Blood Is Thicker Than Blackwater
by JEREMY SCAHILL
[from the May 8, 2006 issue]
It is one of the most infamous incidents of the war in Iraq: On March 31, 2004, four private American security contractors get lost and end up driving through the center of Falluja, a hotbed of Sunni resistance to the US occupation. Shortly after entering the city, they get stuck in traffic, and their small convoy is ambushed. Several armed men approach the two vehicles and open fire from behind, repeatedly shooting the men at point-blank range. Within moments, their bodies are dragged from the vehicles and a crowd descends on them, tearing them to pieces. Eventually, their corpses are chopped and burned. The remains of two of the men are strung up on a bridge over the Euphrates River and left to dangle. The gruesome image is soon beamed across the globe.( Collapse )
Study Finds a Link of Drug Makers to Psychiatrists
By BENEDICT CAREY
More than half the psychiatrists who took part in developing a widely used diagnostic manual for mental disorders had financial ties to drug companies before or after the manual was published, public health researchers reported yesterday. ( Collapse )
Thursday, April 20th, 2006
The families of four private security contractors killed in Fallujah in March 2004 have filed a ground-breaking lawsuit charging Blackwater USA with fraud and wrongful death. Blackwater has fought to have the case dismissed by claiming that all liability lies not with the company but the U.S. government.
In an expose in the new issue of the Nation magazine, independent journalist Jeremy Scahill tells the story of the struggle of the four families of the slain Blackwater contractors to hold those responsible for their deaths accountable.
We speak with Jeremy Scahill as well as Katy Helvenston, the mother of Scott Helvenston who was killed in Fallujah, and the attorney in the case, Marc Miles.
( Collapse )
Jasmina Tesanovic, Belgrade: Floods and Bombs
For the first time in my recent life, we Serbians are the first headline on CNN news without any mention of Milosevic or war crimes. Our new specialty is floods, global warming I guess, political neglect I am sure, and young girls in high heels.
Trust me, I am not joking: Serbian young girls whose high heels pierced the sandbags meant to keep the rising water away from decent citizens who sleep innocently... their menacing shoes now outrank Iranian nuclear weapons. Time is money in the world of big broadcast. TV publicity for the Croatian seaside... Montenegro casinos and then surfers in Serbia... and hey, surfers close to my street! Serbian teens dragged past on cars, jeeps, on homemade surfboards.
I am looking for kids that I know personally... It reminds me of the bombing days when our kids used to cruise in those few buses spared in those idle days of no schools. The kids would jump into buses and visit the bombed building and craters in order to see bodies or weapons or soldiers, or fallen planes, anything that would make the invisible long boring bombing into a real issue in their minds. I could never convince them that the dust of a crater might have depleted uranium or that an unexploded bomb might go off. As my daughter put it at the time: if I have to die, I choose to be killed with my best friend Sarah and not with my mom sleeping at home. How could I object to that kind of argument?
posted by Xeni Jardin
Condominiums to Replace Facility After Move to Georgia Ave.
By Lyndsey Layton
Washington Post Staff Writer Thursday, April 20, 2006; B06
The District's oldest homeless shelter, a five-story structure in a prime location on fast-gentrifying 14th Street NW, has been sold for $7 million to a developer who plans luxury condominiums where the destitute now sleep.( Collapse )
When I say addict I mean an addict to junk -- generic term for opium and/or derivatives including all synthetics from demerol to palfium. I have used junk in many forms: morphine, heroin, delaudid, eukodal, pantopon, diocodid, diosane, opium, demerol, dolophine, palfium. I have smoked junk, eaten it, sniffed it, injected it in vein-skin-muscle, inserted it in rectal suppositories. The needle is not important. Whether you sniff it smoke it eat it or shove it up your ass the result is the same: addiction.( Collapse )
William S. Burroughs *[ Naked Lunch
john beadsworth's blog
carte blanche pedicure
cold marble musings
from the floor
journal of a photographer
junk for code
lens culture blog
meet me in ataxia
notes on photography
oc art blog
oh dog, you sleuth!
the online beat
the rude pundit
sign and sight
the monster limo weblog
the view from the edge of the universe
wood s lot
The Sixth International Photography Month in Moscow: Photobiennale 2006
November , 1944
© Paolo Ventura
Mask II, 2001 mixed media 30 3/8 X 46 1/2 X 33 1/2 inches
perceptive look at rural Lebanon by one of our best working journalists,
probably the best reporting from the Middle East. He visits his
ancestral village in Lebanon. I hope we never invade that complex
country. We had to leave when (in our usual ignorance) we tried to make
peace there in 1982, but we long ago lost any status as peacemakers in
that part of the world. I was born in Beirut, but that doesn't make me
biased. I left when I was 2 years old, as a very young American citizen.
Lebanon, My Lebanon
By Anthony Shadid
MARJAYOUN, Lebanon There are not too many addresses in Lebanon, in the precise, ZIP Code sense of the United States; they tend to be anecdotal, albeit spoken with authority. Such were the directions to Jdeidet, Marjayoun, a small Christian village tucked in a rugged corner of Lebanon, nestled...
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Goldin is giving us the moment before she will turn to ash
April 7th, 2006 2:11 PM
Perhaps the most pitiable image in all of Dante's Inferno is the wood of suicides. Here, in hell's Seventh Circle, between a river of boiling blood and a desert of burning sand, is a dense, pathless forest where the souls of the suicides are encased within gnarled trees and fruitless bushes. Odious Harpies—monstrous birds with claws and female faces—race through the wood tearing the trees limb from limb, causing them to bleed. Cries and wails echo in the sunless, starless air.
Throughout her career, but especially in her latest and most wrenching work— Sisters, Saints, & Sibyls, the 39-minute three-screen lamentation that is a duel memoir of her sister's suicide at the age of 19 and her own mortifications of the flesh and battles with addiction—the photographer Nan Goldin has been one of the great living suicides of recent art history. Her legendary slide show of more than 700 images set to music, "The Ballad of Sexual Dependency," begun in the 1970s and carried out through the 1980s, is the great Book of the Dead of the period—a love letter to a generation caught in a disintegrating death ray, cursed and blessed, drawn like moths to a flame, first to each other, then to desire, then addiction, then stalked by AIDS and overdose.( Collapse )
Nan Goldin, "Chasing a Ghost," Mar. 11-Apr. 22, 2006, at Matthew Marks Gallery, 522 West 22nd Street, New York, N.Y. 10011
The photographer Nan Goldin has always walked a precarious line between brave self-examination and Oprah-style self-exposure. A life lived in public is apparently its own reward, but one can’t help wondering what prompts Goldin to continue to chronicle the now-familiar exploits of sexual obsession, drug addiction and the day-to-day triumphs of life on the fringes of society, especially since the underground club culture that was her original milieu has now been succeeded, in middle age, by a melancholy "rehab culture." Is she a victim of her own continuing success?( Collapse )
Matthew Marks GalleryMatthew Marks is pleased to announce Nan Goldin: Chasing a Ghost, ... explores Goldin’s personal narrative of her sister Barbara’s institutionalization and ...