Breaking News: Marjane Satrapi, the Iranian-French author whose graphic novel series “Persepolis” illuminated the struggles of Iranians during the Islamic Revolution, died at 56. https://t.co/WQWxavBm5l
idk how many times i can tweet a version of this, but it’s actual policy. mass surveillance, false imprisonment, torture. you can run a campaign on being anti muslim and win. you can build a career around hating muslims and have it turn into a multi million dollar enterprise
the first two paragraphs of this obviously AI-generated story contain the character name "Vishnu Muhammad" and a nominally trinidadian woman saying "the grove ain't forget", on top of a few facially incoherent metaphors. racist judges going "well that's just postco lit" lol
Well, this is a first: a ChatGPT-generated story won a prestigious literary prize (The Commonwealth Prize).
"Not X, not Y, but Z" sentences everywhere, the "hums" trope, and plenty of other obvious markers of AI writing.
A major milestone for AI, at any rate...
@GrantaMag
brown ppl post the one newly built road after 30 years in their city and caption it some shi like "believe me it's not Europe it's our very own bhosdapur😎😎"
‘Since the beginning of the war in October 2023, not a single foreign journalist has been allowed to enter Gaza to independently report on the ground, forcing Palestinian journalists from Gaza to bear the burden of informing the world all on their own’ - another attempt to get into Gaza @RSF_inter
People think I’m poor because I live in a 40 year old house with cracked walls that I can’t change. For some people, I’m poor, to me, someone else is poor. We are all poor to someone who is more privileged than us.
Today, I saw a bar of “Dubai chocolate” shamelessly gleaming on a market stall shelf, surrounded by snacks, nuts, and coffee — in a city where you can’t even find a single pill of medicine. I felt the rage choke my heart.
Just four days ago, I went through every pharmacy in Khan Younis looking for medicine for my son Mahdi — and only managed to find it through connections. No medicine, no meat, no chicken, no fuel, and nothing to sustain our lives even for one day. Everything that nourishes the body and soul is forbidden to us.
This is what they call famine engineering: they open the crossings for candy, coffee, and nuts to fool the world into thinking we’re okay — while denying us what keeps people alive. They want us to look like actors, not the starving. Like corpses, not the living.
How can a person live on snacks?
What filthy theater is this world — and the occupation forces — playing with us?
What the hell is this?
It’s a famine meticulously designed, controlled by buttons from afar — deciding when we eat, when we survive, when we live, and when we die.
What kind of cruelty is this?
And what kind of world chooses chocolate over medicine?
This pain has gone beyond hunger — the sorrow lives more in the heart than the stomach.