Both Little Simz’s “SIMBI” and Mild High Club’s “Going Going Gone” diverge from the artists’ previous projects, experimenting with eclectic sounds and building upon the work of important artists from older generations.
These stories and poems [in Terror House Magazine] mean exactly what they depict: the darkness and violence, desecration, addiction, and afflictions of late capitalism. They offer no analysis or interpretation, which renders the litany of horrors utterly meaningless. There are no hermeneutics or erotics; they offer nothing to see, touch, or feel, consigning the website to the red-pilled universe of suffering.
When I was younger, I attributed great size to important places. My grandparents’ condo, for example, was a labyrinth of rooms and towering ceilings. My cousins and I raced through the dark hallways like they were the Catacombs of Paris—stretching for miles, buffering the sound of our sprints and collisions with their sheer enormity.
While lawmakers got to tout their participation in making these murals as a win for BLM, the movement had really been asking for concrete policy change that put BLM’s demands into law.
One may argue that the Orient and the Occident neither are nor can become the things they represent, since language is always prone to being representative. This exercise regarding paintings under the light of language and representation may alert the need to change our constructed way of understanding the Occident and the Orient.
There was a tree I liked to climb in the backyard of my childhood home. “Liked to climb,” I should say, are someone else’s words. I don’t know when they became my own, but some time between then and now I adopted the words in agreement that climbing that tree was something I liked to do and did often.
Through her work, Adichie seeks to dismantle the pervasive “single story” of Africa, arguing that “stories have been used to dispossess and malign, but stories can also be used to empower and to humanize.” This urgency and desire to provide a more nuanced narrative and amplify the voices of the unheard is easily apparent in Adichie’s 2006 novel, Half of a Yellow Sun.
To be sure, it was captivating television, just not good. I was riveted by the storyline, but quickly felt uncomfortable as to why I, like so many others, was having fun.