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All posts by Thomas Adcock
New York Amidst the political Sturm und Drang imposed on us over the past decade by an adjudicated sexual assailant and hamburger hog, we Americans must supply our need of feel-good endorphins from news of uplifting events that coincide with the chaos, corruption and cruelty that oozes daily from a White House soiled by a porcine cryptocurrency grifter who equates the workaday struggles of us ordinary folks—skyrocketing costs of food, clothing, and shelter—with little more than a “big yawn,” as he told reporters in a June 29 press conference. LuckyRead More
NORTH ELBA, New York John Brown was not one to tolerate moral crime as an acceptable fact of life, most certainly not the foremost shame of his time—chattel slavery in the American South, begun in 1619 when the first boatload of kidnapped Africans landed ashore at the inaptly named Point Comfort, Virginia. A moral crime that would last for centuries later, until its end during the American Civil War of 1861-65. A fiery Christian and radical abolitionist who sometimes met violence on the path to a righteous cause he led—underRead More
New York Upon a wonderful Saturday just two years and eight months from now, a newly elected president of the United States will stand atop a grand staircase of marble and stone at the west front of the Capitol building in Washington. Whomever it shall be, she or he will commence the making of a better world. The winter air will be sweet and clean—sweeping away a toxic stench that has clouded Washington since a certain faux business tycoon and soul mate of the late paedophile and sex trafficker JeffreyRead More
New York Around the corner from the entryway to my apartment building on Manhattan’s west side stands a forty-year-old man who holds forth daily from his city licensed curbside marketplace along Ninth Avenue. No matter the weather—rain, sunshine, snow, or skin-scalding gusts of winter wind howling up from the nearby Hudson River—he is there with an array of fresh fruit and vegetables for sale, plus cornball jokes at no extra charge. A recent example of the affable street vendor’s wares: Bananas at five for a dollar, accompanied by theRead More
New York He is taller than most men, his girth even greater. Thus do all who follow in his trail struggle in the darkness he creates, and perpetuates. He is wealthier than most, or seems to be. Yet his vulgar mien and the cheapness of his crimes would embarrass a decent gonif. He has been revealed in cultures high and low throughout the world, and across the borders of time and nation. From the ancient Irish proverb, “Is buaine an cine ná an duine,” to the orotund narratives of OrsonRead More
## New York Listen up, all you true-believers of the “Make America Great Again” persuasion: Congratulations! Your fever dreams have come true. Your seventy-seven million votes in the last presidential election birthed a new nation: the United States of Donald J. Trump, king of white Christo-fascism. Behold thine Führer: a multiply convicted felon, adjudicated fraudster and sexual predator, renowned deadbeat, world-class liar, huckster of gewgaws, serial adulterer, crypto shyster, mad bomber, incontinent vulgarian, six-time bankruptee, racist landlord, flatulent megalomaniac, a man who cakes his face in more makeup than allRead More
New York On the evening of December 17, 2025, the resident White House criminal* attempted to claim moral and governmental competence in a prime time television address that convinced virtually no one of its merit or import. Indeed, the speech failed to garner a single mention in the next morning’s print edition of the New York Times—a dearth of coverage that affirmed the journal’s front-page slogan from 1897 onward: “All the news that’s fit to print.” The roundly mocked and reviled speech was, at best, a thud of exhaustively familiarRead More
EAST GREENWICH, Rhode Island At long last, a critical mass of the American people—including our dimmest politicians and a growing number of regular droolers—recognize that for the past decade the country has suffered the hypocritical whims of a man who is, at best, a vacuous vulgarian. At worst, a man whose every accusation against others is a confession of his own vile behavior and criminal conduct. At long last indeed, we recognize Donald John Trump as an “enemy of the people,” as he and his fellow fascists are wont toRead More
New York Six years have passed since the Wall Street tycoon, bon vivant, and presidential chum Jeffrey Epstein died by his own hand (so it’s said) while awaiting trial on federal charges of child rape and trafficking. Yet as I write today, the quest for details into l’affaire Epstein are elusive. Details that would surely lead to righteous prosecutions of a certain circle of obscenely rich and powerful men—men who will do most anything to keep the world from knowing the disgusting things they did and to whom, and ofRead More
NORTH CHATHAM, New York September marked nine months since a convicted felon, habitual deadbeat, and adjudicated sexual assailant was inaugurated as forty-seventh president of the United States. It has been a bumpy ride, to say the least; a short yet chaotic span of time that feels more like nine years. It is near impossible to keep pace with the barrage of Donald J. Trump’s desperate distractions to camouflage his lengthening list of despicable deeds: viz. damnation of political opponents as “leftwing lunatics” and “scum”; an oafish speech given during theRead More
EDGARTOWN, Massachusetts Even here on Martha’s Vineyard, the balmy island retreat for east coast cosmopolitans, it is difficult to get through an otherwise pleasant day without news of the latest vile, repulsive, revolting, obnoxious, abhorrent, racist, disgraceful, or flat-out stupid act by the president of the United States—an incontinent boor with a ridiculous yellow hairdo stomping and clomping his way across the world stage. With its beaches and charming villages and excellent seafood restaurants, the Vineyard offers seaside refuge from urban cacophony. But it does not nor cannot assure respiteRead More
New York In the time of an earlier mass resistance to injustice and immorality, we tenderfoot social activists began calling out truncheon-happy policemen for exactly what they were: “pigs,” meaning no offense to honest porkers. —A bit of rude history before moving on to the piggery of today: With the blessings of a jeering Mayor Richard J. Daley (1902-1976), a phalanx of Chicago police officers chose the city’s 1968 Democratic Party national convention as an arena for vicious assaults on opponents of the war in Vietnam; the bone-crushing mayhem wasRead More
New York On a winter’s morning four years hence, citizens of the United States and the world beyond shall know a date that will live in boldface ecstasy: Saturday, 20 January 2029. For at high noon on that blessed day, the fascistic Washington regime goes poof! as we Americans inaugurate a new president—a man or woman certain to restore national decency by merely showing up. In the weeks leading up to Inauguration ‘29, the Flatulent Führer, as he is known by those trapped in his vapor trail, will take timeRead More
New York Had she not proudly held high her protest sign—punctuated with a profanity she could not recall ever using in sixty-eight years of life—I might not have noticed the small, quiet woman in the boisterous crowd. Her voice was soft; her silver hair was tucked beneath the hood of a red parka worn against the cool drizzle of early spring; the top of her head barely reached my shoulders. It was Saturday afternoon in midtown Manhattan. She fell into step beside me as we marched slowly down Fifth Avenue,Read More
New York As I write, the month of March stumbles toward April, bleeding all the way. Soon we shall mark seventy-one consecutive days of fascist chaos that commenced on January 20 with the second presidential inauguration of a criminal farce by the name Donald J. Trump. With spring in sight after winter’s final act, I am mindful of sobering lines from “The Wasteland,” the epic poem by American-born British essayist and poet T.S. Eliot (1888-1965)— April is the cruellist month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land… What are theRead More
New York Sleight of hand, the magician’s trick of distraction and fascination is the basic operating procedure of a nascent dictatorship in Washington led by a one-time reality TV performer and convicted felon with sweaty dreams of becoming a man the world has never seen before: the ruling monarch of America. The would-be king is not intelligent, but he is single-minded. And sufficiently cunning to take his cues from a competent magician’s patter whilst misdirecting his audience. As when, classically, the sleight of hand artist places a vigorously shuffled deckRead More
New York Dateline: Berlin, 1933—On a bitter cold morning in late January, the convicted criminal who incited a deadly insurrection was officially sworn to office as his country’s head of state. In his inaugural address, he pledged to restore national honor. Flash forward ninety-two years: Dateline: Washington, 2025—On a bitter cold morning in late January, the convicted criminal who incited a deadly insurrection was officially sworn to office as his country’s head of state. In his inaugural address, he pledged to restore national honor. Each fervent pledge—“Machen Sie Deutschland wiederRead More
Of all that I read and saw last year—books, movies, television, stage plays—I present herein my tip-top list of favorites in each of these story-telling forms. But kindly do not confuse my commentary with criticism, for as Voltaire himself is reported to have said, “If critics were acrobats, they’d all be dead.” Right then, my personal best of 2024— Books: „The Wannabe Fascists„ The dread of fascism was bred into the bone of scholar Federico Finchelstein, born in Argentina during the rise of a gruesome military dictatorship in the 1970sRead More
New York Apologies, dear readers. Last month’s contribution to this space was an optimistic prediction on the outcome of November’s presidential election here in the United that went horribly wrong. The improbable victory of Donald J. Trump in 2024 was even more improbable than his winning a first four-year term back in 2016. Along with virtually every other journalist, I thought too highly of my countrymen this second time around. Having lost their senses, a tick more than half the American electorate returned Mr. Trump to the White House, whichRead More
VICTOR, Idaho From deep in the heart of what the chattering calls “Trump Country,” otherwise known as the Mountain West state of Idaho, I write on the eve of America’s momentous presidential election. Thousands of miles from the place I call home—New York City—relentless forecasts of Election Day outcome are broadcast on network television news programs hosted by well-coiffed commentators and insufferably confident pollsters. “Thumb suckers,” is what old newspapermen such as myself call their jabberings. At this point, they sound like buzzy flies in a butcher shop at summertime.Read More
NEW ORLEANS, Louisiana It is the fateful afternoon of September 15, a Sunday. I am sitting in a hotel lobby in this storied city, where the Mississippi River flows gently into the Gulf of Mexico; the “Big Easy,” it’s called. I am enjoying a café au lait as I read an interesting article about a poet from Boston named Amy Silberman who died here back in 1994 when bullets rained down from the sky… … until I am interrupted by an alarm on my smartphone telling me of semi-disturbing news:Read More
New York City America’s predominant criminal and aspiring autocrat is fast losing his grip, mentally and politically. The incipient collapse of Donald J. Trump and his second attempt to win reëlection brings joy, or at least relief, to a land sick and tired of his fascist following and flatulent presence. The Mar-a-Lago man grows and lazier and crazier by the day as he indulges his obsessions—misogyny and mendacity, persecution and retribution. His only solace is the golf course. It is there, in manicured fairways he navigates aboard a motorized cartRead More
The First Time I Met Thomaschen I met Thomas Wörtche in 1990 at Semana Negra (Black Week), the yearly gathering of international crime novelists, editors, and publishers in Gijón, Spain. The gathering still goes strong, thanks to the fraternal spirit of its founding organizer, the legendary author-journalist-political activist Paco Ignacio Taibo II of Mexico City. New to the scene of crime literature, I quicky accepted Señor Taibo’s invitation to Gijón, seeing it as a golden opportunity to meet colleagues beyond the clubby boundaries of my own New York City. WhatRead More
New York Two men with no desire to shake hands entered a broadcast studio in Atlanta one night in late June as player-combatants in a political drama routinely misnomered as debate. In reality, what the viewing audience beheld that night was a television art form as preposterous as professional wrestling. This time, sadly preposterous. As commentator Audie Cornish of CNN Television dubbed the event, “The Infirm versus the Unstable.” At screen right that night stood Joseph Robinette Biden, the Infirm: a slim and balding family man six feet in heightRead More
NEW YORK CITY The victory of May 30 was sweet, and we deserve to savor it. With the whole world watching, a jury of twelve everyday New Yorkers delivered a unanimous verdict in the criminal trial of a former president—a trial of historic measure that awakens my country from eight years of despairing fear; a trial that sets us free from cynicism, for however brief a time; a trial whose outcome allows us, once again, to know pride in being American. Late in the afternoon of May 30, Donald JohnRead More
NEW YORK CITY Each morning from now to June, a fat yellow-haired man awakes in an ornate bedchamber, one of many rooms in his triple-deck Manhattan penthouse atop a Fifth Avenue skyscraper. He is alone in bed, or perhaps accompanied by someone other than his Slovenian-born wife, ensconced in the couple’s sprawling Florida estate and golf resort, known as Mar-a-Lago. Lumbering through the immense bedchamber—like all other rooms in the penthouse, fashioned in the flamboyant style of the French monarch Louis XIV (1638-1715)—the fat man enters a spacious powder room.Read More
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1 bild / 100 worte
STELLA'S VOICE
Stella Sinatras URknall
Stella liest. “Writers writing on writers“ – das klingt wie Dada, wie Gertrude Stein. Eliot Weinberger hat die Kategorie erfunden, oder gefunden, jedenfalls gibt es sie, yes, sagt Stella, yes yes. Julia Howe: „My voice formed from my life belongs to no one else.” Das Leben eines Avatars. Stella die Stimme, Stella die Pose – und nu? – Berühre mich, fordert D. Wie soll das genau gehen. Wo wir am Ende alle, etc. – Try-out. Stella die vorgeschickt wird. Die sucht und findet: die innere Leere. So still wie die Stille hinter den Geräuschen, die irgendetwas mit dem Weltall zu tun hat (vermutet Stella).
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