Charge filed against woman who called police on black birdwatcher

© BBC News
July 6, 2020

A white woman in New York is facing a criminal charge for calling 911 on a black man after he asked her to put her dog on a lead in Central Park.
Amy Cooper, who was shown calling police in a viral video, is accused of filing a false report, punishable by up to one year in jail.

Blowtorch On A Pig


I made a pact with myself to never
write anything Bukowski again


then comes this via the Pony Express of my computer,
“Would you like to send unpublished poetry
or-and an essay on Charles Bukowski…”


I never met the man


never got loaded with him
talked shit about women
writing or the track


never laughed it up at one of his
infamous Hollywood shindigs


never pressed that flesh


more than once over the years
I’d walk into Baroque Books & Red would say,
“Kid, tomorrow at Musso’s,
noon. Be there.”


“Okay Red, see ya then.”


I had nothing to offer but nerves
which of course always
got the better of me


did see him once in 1987
when Barbet Schroeder’s Bukowski Tapes
debuted at EZTV in West Hollywood


Bukowski stood before us, cased the room,
“I don’t smoke weed man. People who smoke
pot are just fucking idiots. They do nothing, they
read Zap comics & watch too much TV.
It slows you down man, takes the
edge off. It’s a dull way to go.”


with steady grace he raises the
green bottle in his fist & pulls on it,
“This,” he slaps it, “is something,” his face relaxing into a
generous grin that lights the room
& captures everything


he takes another tug,
“This shit makes the world
a better place.”


Bukowski chuckles
a bluebird circles overhead


“Makes me feel like
the gods are smiling down on me,
like maybe I’ve got half a chance
coming out of the gate.”


he fixes a sober gaze upon the audience
shifts his weight a bit like an old prize fighter,
“Okay, okay… I’ve talked enough.
Enjoy the movie.”


& he & his beer
are gone


22 years later & a few miles west of Santa Anita
just past the long green money
& kept lawns of San Marino
Charles Bukowski smiles
across the main exhibition hall of the
Huntington Library at
William Shakespeare
under glass


Hank dead center of the centuries
shoulder to shoulder with other
quiet giants of arts & letters


blistering wisteria drip like warm wax in the
Southern California sun


Jacarandas announce the lavender spring


as pools of splashing laughter erupt from the suburbs
as the advancing city sings a strange fire that never dies


as I promise you


this will never

-S.A. Griffin

Who was Smedley Darlington Butler, and why is he important?

© Jim Hightower
May 24, 2018

Many Americans can’t believe that political coups are part of our country’s history – but consider from the Wall Street Putsch of 1933.

Never heard of it? It was a corporate conspiracy to oust Franklin D. Roosevelt, who had just been elected president. With the Great Depression raging and millions of families financially devastated, FDR had launched several economic recovery programs to help people get back on their feet. To pay for this crucial effort, he had the audacity to raise taxes on the wealthy, and this enraged a group of Wall Street multimillionaires.

... full article

Years of the Modern


YEARS of the modern! years of the unperform’d!
Your horizon rises—I see it parting away for more august dramas;
I see not America only—I see not only Liberty’s nation, but other nations
I see tremendous entrances and exits—I see new combinations—I see the solidarity
I see that force advancing with irresistible power on the world’s stage;
(Have the old forces, the old wars, played their parts? are the acts suitable to them
I see Freedom, completely arm’d, and victorious, and very haughty, with Law on one
and Peace on the other,
A stupendous Trio, all issuing forth against the idea of caste;
—What historic denouements are these we so rapidly approach?
I see men marching and countermarching by swift millions;
I see the frontiers and boundaries of the old aristocracies broken;
I see the landmarks of European kings removed;
I see this day the People beginning their landmarks, (all others give way;)
—Never were such sharp questions ask’d as this day;
Never was average man, his soul, more energetic, more like a God;
Lo! how he urges and urges, leaving the masses no rest;
His daring foot is on land and sea everywhere—he colonizes the Pacific, the


With the steam-ship, the electric telegraph, the newspaper, the wholesale engines of war,
With these, and the world-spreading factories, he interlinks all geography, all lands;
—What whispers are these, O lands, running ahead of you, passing under the seas?
Are all nations communing? is there going to be but one heart to the globe?
Is humanity forming, en-masse?—for lo! tyrants tremble, crowns grow dim;
The earth, restive, confronts a new era, perhaps a general divine war;
No one knows what will happen next—such portents fill the days and nights;
Years prophetical! the space ahead as I walk, as I vainly try to pierce it, is full of
Unborn deeds, things soon to be, project their shapes around me;
This incredible rush and heat—this strange extatic fever of dreams, O years!
Your dreams, O year, how they penetrate through me! (I know not whether I sleep or wake!)
The perform’d America and Europe grow dim, retiring in shadow behind me,
The unperform’d, more gigantic than ever, advance, advance upon me.

-Walt Whitman

Without Radical Community Education, We Won’t Move Beyond “Comfortable” Reforms

Donna Nevel, © Truthout
July 4, 2020

Many of us are reflecting on what it means to engage critically within our own communities as a way of supporting and being accountable to broader movements for justice. In this moment, prioritizing community education — a process of learning and teaching together toward meaningful social change — is one of the many ways that those of us not directly targeted by anti-Black racism can collectively support and participate in movements to abolish policing, prisons, and all systems that profit off of and perpetuate anti-Blackness.

... full article

but the other


but the other
day i was passing a certain
gate rain
fell as it will


in spring
of silver gliding from sunny
thunder into freshness


as if god’s flowers were
pulling upon bells of
gold i looked


thought to myself death
and will You with
elaborate fingers possibly touch


the pink hollyhock existence whose
pansy eyes look from morning till
night into the street
unchangingly the always


old lady sitting in her
gentle window like
a reminiscence


softly at whose gate smile
always the chosen
flowers of reminding

-e.e. cummings

Repensar la categoría de cine poético como propuesta estética transversal en la obra fílmica de Carlos Reygadas y Lisandro Alonso

Júlia González de Canales Carcereny
October 3, 2019

¿Qué es el cine poético y cuáles son sus fuentes? Este artículo propone estudiar la obra de los directores Carlos Reygadas y Lisandro Alonso de manera conjunta y comparada, agrupándola bajo un mismo marco conceptual compartido: el cine poético. Si bien la categoría de cine poético no es nueva, parece haber caído en desuso. Por ello, propongo revisar cómo, desde el formalismo ruso hasta la actualidad, su conceptualización se ha ido modificando hasta llegar a ser adoptada por los directores arriba mencionados. Estudiar los orígenes de dicho cine poético, ubicados en la modernidad cinematográfica, ayudará a comprender la obra de estos cineastas al llevar un paso más allá las categorías que hasta ahora se le han aplicado (películas de autor/de festival/transnacionales) y, por ende, conceptualizándola como ejercicio de cine poético. De esta manera se busca contribuir al estudio de la obra de ambos cineastas, aportando una nueva perspectiva de análisis: el cine poético.

... full article

In Midnight Sleep

IN midnight sleep, of many a face of anguish,
Of the look at first of the mortally wounded—of that indescribable look;
Of the dead on their backs, with arms extended wide,
I dream, I dream, I dream.

Of scenes of nature, fields and mountains;
Of skies, so beauteous after a storm—and at night the moon so unearthly bright,
Shining sweetly, shining down, where we dig the trenches and gather the heaps,
I dream, I dream, I dream.

Long, long have they pass’d—faces and trenches and fields;
Where through the carnage I moved with a callous composure—or away from the fallen,
Onward I sped at the time—But now of their forms at night,
I dream, I dream, I dream.

-Walt Whitman