“I realized that when you don’t have love for yourself then when other people hate you, it reconfirms the hate you already have for yourself. So you believe them – or when you have shame – you think you are unworthy of love,” Bassett said.
Understanding Rosario Murillo in the context of Lady Macbeth helps us recognize the murderous viciousness that binds both figures together and fully makes us aware of the danger and cruelty of Murillo’s actions.
The sign looked as though someone had taken the sides of several steel shipping containers, painted them with the brightest hue of red known to man, and hoisted them on the walls of an old factory building. “Village DISCOUNT OUTLET” was plastered in white across the building’s steel paneling, each letter appearing as if it had been stolen from a different restaurant sign.
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.
You probably had a name for yours. Maybe it was “Fred” or the unironic “Goldie.” You took the car ride home to make plans: where Fred would live, how you would share all your meals together, and never spend a second apart.
Biden will have to choose: to be a genuine artist or a political chess piece who happens to like watercolors.
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.
