New You in Old, Old America (or 1 Month & 2 Weeks in Shit Tons of Pain)

You are new to Georgetown when you arrive the first week of June. All you see are rainbows—flags of them, banners, geotags, advertisements, merchandise. Restaurants and clothing stores covered in streamers fluttering heavily in the thick humid air. It’s kind of South, you think, but Georgetown is so beautiful. Your mother had said, “Don’t walk alone here, people will wonder what you’re doing in this place.” She has already trained you to make a habit out of being very good. She thought it would protect your body from all the people who wanted to break it. But here in Georgetown, flags waving, colors streaming, you explore sidewalks in the daytime, awe-filled and fearless.

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[God is a set]

God is a set
of certain values.
He is the values
and they are him.

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American Dream

The past days I have spent falling into the blue vortex. What’s really scary about the internet is that it goes on forever. Websites— urls, bookmarks, forums—are only a method of organization, like chapters in a book or the Dewey decimal system. Scrolls disseminated human knowledge before books were able to organize them more efficiently

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September, 1945

Mr. Sohn, a slender, ginger-breathy old man who lived on the next block, said they were here to take Korea away from us.  He died within the first month.

Mother told me to put less garlic with the cabbage, because they didn’t like the smell. 

But I didn’t mind them, the new soldier patrol on our block, the American men in pairs with tall dusty boots, their steps heavy like the fresh tar they kept laying down in the fields, replacing everything Japanese.

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An Interview with Bear Witness

Known for mixing elements of First Nations music with EDM, Canadian DJs A Tribe Called Red explore a range of genres on their third album, We Are the Halluci Nation. Pitchfork praises the release as “some of the heaviest and most infectious sounds around,” going as far as to say, “This album is critical listening for everyone.” A Tribe Called Red will be performing at The Sinclair on Saturday, March 18.JK: I’d love to start by talking about the intersection of art and politics. Do you see yourself primarily as an activist? As an artist? Do you think the two are fundamentally tied together?BW: They can be for sure. In my case personally, I don’t really see myself as an activist. I see myself as indigenous. The activism isn’t really a choice for an indigenous person. It’s a part of life.JK: Is it irritating that the public perception of your art can be connected to your heritage and political causes that you haven’t necessarily chosen? Or does it feel like an honor to be part of that tradition?BW: It’s a responsibility really.

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Capsize #?????

AwashAkdeniz: Turkish for the Mediterranean. Translates to the “White Sea.” Imagine: you are 8 years-old. Innocence means nothing yet. You swim bare-bottomed; you are afraid of girls. You want to grow up to be just like dad, and your favourite colour is just red. Last week your father, hoarse, defeated, spoke of leaving, at last, for good. Whispered sickly in mother’s ear – her hair, waves of sand, softer than the look in her eyes, the look you can’t recognise; softer than her torn, work-worn hands. Murmured a word more giant than you could ever have fathomed. Deep down you knew it meant time here was up. Pale, it rose in your belly, then, the feeling that you’d be missing, somehow, the rubble and the blaze of home. Recall: you wake up in the middle of the night to leave for the dock.

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