Zeitgeist is defined as “the spirit of the time.” It determines how we remember an era. Does that mean that, when we look back on the beginning of the 21st century, we will reflect on the atmosphere of anger, sadness and fear that encapsulates our society? The frustration we felt toward our corrupt government? The outrage over a senseless war born from greed? The answer to this question should be yes. If it isn’t, then you’re not paying attention. Historically speaking, the same sentiment can be applied to almost every generation, going back centuries. However, I feel that it is most important to remember those people who fought back. If it weren’t for them, we would not have all of civil rights that we do today, the rights that we deserve and that we still have to defend. As Cicero said, thousands of years ago, “While there is life, there is hope.” If we lose hope, then what do we have left? And now, back to our broadcast…
Note: “And now, back to our broadcast” is taken from the collaberated book from Michael Sperduto and images by Joseph Ulrich.
Posted in News & Press.
The piece “An Embryo Speaks” was inspired by Kurt Tucholsky
An Embryo Speaks
by Kurt Tucholsky
They all take care of me: the church, the state, the physicians, the judges.
I’m supposed to grow and to thrive; I’m supposed to slumber for nine months, to take it easy – they wish me well. They protect me and watch over me. Heaven help my parents if they do me any harm; then they will all come running. Anyone who touches me is punished; my mother would land in jail, so would my father; the doctor who’d do it would have to stop being a doctor; the midwife who’d assist would be locked up. You see, I’m something precious.
Yes, they all take care of me: the church, the state, the physicians, the judges.
For nine months.
But once these nine months are past, I am on my own.
T.B.? There’s no doctor to help me.
Nothing to eat? No milk? There’s no help from the state.
Torment and mental anguish? The church consoles me but does not fill my stomach. And I haven’t a thing to eat, so I go out and steal; immediately there’s a judge who locks me up.
For fifty years of my life no one will look after me, not a soul. I’ll have to shift for myself.
For nine months they kill one another if someone wants to kill me.
Now I ask you: Isn’t that a strange welfare system?
Posted in Art.
