Sunflower Skins

November 24, 2011

Hubba Bubba’s Impound Zone for Unfit Cops

Filed under: art — Tags: , , , — Sunflower Skins @ 10:26 pm

November 17, 2011


Filed under: editorials — Tags: , , , , , — Sunflower Skins @ 5:42 pm

I am an Occupy Writer. I am writing this to ReOccupy.

A few weeks ago Sunflower Skins sent 100 Feed the Whales books to the People’s Library in Zuccotti Park, hoping to inspire and sustain hope for our fellow protestors of Occupy Wall Street. Our books were part of the collection that was destroyed by the NYPD via Bloomberg’s orders on November 15th. Those were your books too. Everyone’s. Barely a month after celebrating Banned Books Week and our freedom to read and access information, too. What a terrible, terrible shame.

But—do not lose hope. You cannot bear to lose sight of that beautiful vision of the future, one free of corporate corruption and endless greed. Please do not give up.

Resist despair.

I am writing this for myself too. I need to remember this every day when I read the news, when I see continuing police brutality and social injustice. Mass arrests on peaceful protestors. Pepper spray used on the elderly. Batons on the unarmed. I could go on, become distracted—disillusioned—even as I write this. But today is the Day of Direct Action and everywhere everyone has been called, including myself. I cannot physically be present at any of the occupations; how I wish—desperately wish—I could be in Foley Square at this moment. And so I must write this for myself, and for you—reader, story-teller, protestor, citizen: protect your books, honour your free expression, uphold the First Amendment and the Fundamental Freedoms, your democratic rights and constitution. The police state may try to squash it, but we continue to grow stronger, and if the 1% do not honour, as you do, your right to an equal, economically-just society, have heart yet; you can destroy a book, but you cannot destroy an idea, a movement, a revolution. Resist despair.

Please visit the People’s Library and Occupy Writers.

November 10, 2011

Guam’s Tent City

Filed under: art — Tags: , , , — Sunflower Skins @ 6:20 pm

October 26, 2011

Resist Despair

Filed under: art, News — Tags: , , , , — Sunflower Skins @ 8:36 pm

October 15, 2011

Occupy Everywhere

Filed under: art, News — Tags: , , , — Sunflower Skins @ 5:37 pm

Today is Occupy Everywhere.

We stand in solidarity against corruption.

October 9, 2011

The Price of Human Life

Filed under: art, News — Tags: , — Sunflower Skins @ 5:34 pm


October 6, 2011

The Whole World is Watching

Filed under: art, News — Tags: , , , — Sunflower Skins @ 10:33 pm

Occupy Wall Street

We Are the 99 Percent

August 25, 2011

Guam and Jekyll Exercise their Rights & Freedoms

Filed under: art — Tags: , , , , , — Sunflower Skins @ 7:18 pm

July 12, 2010

Experiment 11: My Dear, Deaf Country: Wake the Fuck Up

Filed under: experiments, prose — Tags: , , — Sunflower Skins @ 1:20 am

I don’t understand why people use dubious disclaimers. When I say something mean it’s because it is mean and I am a cunt—or maybe I’m just being honest: I want a fucking revolution and it’s going to start regardless of your ignorance; I’m not going to sugar-coat it for anyone, especially you. Just because you’re blood doesn’t mean I have to like you; just because you’re police chief doesn’t mean I have to agree with you; just because I’m an English major doesn’t mean I have to be a teacher—or a giver—or am somehow more capable of explaining our circumstances to you. I tried for a philosophy minor. It didn’t work.

Because I am a writer, I make my life from what I say to you, but I cannot do it in the way you may like (read: understand). Sometimes we have to make our voices heard through t-shirts and signs, buttons, posters, and handbills—sometimes we use loud-speakers or megaphones—or I might write my own protest, my own way, even if I know that you usually can’t read my fragmented, pornographic texts. You don’t know how to read them—I cannot speak your language: your self-righteous, ass-kissing, finger-pointing dialogue.

Sometimes people protest. Sometimes people protest when I say, “I think there should be more funding for the Arts rather than for the construction of another Ivey building.” Sometimes people protest when over 1,000 arrests were made, many of which were unnecessary and unexplained, violent and violating—when age and race and gender were exploited for the amusement of some power-tripping pigs—when a group of journalists and protestors and bystanders were walled in by grim police officers and made to stand in the pouring rain for several hours—simply because they didn’t believe that one billion dollars was necessary for a world-summit that should not even have occurred in downtown Toronto—because they were asking questions about their country, talking about civil liberties and exercising their right to free speech when officers disregarded them—because they were singing songs and anthems, doing cartwheels and taking photographs.

You have not sugar-coated it for me: I hear exactly what you are saying: You don’t live in a democracy anymore. Go back to sleep. You have masked your words for others; submissive, lazy people, ready to accept whatever excuse offered, so prepared to believe in a government which has manipulated its conservative agenda so much that its own ignorance truly is bliss. You believe yourself when you say that your police did an excellent job—even the ones who kicked senior citizens and punched unarmed, unthreatening civilians—even the ones weren’t wearing visible identification. You believe yourself.

But I don’t. And I know there are others. We share a common lack of faith in the current political system’s security of peace, management of money, chain of authority, and preservation of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms.

I am a writer, just as Strayer and Trudeau, just as those who drafted our rights—not privileges. People may read the same words, but if you’re actually aware of your place in this country—actually aware—then you may read something different.

And it isn’t sweet. It’s just how we feel.

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