Month: February 2018

The Red Car by David Cull

This eleventh installment features the work of David Cull, a contributor to and eventual board member of TISH: a poetry newsletter (founded in August 1961). Cull’s poem, “The Red Car,” confirms the cosmic complexities of any good anagram. Tish happens–even to cars and their accidental hosts.  *** the red car rots beside the entrance driveway 15 years of rusted metal, broken glass & plastic into garbage bags I punch holes in the floor boards with a pickaxe so the filthy water drains away no documents and therefore no way autowreckers will remove the junk the engine pulled and dumped at...

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Cadence Weapon: Cadence Weapon

Cadence Weapon Cadence Weapon Anti-/Epitaph Canadian hip hop has, to an extent, been ruined by Drake.  This isn’t Drake’s problem, he’s a singular artist, with his own vision and unique cadence.  The problem is that nearly every young Canadian hip hop artist sounds like him, both in terms of rhymes and beats.  Doesn’t matter if it’s in French, either, as in the case of Montreal’s potentially brilliant La Carabine.  It makes sense, though, Drake is the first Canadian hip hop artist to break into the stratosphere and he has become ubiquitous representing his hometown of Toronto. The other problem...

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The Camp as Archive

Nation states make refugees and in historical turn, occasionally at least, refugees make nation states. At times – and now is one of them – it can seem as though there is nothing between the eruptive violence of state formation and the slow burn of placelessness without end. Except, of course, entire lives are lived in-between nation states, and have been since the beginning of the twentieth century. A memory of multiple displacements across generations now stretches from the colonial mandate system and the minority treaties through de-colonisation and the Cold War to the permanent refugee camps, urban ghettoes,...

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Fuck Football

It’s Super Bowl Sunday. This year, for the first time in my life, I didn’t know which teams won their conference championships—who was going to the Big Game—because I hadn’t watched any football on TV, and hadn’t read about it, either. It’s not that I didn’t care, I just didn’t want to observe the slaughter. I wanted to abstain because knew I’d be drawn into my memories of self-slaughter, Augustinian-style, in the confessional mode. But I watched the whole thing, eating chips and guacamole, drinking beer, hoping the Patriots would lose, laughing at the commercials, howling about the missed calls...

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Tune-Yards: I can feel you creep into my private life

Tune-Yards I can feel you creep into my private life 4AD Merrill Garbus is the indie kids’ darling right now.  She’s eclectic, she wears makeup on-stage, she uses odd instrumentation in making her music, and she speaks righteously in her lyrics.  So, yeah, it’s kinda obvious why.  Tune-Yards is the collaborative project between Garbus and Nate Brenner, and their new album is blowing up.  And, I can see why.  Tune-Yards have existed on the periphery of my attention span for a few years now, my nieces (who all have most excellent taste in music) have talked of them.  And,...

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