by Benjamin Russack “Just make sure she doesn’t fuck anybody.” Tai worked the teeth of a comb across his fingers. “Alright?” I listened to the uneven tick of the plastic tines. Better than anyone else, I knew why Tai was nervous. Nineteen, fierce, brunette Joyce often took breakfast with no one but herself, at a […]
posted by Nigel Voight The above video is first person footage of the devastation wreaked by the Japanese tsunami. After viewing the video, if you wish to contribute, the instructions below are from The American Red Cross. [From source: Red Cross] The Red Cross is asking for help to aid Japan. If you are in […]
Justice in the Case of Luis Santos’ Death: A California Citizen and Friend of the Santos’ Family Weighs In
Just a few years ago, in August 2008, I was sitting at a party in the home of the Santos family. Their home was full of love and laughter, and it was then that I was introduced to Luis Santos. He was a beautiful boy; and I could see him becoming a handsome man in the future. He was charming and quick to smile and laugh. He interacted with his elderly relatives, parents, and cousins in a way that was thoughtful and considerate. I spoke with him for quite a while that day, and he told me all about the goals had for himself, and what sounded like big plans for a really bright future I was both charmed and impressed by him.
It began with a Facebook event invite that had a catchy title: “Anger Friday for Revolution Against Corruption, Injustice, Unemployment, and Torture.” Roughly eighty thousand people were classified as “attending”, but the replies of over one million Facebook users were still listed “awaited”. Perhaps that was because there were several virtual farms and cities that needed tending to, and this was no game. Tahrir Square was to be both the physical and symbolic center of the protest, an appropriate decision given that tahrir is Arabic for ‘liberation’. Unlike the previous protest which had taken place three days earlier, this one was planned from the very start to go nationwide.
by Eros-Alegra Clarke Prayers All day my body is curved around my seven-month-old baby, Joaquin. He rides on my hip, his hand resting on my breast, his arm slung over my shoulder. I am once again transformed into a one-armed pourer of tea, maker of ba-bas, masher of potatoes. A one-finger typist. In less than […]