Photos from Calais Jungle
Photo from Calais Jungle
by Vincent Peal
About the artist…
Vincent Peal is a Belgian photographer who lives currently in New York City. These are some pics about the work he did in a refugee camp in Calais – France.
Dendrophilia & The Guardians
Dendrophilila & The Guardians
by Andrew Blucha
Burnt Rubber
Burnt Rubber
Tor Strand
The sky drips like penicillin.
And the bike tire slips off the sidewalk,
slips out of gear
makes a world
out of seconds and six inches. The man falls
on the black tar highway. Gravel screams—
head, then body.
He lies there,
like the deer do.
“Piece of shit,”
he says when he comes to.
“Knocked myself out a second.”
Man of sharp bone,
ribbons of muscle and tattoos,
“Finally found someone who can knock
me out. Me!”
He does’t want us, 9-1-1, our milky words
or forced gestures, our faces
fogged mirrors unable to find his,
unable to feel the gravel dyed red across
his forehead.
“Are you okay?” I’m a false […]
I Am an Alien
I Am an Alien
by Sigal Ben-David
Artist Statement:
The immigration process can be told through the use of two parallel narratives. One engages the bureaucratic process, in which a person is identified by an Alien number and generates hundreds of documents. This narrative reduces a person to numbers and facts, cancelling out the complexity of the person and the context in which s/he exists. A second narrative involves a reconstruction of self and identity in the new place. This work, entitled I Am an Alien, reflects on the question of identity, exploring the fraught relationship […]
Collage
Collage
#5, #3, & #2
by Jeronimo
Last Week of the Month
Myka Owen
Abstract
In this text, I give the reader a first-person view of my experience while incarcerated at the Broward County Jail on a charge that was immediately dismissed by the judge that I was brought upon. Though I felt the charge was ludicrous, the dehumanization and fear that was instilled in me made it very hard to simply “move past” the ridiculousness of the arrest. This was my first and only time being arrested, something I feel like everyone will eventually go through despite being innocent or cooperative. There are simply times where the “justice […]
The Smoke in the Room
Courtney Patterson
I’m inside the smoke filled claustrophobia of his barracks apartment. The carpet is uncomfortable and tight, a dingy grey green in color. My mother is drunk. She always is when we come here. It’s been a few weeks since Donald. Or maybe it’s been days, I can’t be sure. Daylight seems to pass slowly and quickly simultaneously, and my nightmares are only getting worse and more persistent. My mother won’t stop talking about it. I wish she would just stop. I relive it enough inside my own head on a daily basis. Every time […]
The Never-End of History: Finding Meaning in the World-Historical Moment
Mark Howard
INTRODUCTION
In 1989 Francis Fukuyama(1)claimed that the end of history was upon us; Liberal Democracy had prevailed in the social, political, and ideological unfolding of secular modernity, and competing social forms could no longer pretend to offer viable alternatives. It would only be a matter of time, he felt, before deniers of this truth would be converted into the faith.
The end of history, as I understand it, is the end of politics; and politics, as I define it, is the process of contestation over social form. What Fukuyama was essentially claiming was that […]
Fare
Rowan O’Neal
When the old man boarded the bus dragging his rolling metal basket, laden with groceries, he joked that he had nearly 200 pounds. The driver asked how far he was going, to which the old man replied, “Oh two, three stops, just up to the top of the hill.” There really was not much of a hill, but it was clear that the old man would not have been able to drag his groceries that far. The driver told the man not to worry about his fare which seemed sensible, […]
On The Night You Were Angry
Fiona Haborak
In the reflective glass, you spy a distorted version of yourself. An agitated woman stares back. So, you shrink a little further into yourself, shoulders hunched to avoid attention. Dark circles hang under your eyes far heavier than your Burlington bag bargain find. Cheap, purple earbuds jostle with every stop announced over the intercom. You sigh and shuffle closer to the sliding doors to make for a swift exit.
You must be tired of the songs they write about girls: the ones you will never be. You’re drowning in your oversized sweater, your woolen […]