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Top 5 csn:afu posts
- Photos From Vankleek Hill's 2018 'Festival of Flavours'
- Susan Jephcott's "Onà:ke, Canoes, etc." show at the AGCC
- A conversation with Heather Dubreuil... stitching art together with needle and thread
- The 'Vankleek Hill May Show' is dead, long live the 'VKH Victoria Day Weekend Arts Festival'... or something TBD later.
- A 17-Minute conversation with Williamstown artist, Erica Taylor... because 20 would be too much awesome for your brain.
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Previous 5 csn:afu posts
- Photos From Vankleek Hill’s 2018 ‘Festival of Flavours’
- Susan Jephcott’s “Onà:ke, Canoes, etc.” show at the AGCC
- A conversation with Heather Dubreuil… stitching art together with needle and thread
- The ‘Vankleek Hill May Show’ is dead, long live the ‘VKH Victoria Day Weekend Arts Festival’… or something TBD later.
- A 17-Minute conversation with Williamstown artist, Erica Taylor… because 20 would be too much awesome for your brain.
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Protected: Meeting Myself On The Corner.
Posted in Depression, Poetry, Pot, poverty, Punk
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Protected: Getting Past Hello
Posted in Depression, Poetry, Pot, poverty, Punk
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Why Are We Tearing Down Uncle Tom’s Cabin?
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“[A time comes when silence is betrayal] …the truth of these words is beyond doubt, but the mission to which they call us is a most difficult one. Even when pressed by the demands of inner truth, men do not easily assume the task of opposing their government’s policy, especially in time of war. Nor does the human spirit move without great difficulty against all the apathy of conformist thought within one’s own bosom and in the surrounding world… .”
Martin Luther King, April 4, 1967
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“Yo, you know what I want? I want the beat to drop right… now / Niggas be thinkin’ I’m crazy right? / You are crazy… / I ain’t crazy… / You are crazy… / At least I don’t think I’m crazy / I think my shit is hot, I think I’m hot / You hot but you crazy… / Why they wanna? …man… I don’t know…”
50 Cent, excerpted from “The Good Die Young” from “Power Of The Dollar” (2000)
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From the time moving pictures were invented until maybe only a decade or so ago at the max, the only film roles given to blacks, Asians or American Indians were ones of submission or of the noble savage. Either the doorman or the radical. Sam in “Casablanca” or Sydney Poitier as an FBI agent fighting racism in the Deep American South in “In The Heat of The Night”. Blaxploitation Flicks like “Shaft”, “Foxy Brown”, “Black Dracula” were patronizing movies made by parochial minds who saw an untapped market in the black American movie-going community and took advantage of it with pap (re: lesbian characters being tossed into programs like Law & Order Criminal Intent for no other reason than, “hey, lesbians buy shoes as well.”). The only role for someone with brown skin was as “Indian Number Six” in the western of the month. It took ninety years until a black man was allowed to be the lead in a mainstream movie.
All of this, I think, is to make a point about books. Or maybe popular culture. The first “bestselling” novel in America was “Uncle Tom’s Cabin”, a book about slavery where the primary character was a black man. And it was a strong character, a misunderstood character today, but still a very strong character. Then there’s the “Jim” character in “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn”, an honest to God fleshed out character who participates on almost every page. I’m going to extrapolate from only two sources here because I can’t think of anymore examples (it’s after midnight and I’m hungry), but there are more — a lot more, especially from 19th century American literature. And these were not submissive characters, these were not pro-slavery or segregationist books (although those were being written as well, of course). These were honest accounts of real activities.
Uncle Tom’s Cabin was written by Harriet Beecher Stowe, a white woman, as an anti-slavery tract because of her visit to a plantation and from meeting freed slaves. The book was very close to being a straight ahead manifesto on non-violent resistance. There were a significant number of literate and well-educated blacks in the American Northeast and in Southern and Eastern Canada and there were several black owned Publishing Houses where books were being published by freed slaves as they came north. American literature, published and written by black and white men and women in the late 18th until the late 19th centuries, was crucial to educating the white middle and upper classes on the evils of slavery, and played a key role in starting the American Civil War.
So late 18th and 19th century popular culture, through the written word, plays and music, were being fair to the black population’s misery, and there were even important books being written about the mistreatment and humiliation of the American Indian. So where did it all go when the 20th century opened up?
It’s as if all of the positive advances in American and World culture all went away in a puff of smoke when movies were invented. It’s as if film pushed the civil rights movement backwards, and the black character went from being strong and proud in print, to a doorman and a singing, laughing idiot on cellulose. It’s only been a few decades where a black person could direct a ‘major motion picture’, and only within the past few years could a black man be cast in a traditionally white lead role (Poitier was always cast to be a black man, Denzel Washington’s characters are universal… no black angst in “The Inside Man”). I keep writing “black man” because the time has either just arrived, or has yet to, where the same can be said of black women. Although Halle Barry seems to be breaking that barrier, black women are still the fourth tier in film: 1) White men; 2) White women; 3) Black men; 5) Animals; 6) Gay white men, and so on.
I think all of this is because there were thousands of people who had access to printing presses back in the Anti-Slavery Movement, but only ten with access to a movie studio since then. The same thing (movies and popular culture, pushing a movement backwards) happened in 1945 with the Women’s Rights Movement as well. The initial gains in the early 1900’s, the vote for example, had created a sense that women were easily the equal of men, but then the guys came back from war in 1945 and the movie studios started producing films with Suzy Q. Homemaker and easy, seductive, smoking women who secretly desired to be dominated by Bogart. Women spent forty years fighting back from those movies.
And now we’ve all got access to a printing press again in the Internet, so who leads whom? Does culture drive a movement, such as books did with the American Civil War, and the end of slavery”? Or must the movement force its way through culture, such as the American Civil Rights Movement of the 1950’s-70’s where the popular culture of the day actively opposed the Movement? [Aside: One of Gandhi’s favourite books was Uncle Toms Cabin. You’d think the book would be required reading everywhere, like maybe in the West Bank and Gaza Strip. Next post.] So what happens when there are so many voices (too many?), all of which can now be heard and read? How do you start an honest to god ‘Movement’ when you’ve got a hundred million voices and most of them only want to look at your naked teenage daughter?
Because, at the moment, the cartoonish creations by the music and video industry of “contemporary black culture” is moving the yardsticks backwards as surely as “The Pussycat Dolls” and “Fergie”, with each inane and insulting video, are pushing women back into three-foot wide shoulder pads and glass ceilings. The children being raised by this pap don’t understand the self-honour they lose each time they dress up like a cartoon-hooker and go dance like they’re auditioning for a porn movie, or sculpt their pathetic barely-post pubescent facial hair into tiny lines and walk around mall parking lots pretending they’re “so fucking hardcore” that they’d kill you as easily as flicking some dust off their shoulder.
Just as a point of interest, the only major Social Movement of the 20th century not to use violence, or have violence associated with it, was the Women’s Movement. Lots of marches and bra burnings, but no guns, riots or beatings.
[aside: Even here in Canada, when women got the vote back in the 20’s a lot of the white women leading the charge didn’t want women-of-colour to have the same right. Natives couldn’t vote here until the 60’s. Until the mid 60’s if you were a Francophone living in Quebec you earned 3% of what an Anglo took home…]
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How To Grow A Beard And Start A Revolution.
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How To Grow A Beard And Start A Revolution…
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Step One:
Let your beard grow. Actually I guess step one should be “be physically able to grow one.” Seriously though, stop shaving for six weeks. Mark it on a calender somewhere if you drink a lot.
Step Two:
Use shampoo, not hand soap, and rinse your beard really, really thoroughly. The soap, or lack of washing, is what makes it itchy.
Step Three:
After six weeks you can start trimming your beard — carefully — it took six fucking weeks to grow the damn thing so plan it out. And for fucks sakes, keep it off your neck. A beard is meant to conceal the evil in compliment your face not act as a hair transition from your forehead to your pubic area. Remember, it takes a few months until your beard is fully grown.
Step Four:
Sit back and wait for the checks to roll in. Yes, beards pay dividends.
Step Five:
Count the money, slowly.
Step Six:
Lay it out on a bed and nail your new trophy wife, Annette Bening, on all that frigging money.
Step Seven:
Buy the poor. That’s right, by now you’ll have enough money to buy all the frigging poor people.
Step Eight:
Make all the poor people grow beards, even the women and children… especially the women and children.
Step Nine:
Wait six weeks.
Step Ten:
Take your recently purchased army of recently-bearded poor people and any remaining funds and take jazz-dance lessons: it is vital you learn “jazz hands”, all the rest is useless. In fact just tell the teacher to only teach “jazz hands” to you and your army of bearded poor people, the rest of jazz dancing is just fucking retarded (note: if the check frequency has dropped off using a good conditioner on your beard will get the money flowing again).
Step Eleven:
Buy red jump suits for your entire bearded army of poor people.
Step Twelve:
If you’ve done everything right by this point you should have a whole lot of bearded poor people standing around, kind of bent at the waist and knees, with their arms outstretched just a little and bent at the elbows, flailing their hands while dressed in red uni-jump suits. If you don’t have this, or something just doesn’t feel right, just go back and repeat Step Six but this time really go to town with your trophy wife, Annette Bening… like seriously funky shit, like let her try a strap-on and you be the catcher, or midgets. Or midgets with strap-ons, I don’t know… internet stuff.
Step Thirteen:
While your army of recently-bearded poor people are ‘jazz-handing’ in red uni-jump suits you have to be on some sort of podium, something just high enough so you can see the back row of your army of recently-bearded poor people so you should be, minimum, thirty or forty feet high.
Step Fourteen:
Stand perfectly upright, but really really still. Look out at your army of recently-bearded poor people without really seeing them.
Step Fifteen:
Wait. It will all become self-evident soon.
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Congratulations!!
You’ve got the biggest beard, you’ve bought the poor, you’ve forced them to resemble your beauty, you’ve got them doing some seriously weird shit at your whim, Hollywood has-beens are tickling your penis, you’ve been gangbanged by midgets with strapons and now you’re ignoring the plight of your people. Mr. Chavez will be contacting you shortly.
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If you find a broken link, or the YouTube stuff isn’t loading
properly, let me know and I’ll find an alternative…
I’m Canadian, it’s what we do. Off the ice.
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Posted in Depression, Humour, Poetry
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