The new teacher, Mister Moran, was on an exchange program from New York. Our school was a nickname maelstrom—Ghoul, Moose, Bull, Scab, Pox-face, Arse-brain. He was Moron straight off. He got off easy. You should have seen him . . .
Every Friday, the Akashic team highlights industry news, reviews, and features from around the web. This week’s roundup comes to you from Akashic intern Melissa Bean!
I always told myself that I’d never use anything stronger than pot. I was a middle class kid away from home, NYU, my second year of art school, and hard drugs scared the shit out of me. But pot, I loved it. I smoked in the morning, afternoon and night. I’d go to school stoned, paint stoned, fuck stoned. It was 1970 and I was living on Avenue C. It looked like the set for an end of the world movie: deserted tenements, bums, hustlers, junkies and pushers on every corner . . .
There are few voices as urgent as Thomas Glave’s. In Among the Bloodpeople, he neither hesitates nor attempts to prepare us for the unsayable “that” which divorces some men and women from their Jamaican families. No sooner than a quick leap, we are wound in the bloody, necessary realities of Politics and Flesh . . .
“I wanted him dead because of the foie gras ban. He was the guy who got it banned in Chicago. And he’s my alderman. I’ve lived in Rogers Park my whole life. I’ve seen a lot of asshole politicians come and go, a lot of machine Democrats and Daley patsies, but this guy is the worst . . .”