The meritless lawsuit brought against us by Microcosm Publishing is going to trial next month and we need your help!
The trial is happening in Portland and we are desperately trying to get funds together to get our family and our lawyer out to Oregon so we can defend ourselves in court. (To give you an indication of how dire our situation is, we received a “final notice” from the IRS today warning us that they are going to levy our assets because we haven’t been able to pay our quarterly taxes.)
As we’ve said before, we aren’t looking for donations, but if we’ve got a book or zine you’ve been eyeing, we could really use your support right now. To sweeten the deal for you, we’re doing CONTEST MANIA for the rest of the month.
Everyone who orders from Pioneers Press this month will get entered into a drawing to win one of four $40 Pioneers Press shopping sprees! We’ll announce one winner every Sunday afternoon.
AND if you reblog this here plea, we’ll enter you into a contest to win our new titles including Big Diamond, Simple Steps to a Life Less Shitty, and the Good Luck Not Dying book!
We’re kind of freaking out right now about getting through the next two months (both financially and emotionally). We didn’t start this fight, but we’re damn sure gonna see it through to the end. Any help, hugs, signal boosts, etc would be much appreciated. We definitely can’t do this alone.
Huge thanks for your ongoing support!
xoxo, Jessie Duke and Pioneers Press
Taken from MANTRAS zine
This zine is a culmination of how i got myself thru/still getting myself thru things and also things that i love and things that make me happy, mostly Stevie Nicks. I hope i don’t come off as someone who has her shit together, most of this zine is me yelling at myself and it’s really difficult to follow the directions that i give to myself, like “TAKE WHAT’S YOURS” and “DON’T HIDE!” it’s very difficult and on most days i don’t follow these directions and i fail completely. But i still yell at myself because it’s necessary that i always have these things etched in me so i have something to hold on to when shit hits the fan. - Fabiola
Every single other night which has followed has shown clear police provocation, intimidation and instigation towards the protesters. They continue to claim that molotov cocktails, rocks, and even shots have been fired their way yet I have yet to see even ONE molotov cocktail or otherwise, the only things I‘ve seen lobbed at police have been plastic water bottles which obviously pose no threat whatsoever to an armada of heavily armed and heavily shielded police forces. I‘ve seen countless journalists assaulted and arrested simply for documenting the events, I‘ve seen protesters hit by rubber bullets, teargas, sound cannons, strobes and batons who didn‘t appear to be provoking them, I‘ve seen automatic weapons continue to be pointed directly at both peaceful civilians and journalists who did not pose any threat accompanied by verbal threats of violence and cursing. I have yet to see any protesters attack police save for the previously mentioned water bottles.
my partner Joe was interviewed in Germany’s Lower Class Magazine about his experiences in Ferguson.(via boltcutter-boxcutter-brick)
- From “Koko wa Green Wood (Here is Greenwood),” directed by Tomomi Mochizuki (1991)
(This is actually my lil sister. I’m entering her because she’s my favorite human.)
i like the way we walk
Let this serve as one of the very few pieces of existing recorded evidence of me dancing well, so that when my spine degenerates and I’m a pile of useless bone I can show this to my children (or the children who live next door to me in whatever low income housing complex I wind up in when I’m old and withered) and say, “kids, gather round and watch old Dave as a young buck, moving his feet down a shockingly well lit LA side street with a witchy platinum blonde babe to the sounds of current president/former pop star Janelle Monae’s 2010 hit song Tightrope.”
The Plastics were a group of girls who ran a pawn shop and replaced parts of themselves with hyper-colorful pieces of plastic. Their town was never-ending, gray drab, surrounded by super-tall mountains that people lived on top of. Bits of plastic debris would fall down the mountains, and the Plastics (Nikki, Cola, Tracy) would find and use the debris, like a red toothpaste cap for a tooth.
Storytelling is a political act. It’s making sense of the world and ourselves, and like every other kind of sense-making, it’s as political as it is personal and vice-versa. There is no distinction to be made between the political and the personal. Writing of any kind is political. It’s claimsmaking regarding reality and how to interpret it. Because whenever we’re faced with these things, we’re faced with fundamental truths regarding how creation makes and unmakes the world, regarding whose voices are amplified and whose are lost, between who gets to speak and who is literally silenced.