The friend who tells me I’m a selfish ass
is drunk, so maybe I should let it pass
before his acid eats out my insides,
the torture chamber where my self abides.
It is a clean and comfortable room
with open windows that dispel the gloom,
but there on my imaginary rack
I am my own tormenter, wearing black.
How Activism Gets Funded (ft. John Sailer)
In the latest installment of the ongoing interview series with contributing editor Mark Bauerlein, John Sailer joins…
Back Room to Boardroom
England’s best-groomed town is Darlington, Yorkshire. Data from Britain’s Office of National Statistics show that in 2024,…
Epstein’s Revelations
Far from a mere sordid distraction or an endless supply of tabloid slop, the Epstein files may…