“I’m not really alone, that my solitary acts are not really solitary, not if they are practised by many, many others, each resisting in their own little way, doing what they can.”

A poem about (sub)urban youth, political carelessness, contradictions and the criminal justice system. (From Rex Butters)

The crust peels back and all-women are looking into a burning pit of rage…

Sophia Burns looks at gender roles on paper vs. in practice, and the division of labor underlying both.

“As we ever expand, as civilisation grows and spreads, the demand for space, for homes and resources increases.”

The sword is the land. The sword is love and love for the wild. It is the love of waves that crash down upon the shore with an unquenchable fury, until it has ground cliffs into dust. It is the love of the mountain, whose heart is iron.

An article that explores the culture of fear as a tool for establishing the Power of a capitalist, neocolonial, and genocidal governmental system.

In an age where all our movements and words are tracked, and in which internet call-out culture and aggressive trolls make it difficult for any would-be dissident to express viewpoints that fall outside of party lines, it seems timely to be reminded of the poetry of Al-Andalus and in particular that of arguably its most saucey knave

Those of us who know that this world is a mysterious place, who have not forgotten our place and inter-connectedness within it, who remember and hold dear the knowledge that the stuff of stars is also inside of us too, it will be us who must be ready to fight, when the time comes.

From Tahni J. Nikitins

If there was ever a thing of beauty among our race, it was the part that held the light of the star and the crash of the waves upon a rocky, inhospitable shore.

The rule in business is, if it is generating revenue, don't fuck with it.

John Halstead proposes an alternative holistic theory of rights, one in which we can ground the rights of nature.

On Paganism of the African Diaspora (From Karina Ramos)

“The homeless are seen as an entity, some dirty mass of otherness"

A giant does not find it easy to die. We are too big.

Titanic forces war within us. A war waged by the blood against the intellect, between the influences of the industrial fallen world in which we live, and the primeval, fecund, blood drenched swamps that we remember in our dreams and in the shadows of the woods at night.

From the microcosm of personal grief, to Western civilization's atrocities throughout the ages.