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Bright Power, Dark Peace

Robinson Jeffers and the hope of human extinction

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This past spring and summer, political correctness—perhaps inevitably—took a full turn and became a campaign to erase the worst things that dead white men have done in our history. This…

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Orphan Bachelors

Exclusion and Confession, the two slamming doors of America

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San Francisco

Since Inauguration Day, across Silicon Valley I’ve been hearing software engineers who earn six figures talk about solidarity, collective action, and the rise of labor against capital. In July, word…

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The Speakeasy

A week of stand-up in Hollywood’s toughest room

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Killing the Competition

How the new monopolies are destroying open markets

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Homeless in Sacramento

Welcome to the new tent cities

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Inhaling the spore

Field trip to a museum of natural (un)history

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My Home Is Watts

Johnie Scott, twenty, was born in the ward of a women’s prison. It was his impromptu speech, described below, which electrified this summer’ White House Conference on Civil Rights. Scott is a member of Budd Schulberg’s writing workshop at the Watts Happening Coffee House.

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October 1966

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