organize.

93 cents is a little on the high side. In NYC’s Rikers Island, the largest prison in the world with 11,000 prisoners, raised their prisoners wage to 39 cents per hour during the Sandy recover

Of the estimated 11,000 inmates, 92 to 95 percent of the Rikers population is black or Latino. Yet whites make up the majority (44%) of NYC’s population.

via anarcho-queer

(Source: socialismartnature, via justwakethefuckup)

March 10, 2013

By turn hilarious and haunting, poet Shane Koyczan puts his finger on the pulse of what it’s like to be young and … different. “To This Day,” his spoken-word poem about bullying, captivated millions as a viral video (created, crowd-source style, by 80 animators). Here, he gives a glorious, live reprise with backstory and violin accompaniment by Hannah Epperson.
Please watch…it’s 12 minutes of your life,

March 6, 2013
"

There isn’t a word for walking out of the grocery store
with a gallon jug of milk in a plastic sack
that should have been bagged in double layers

—so that before you are even out the door
you feel the weight of the jug dragging
the bag down, stretching the thin

plastic handles longer and longer
and you know it’s only a matter of time until
bottom suddenly splits.

There is no single, unimpeachable word
for that vague sensation of something
moving away from you

as it exceeds its elastic capacity
—which is too bad, because that is the word
I would like to use to describe standing on the street

chatting with an old friend
as the awareness grows in me that he is
no longer a friend, but only an acquaintance,

a person with whom I never made the effort—
until this moment, when as we say goodbye
I think we share a feeling of relief,

a recognition that we have reached
the end of a pretense,
though to tell the truth

what I already am thinking about
is my gratitude for language—
how it will stretch just so much and no farther;

how there are some holes it will not cover up;
how it will move, if not inside, then
around the circumference of almost anything—

how, over the years, it has given me
back all the hours and days, all the
plodding love and faith, all the

misunderstandings and secrets
I have willingly poured into it.

"

“There Is No Word,” Tony Hoagland (via commovente)

(via notsoterriblymisanthropic)

March 5, 2013

15-year-old Fabienne Cherisma, who was shot and killed by police in Haiti after stealing two two plastic chairs and three framed pictures.

At the Swedish Picture of the Year Awards, photojournalist Paul Hansen was recognised as International News Photographer and won the International News Image for his image of Fabienne.

The second photo is by Nathan Weber.

March 1, 2013
"She agitated for poetry “as living language, the core of every language, something that is still spoken, aloud or in the mind, muttered in secret, subversive, reaching around corners, crumpled into a pocket, performed to a community, read aloud to the dying, recited by heart, scratched or sprayed on a wall. That kind of language.”"

The Lives They Lived by Cheryl Strand, writing of Adrienne Rich, The New York Times (30/02/13)

February 26, 2013
beaupatrick:

The one that got away

beaupatrick:

The one that got away

February 22, 2013
"Change yourself in the way you want everyone else to change
Love your enemies in case your friends turn out to be jerks
Avoid thinking about winning the lottery while making love
Brainwash yourself before someone nasty beats you to it
Confess big secrets to people who aren’t very interested
Write a love letter to your evil twin during a lunar eclipse
Fool the tricky red beasts guarding the Wheels of Time
Locate the master codex and add erudite graffiti to it
Dream up wilder, wetter, more interesting problems
Change your name every day for a thousand days
Kill the apocalypse and annihilate Armageddon
Exaggerate your flaws till they turn into virtues
Brag about what you can’t do and don’t have
Get a vanity license plate that reads KZMYAZ
Bow down to the greatest mystery you know
Make fun of people who make fun of people"

— Rob Brezsny,  PRONOIA Is the Antidote for Paranoia: How the Whole World Is Conspiring to Shower You with Blessings

February 18, 2013
theparisreview:

Illustration by Pablo Picasso, Chez Camille Renault, Puteaux. From a collection of Livres d’Or, which are leather-bound books kept by many restaurateurs and bar-owners in which their guests, especially if well-known, are asked to inscribe their names and if possible a sentiment or two in praise of the food. Camille Renault’s restaurant outside Paris has one of the best known, volumes of them piled high on a special table in one of the dining rooms.
(Via our Instagram feed)

theparisreview:

Illustration by Pablo Picasso, Chez Camille Renault, Puteaux. From a collection of Livres d’Or, which are leather-bound books kept by many restaurateurs and bar-owners in which their guests, especially if well-known, are asked to inscribe their names and if possible a sentiment or two in praise of the food. Camille Renault’s restaurant outside Paris has one of the best known, volumes of them piled high on a special table in one of the dining rooms.

(Via our Instagram feed)