Transcript:
Caption reads: “a self portrait of sorts”
Panel 1: Image of a pair of keys, that include a pink wallet with a person smiling in the ID hole, a
star carabiner, bow charm, guitar charm and various keychains. There is a wristband attached
to the wallet.
F News Amplified: Egg Horoscopes, An Exercise in Non-Didactic Anti-Divinity
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Transcript:
Egg Horoscopes: An exercise in non-didactic anti-divinity
Content Warnings: brief mentions of kink and BDSM
I sit patiently. Staring at the red and auburn-lit walls coated in a thick layer of grime and salt. The light fixtures, yellow and red stained-glass flowers with a smattering of dead bulbs, [music begins] reflect an uncertain glare against the thoroughly yellowed laminated menus. The only other light comes from the fluorescent light in the kitchen, and the backlit menu on the wall over the bar which holds a history of dinner items and prices that haven’t been accurate for decades. Finally, my food comes: two pancakes, hash browns, two sausage links, toast, and three, perfect, sunny-side-up eggs. The man, or the woman, refills my coffee, and I pay as little attention to the overflow of hot, watery, brown sludge spilling onto my hand as I did to the gender of whoever poured it. Because I can’t stop looking at these perfect eggs.
As a writer, I have long since come to the conclusion that imagery is a lie. Not that imagery doesn’t exist, but rather that imagery is used by writers in place of truth. It’s great for fantasy or sci-fi, but when describing a real-life experience, it is often criticized for being “too flowery;” the fiction becomes too apparent when the writer is trying to make something easier to understand for the reader. When we, the writers, use imagery to be didactic, we sacrifice a part of our heart, diluting the blood of our story or message so that it may be easier, better consumed by our audience. The fucking vampires. Everyone thinks they crave purity, but in truth, it bores them. No one wants the raw truth, audiences cook it, fry it, boil it, or scramble it to make it go down easier. And the publishers, well, they’re even worse.. They make it more palatable to their own needs and their own experiences, and they worry not for the writers, for whom they often wish to be killed and replaced by robots.
Another thing I think is a lie: divinity. [Music changes in tone] Not the idea of holiness or beauty beyond our understanding. I’m not talking about what is or is not divine. I know that kind of divinity. I have been under whips and chains, and have had fire brought close to my skin. I have been tied up and gagged and called a million terrible things. I have been beaten, I have been asphyxiated, and I have been thoroughly, thoroughly scrambled. I have seen divinity many times, and through pain, I have seen glimpses of what I consider to be god any time she is in the room. I mean I don’t believe in seeing, interpreting, or even trying to understand the future. Divining itself, I don’t believe in.
I dissociate while trying to decipher a meaning to the shapes and patterns of bruises she left on my neck and back that I cannot see as syrup drips down from my plate and onto my lap. I regain consciousness only to find that I’ve poured almost the whole bottle onto my plate, drowning everything in a caramel haze eerily similar to petrified mammal remains under amber. I thank god that the eggs, the perfect eggs, were on their own plate. I realize that everything I eat is yellow or brown.
One thing I do believe in is that you can tell a lot about a person based on how they take their eggs. I don’t believe in conventional divinity, like zodiacs or tarot cards, but I believe in choices, patterns, habits, and behavior. It’s not about mysticism to me, the egg thing I mean, it’s about paying attention to what people do, and what they do a lot. It’s about character study to me much more than divination. It’s not about seeing someone’s future; it’s about assessing the present, and knowing that there lies a truth that cannot be hidden. Because there is no way to ironically eat an egg. You simply eat it the way you order it, just as you accept the consequences of any action, decision, or choice you’ve ever made or taken.
Here is your egg horoscope.
Over-Medium:
If you take your eggs over medium, then you don’t like to make things difficult for people when you don’t have to. When your order is wrong, you rarely send it back. Not because you are a people pleaser. Quite the opposite in fact. You are an insatiable yearner, but a yearner not for what can be obtained or controlled, but for what must be done or created by your own hand. Any meal is a distraction, and any delay in the finishing of that meal makes it worse. This is because you must get back to “The Work.” Anything that is not “The Work” keeps you from “The Work.” You say over-medium, not because you want your eggs over-medium, but because it’s the easiest one to say and one of the easiest ways to make them. You just want your eggs, and you want them now. “The Work” compels you.
You are a force of nature.
Sunny Side Up, hot sauce optional:
You are a servant to your own decadence and lust for life. You are not a yearner, but you are craven. In a past life, you were starved or had very little. Rarely did you see your desires fulfilled, and so, you did not yearn. That part of you is dried up along with the fruit of the trees and water of the springs. And so, this life has been a repayment of sorts. Now, you savor even the smallest morsels of what you desire. You regularly partake in treating yourself whenever possible and you relish and take solace in quiet moments of joy when no one is around. You devour a spicy, runny, yolk as if it were your oxygen.
You are the Vagrant Hedonist.
Egg Salad Sandwich:
You are a creature of habit. You enjoy a routine, sure, but you detest self-maintenance. So-called “self-care” activities and regular meditation feel like tremendous chores to you, even though your soul deeply desires them. Like an egg salad sandwich for lunch, you are often left hungry; unsatisfied, and yearning for so much more. But your hunger will never be satisfied, not because of the heat of your flame, but because of the quality of coal you feed it.
You are the Hermit of The Abyss.
Scrambled:
You yearn for simplicity, not because your needs are simple, but because the needs of your heart have not yet been met. You order what you know the cook cannot mess up because you are often disappointed by the lack of care and attention offered to you in a world that grows ever more desensitized and cold to itself. Those around you wear layer after layer of irony and nonchalance, and the cognitive dissonance of their blissful indifference sets within you a quiet rage that you never verbally decree. I implore you to have the courage to order the eggs you truly want or to learn to make the best possible eggs you can for yourself. You deserve better eggs.
You are the Lover Unrequited.
Jammy, tiger, or Mayak. The Fancy Eggs:
You enjoy a release or a reward no matter how long the process may take, and no matter how much work it may require. Your capacity to labor for what you love is matched by few and the splendors begotten by your work are matched by none. You are not a perfectionist, because you don’t have to be. Everything you touch is perfect. You are someone who truly knows that the journey is as sweet as the destination if not sweeter.
You are the Priestess Most High.
Over Easy:
Hahaha, no it isn’t. This isn’t anyone’s favorite style of egg. No. Just, no.
Over Hard:
Now you’re just playing. That one isn’t even real.
Fried Medium:
You have traveled far and wide, but have finally found refuge. You love where you have landed, but not so secretly, a part of you yearns for home. What some may mistake for a folksy disposition is more accurately, a longing. Longing for what has slipped through your fingers like long strands of dead grass along the edges of dirt roads between windmills, whipping against your hands while you run, arms outstretched, against them.
Go home, The Pilgrim.
Deviled:
You love to host, and your generosity is unmatched. This is because it is impossible to make only one deviled egg, and therefore, one who loves deviled eggs enough to make them must too enjoy the act of sharing them. And one who enjoys deviled eggs enough to make them well is loved and admired by all. A true lover of deviled eggs is not one who skimps on the dijon.
You are The World.
Soft Scrambled with Cheese and Cholula:
You have conquered much, tried many, but only ever truly enjoyed few. But after years of narrowing and narrowing, you have found perfect balance. While others simply exist within the world, you have become the god, the guardian, and the worshipper of your own realm.
You are The Plethora of Overfull Cups.
Over Medium (repeated):
Over medium. Again. Perhaps you heard what I said the first time and you thought “This isn’t me. I’m not a yearner, I don’t make anything really, or if I do I’m not that fucked up about it. I just like over-medium eggs because they’re the best.” Then this is for you. You don’t strive for perfection, because you’ve already sought it long ago and found it. You know exactly what you want and you are sure of yourself much more than others. You execute with unwavering disposition and this has made you many enemies but also given you the perfect friends. You do not need a fortune because you know where you are going and quite frankly, you can’t be stopped. No one will change your mind, and those who know you best have long since given up.
You stretch your finger out toward the sun, and your steed pulls you towards it without stopping for even a single second. You are everything you’ve ever wanted to be and every desire you have ever had or will have is made manifest by you and you alone.
You are The Chariot of Fire.
Conclusion: Poached.
I sit. Impatient and unsatisfied; having finished my eggs, my perfect, sunny-side-up eggs, and have no more to eat. I pick at my syrup-drenched breakfast and start panning for sausages. I think about what my egg order would be, and what that might mean. The sunny-side-up eggs are not what I would order, by the way. Make no mistake. I ordered them this way because they are easier to make. While I do like them, they’re less tasty than my actual favorite egg, the poached egg, but most diners like this don’t know how to make them. Poached eggs are hard to pull off. You have to time them just right and pull them out when they’re ready; no sooner, no later. It’s considered too much of a hassle for most kitchens, and usually when I ask for them at restaurants, they either turn me down outright or they just make them bad. One time, at a Denny’s, I had poached eggs that came out shriveled up and were seemingly, and mysteriously, drained of any yolk, but they still appeared to be sealed from the outside. Sometimes a place can poach an egg just fine, but when you go in and order just a black coffee and three poached eggs, they look at you funny. They fulfill the order, but you can tell they think you’re strange. I stopped ordering my eggs poached a long time ago. To me, the sunny-side-up is a compromise.
I wonder what that tells you about me. I wonder what revelations there are to be had about one who eats in silent disapproval? Someone who wants, but contends with the wanting. The craving. The yearning for something that does not, and will not, exist in a diner; while perfectly good eggs sit right in front of them.
And those eggs were truly perfect.
But at least, in the meantime, I have something to look forward to.
This podcast is a production of F News, the official Newspaper of SAIC, The School of the Art Institute of Chicago, and is paid for by the university. This show, and this episode specifically, is written and recorded by Gren Bee, with production from Sid Gard, Alex Lee, and oversight from Sophie Goalson. Music is provided by Drake and the Beatles and is completely royalty free, and for public use. Also — thank you to Flesh Simulator who actually contributed a lot more of the music to this episode than in past episodes. Shout-out, if you want to ise that music too, you can go to their patreon at FleshSimulator.com/patreon. That’s wrong. Patreon.com/FleshSimulator. There we go. Thank you so much for listening, this is F News Amplified.
Transcript:
This is a single panel comic:
A group of students sit with their notebooks out in a Social Studies classroom. There is a picture of Adolf Hitler on the wall, and on the other corner, a photo of Donald Trump. A girl in the classroom raises her hand, asking, “But why would all these people just go along with this?” In a few of the students notebooks, there are swastika doodles.
Anthony Mackie in “Captain America: Brave New World” (2025)
Out of the multiverse and into your strange fantasy is “Captain America: Brave New World.”It’s a fresh release from Marvel and the bad reviews might just reflect a Steve Rogers (Chris Evans) bias or a general super hero cinematic exhaustion. While I won’t waste your time calling the MCU “woke,” I will give credit where it’s due — in a place where innovation disappeared years before “the snap.”
Marvel has had its fair share of misses since “Multiverse of Madness,” the only movie truly connected to the Avengers and Thanos that anyone actually remembers. There have been countless releases from feature films series on Disney Plus that you’ve probably never heard of. Marvel’s mistake is likely the unasked for coverage of heroes and villains that many viewers are not familiar with. Features like “Eternals” “Morbius” and recently “Kraven the Hunter.” And while I doubt too many Avengers fans had the Falcon on the top of their Marvel favorite heroes list, at least after all the build up with “End Game” and the bizarre “The Falcon and the Winter Soldier” series on Disney Plus we know who The Falcon (played by Anthony Mackie) is. We know the Falcon is meant to be Captain America.
“Brave New World” plays out like an afro-surrealist thriller. The tone of the film immediately takes on this unfamiliar discomfort. In an interview, fittingly for Marvel.com, director of “Brave New World” Julius Onah explained that he was influenced by films such as “The Day of the Jackal” and “Point Blank.”
“[the inspiration] allowed us to tell our own version of a paranoid thriller within the MCU.” said Onah.
This was achieved by utilizing an original score akin to those you hear in everyday horror movies. Rather than exciting orchestral arrangements, we’re met with minor chords and unsteady tempos. There were also shots that were unconventional for a superhero film like upside down camera motions and a stylized use of negative space. Together, It was unsettling and confusing, but simultaneously not bad, and definitely different. What are we here to watch? Why are things getting scary?
Alongside this stylization, the story takes on an oddly similar reality to our own with political shifts and uncertainty. The primary focus of the film’s plot was on the President, Thaddeuos Ross (played by Harrison Ford), and Captain America’s relationship to him and his duty to the American public.
What may leave some less enthusiastic fans confused is the heavy handed callbacks to the 2008 “Incredible Hulk,” which might leave later adopters of the MCU unsure of the films’ entire catalyst. Crafted around the forgotten narrative of Thaddeous Ross (played by William Hurt) and Abomination (Tim Roth), an incredible mystery is created as the new Captain America (Mackie) and the new Falcon (played by Danny Ramirez) attempt to find their place in the midst of the chaos of an impending world war. And yes, that red hulk in the movie posters isn’t just Bruce Banner but red and no we’re not still in the multiverse.
While I don’t think utilizing the Hulk storyline was a mistake —Abomination does make for a good tension-building villain — I do think the audience’s expectations may have been unbalanced as the red “Hulk” that is Ross only takes up a small latter portion of the film. This misleading marketing is likely a result of the endless reshoots that “Brave New World” withstood, pushing its release out for an entire year from its planned May 3, 2024. There was even an entire superhero cut from the film. Diamondback was a pink haired fighter with Captain America played by Rosa Salazar who even had her own McDonald’s toy.
The reality is that the movie was cut to bits. Reshoots are evident, even to the viewer at some points, specifically in scenes with Abomination. But it still holds up and is well covered by the “paranoid thriller” theme. One of the top characteristics of “Brave New World” was the extended action scenes. Moments of fight choreography were allowed to play out — gone are the MCU’s classic fast abrupt cuts between every punch or shot blurring the action.
I hoped to ditch the dramatics, but frankly, with optimism, “Brave New World” feels revolutionary for the MCU. “Brave New World” leaves us with a foretelling that the Avengers will return and it feels like the kick in the pants needed to not only revive the Avengers — but audiences too.
The trailers surrounding “Brave New World” did leave me grimacing. The definition of comedy doesn’t hinge on Ryan Reynolds but after “Deadpool and Wolverine” (and every other Reynolds Deadpool beforehand), a high bar for Marvel hero humour has been set. A bar that, judging from the trailer, the May 2, 2025 release “The Thunderbolts” won’t reach. But who knows? And who called for a“Fantastic Four” reboot?
Here’s to hoping MCU fans get to enjoy the flavor of living in the present and the new Avengers don’t become a hodgepodge of time hopping heroes from different groups, cities, worlds, dimensions etc. In the real world, the future is… well… clouded and grey but it really is becoming a brave new world for the MCU.
One way to solve the puzzle:
Illustration by J.E. Paeth
Spoonful Food Pantry is listed as a resource on Residence Life bulletin boards, Campus Life emails, and on every School of the Art Institute of Chicago syllabus. But what actually is it? How helpful can it be? And how discrete is the service?
According to the SAIC website, “SAIC’s Food Pantry is available to current SAIC students who are experiencing difficulty accessing food because of a financial emergency or ongoing constraints.” This includes full-time, part-time, undergraduate, and graduate students. The Spoonful Pantry has different food kits depending on students’ diets, including non-vegetarian, dairy-free, gluten-free, vegetarian, and vegan. They try to accommodate any allergies/dietary restrictions a student may list on the application form.
The form to apply for assistance can be found by scrolling down at saic.edu/supporting-students.
According to the Office of Student Affairs, Spoonful was developed by three students. Madison Neel (BFA 2021), Kat Pitre (BFA 2021), and Alicia Morgan (MFA 2020) started the pantry with funds from the 2018-19 and 2019-20 Compassion and Belonging grants. The students worked to highlight food insecurity on all college campuses, including at SAIC. Working with the Office of Student Affairs, the three developed SAIC’s Food Pantry in the fall of 2020.
Because of the pandemic, a contactless pick-up system was established. The system also works to ensure complete student privacy — the pantry is supervised and managed by only one staff member in the Student Affairs office, the only person who sees the names of students receiving support from the pantry. Prepared food kits are placed in lockers and students receive the combination for the locker in an email when they are ready to pick up their food.
Students ordered 847 food kits — serving a total of 311 students — from Sept. 2023 to Aug. 2024, according to the Office of Student Affairs. I was one of them.
At some point last year, my freshman year, I found myself in a bind. A paycheck hadn’t come when I needed it to, or it wasn’t the amount that I needed it to be. I was stressed with classes and work, and I didn’t have time to go to Aldi anyway.
So I turned to Spoonful.
Applying is not difficult — there is no screening process for receiving a kit through the pantry, and students are not turned away from receiving a kit. Once you fill out the form on the SAIC website, you’ll receive an email asking what the best time to pick up your bag of food is. Once you reply, the next email will tell you where the pantry’s pickup location is and how to pick it up. Grab it and go! You even get to keep the tote bag; I still use mine for sewing supplies.
The funding for the pantry comes out of the Office of Student Affairs’ annual budget. Food items mostly come from nearby grocery stores like Target, Jewel Osco, and Mariano’s.
The food in my bag was not a beautiful cornucopia assortment. Most of it was Good & Gather food, Target’s generic brand, and all of it was shelf stable. I was ecstatic to receive canned chicken — in trying to keep my grocery budget low, I had accidentally become vegetarian — alongside the more-expected tomato sauce and boxes of noodles and rice.
The bag of food was a grocery trip and a half for me, and it helped me out of a crisis.
I encourage my fellow students to use it whenever you even feel like you might need it. All current degree-seeking SAIC students are eligible to pick up a food kit once a week. The amount of weeks you pick up a bag is up to you. There are students who only order once and there are students who order multiple times throughout the year.
The Office of Student Affairs stated that maintaining Spoonful is a priority, and that they continually seek resources to help students with food insecurity. Remember, if you don’t use a resource, the resource will go away.
Students who feel the pantry isn’t for them should check out SAIC’s Getting & Giving Help page, which lists off-campus resources for anyone, student or not, facing food insecurity.
For direct links to the form on the SAIC website, check out the web version of this article on fnewsmagazine.com.
If students have questions, they can be directed to the Office of Student Affairs, at studenthelp@saic.edu or 312.629.6800.
Transcript:
Panel 1
Two cat-like creatures sit opposite each other in a cafe booth
Caption: Sometimes, talking to other people feels like I’m playing a levelling-up game.
Panel 2
Another creature serves one of them a cup of tea
Caption: It feels like I’m doing an exercise in school, waiting for my turn to speak up… (thank you) It’s not that I don’t enjoy the company, I just feel myself meticulously planning my next input to make sure I’m well-liked in return.
Panel 3
The server puts down another drink for the other
Caption: And it continues to feel like that for a while. And it feels like you’re the problem for not being able to interact normally, y’know?
Panel 4
Reflection of the cat-like creature in the surface of the cup of tea
Caption: It’s still like that. But I’ve learned to put faith in other people to enjoy my company, as much as I enjoy theirs.
Get a glimpse of the Fall 2024 Art Sale at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, where student artists showcase and sell their work. Hear from a seller about their experience, and don’t miss your chance to support the Spring 2025 sale.
Transcript:
A shot of the SAIC Art Sale sign outside the Maclean building. A student in white pants walks through the revolving door.
Smash cut to many students walking up the Maclean stairs. Chatter and music can be heard.
Smash cut to a pan of the first floor of the Maclean Ballroom, taken from the second floor. Vendors are arranged in rows, wares out. Visitors mill the floor.
Smash cut to walking down one of the isles on the first floor. Students are chatting and selling.
A series of smash cuts to different shots of student vendors waving to the camera. Students are selling prints, jewelry, handmade ceramic candles, etc. Two students take clothes off a rack and examine them.
Smash cut to a seller at their table.
Nick: I’m Nick, and today I’m selling mostly offset prints, zines, and a couple prints of some digital and physical collages that I’ve made. I’m just super excited to be here. It’s actually my first time being in the annual art sale. So yeah, I’m just excited to see people’s works, especially seeing a lot of printmakers and ceramics workers and other people who’ve made things that I am not able to make. So yeah, it’s cool to support other artists and feel supported by the people that I go to school with.
While Nick speaks, we are shown quick shots of what Nick is selling, what others are selling, and students walking around the tables and talking. This continues to end of the video, when the screen fades to white.
The words “Buy. Sell. Support.” appear on the screen. The word “support” is pink. The video ends with the F Newsmagazine logo on a white background.
Transcript:
This is a single panel comic. It depicts a character with horns, an eyepatch, and angel wings. They are wearing an oversized red jacket and they are crouched near a collection of lush plants. The plants are teeming with insects, including butterflies, ladybugs, bees, and moths. The character gently reaches out toward a butterfly with a contemplative expression.
The character states,
“I wonder what kind of people they were…”
The bottom of the panel reads, in bolder text,
“HE DOESN’T KNOW THEY’RE JUST BUGS! LOL”
“Lamassu (In a Grain of Wheat),” by Wafaa Bilal. Photo courtesy of the Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago.
Wafaa Bilal, an Iraqi-American former School of the Art Institute of Chicago student (MFA 2003) and professor, is known for his work exploring the intersections of performance, technology, sculpture, and interaction. He has his first large scale survey exhibition on view at the Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago through Oct. 19, 2025.
I was fortunate enough to assist the production team as associate editor for the introductory video for this exhibition, “protected and invisible to the enemy,” where Bilal shares his artistic intentions and philosophies. I was anxious to view the exhibition as a viewer and see how these idiosyncratic and specific works translated into one gallery space. Walking into “Indulge Me,” a viewer unfamiliar with Bilal’s oeuvre might struggle to categorize the specialization that links the works together.
Four rooms encompass the exhibition, filled with just five works of various size, medium, and tone. However, looking deeper, viewers can see an artist wrestling with art as a societal concept — what it can do, how it impacts people, and whether or not it’s worth it at all.
First, one finds the drywall frame of a white room holding a computer, an exercise bike, and a bed, all covered with yellow paint. Approaching it, a mechanized paintball gun with yellow ammo is seen unmanned but aimed towards the abandoned living quarters.
These are the environs Bilal lived in for one month as a part of “Domestic Tension,” 2007. The piece was an interactive performance where online viewers could command the paintball gun to fire at Bilal at any point, whether he was sleeping, eating, or talking to a camera as a part of a daily video log.
Reconstruction of “Domestic Tension,” 2007 by Wafaa Bilal in “Indulge Me.” Photo courtesy of the Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago.
“Domestic Tension,” 2007 by Wafaa Bilal. Photo courtesy of the Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago.
Three video log selections accompany the installation on an opposite wall screen. Viewers are able to watch the first, 14th, and penultimate entry, observing the evolution of Bilal’s performance.
Part funeral, part activist intervention, and part virtual-social experiment, “Domestic Tension” develops as Bilal experiences a simulated war zone, the same type his brother navigated in his last days, dodging — and failing to dodge — the programmed strikes of anonymous assailants. He begins the project with a look of fear in his eyes, stating that he hasn’t been able to sleep due to the constant firing, but his resolve propels him forward.
The project was conceived when Bilal, a recent immigrant from Iraq, heard of the death of his brother Hajji at the hands of a U.S. drone attack.
Halfway through the performance, Bilal is suffering; his mental and physical health are diminishing, and he remarks on the post traumatic stress this project will likely leave him with. Behind him, the room is noticeably disheveled and now stained with yellow paint.
Only on day 30 do we see the room as it is presented to us in “Indulge Me.” While yellow on day one, the yellow of Day 30 is severe: more vibrant, more violent, more stained into the wall from constant blows. Bilal’s demeanor has intensified with the color around him. He expresses a sense of triumph as he declares, interrupted often by gunfire, “I am going to extend this to one more day… dedicated to the people who doubted I could go through with this. Art is supposed to inform, it’s supposed to educate, it’s supposed to be a part of life.”
Bilal charges art with a stunningly optimistic dictum, but more stunning than that is the fact that, throughout these 30 days of hell, he clearly believes it. “Domestic Tension” showcases the tension of contrasts, and all of them include the viewer. The yellow of intervention against the white cube of the gallery space; the bangs of the gun in the performance against the silence of our viewing it, inert in the gallery; the triple contradiction from which the piece gets its name. The violence of the concept and inspiration against both American domestic comfort and Bilal’s exalted pride in survival.
Along with “Domestic Tension,” “Indulge Me” carries two pieces that reckon with the Iraq War very differently than “Domestic Tension.” In “Canto III,” Bilal completes Saddam Hussein’s dream of having a gold effigy. Originally it was conceived to float in orbit above Baghdad — a shining sun of a reminder of Hussein’s self-described godhood.
In “Virtual Jihadi,” 2008, Bilal presents a hack of a popular video game which was used for imperial propaganda in the United States and by Al Qaeda as a rallying cry against their western assailants. Bilal defies them both, programming himself into the game as a suicide bomber sent to kill George Bush, which, upon mission completion, ends the game.
I stood within the re-created Iraqi internet café where the video game can be played, and watched visitors engage with the piece. What I observed is an apparent disregard for the irony in “Virtual Jihadi” and “Canto III,” as visitors smiled and shot at digital portraits of George Bush, Tony Blair, and Saddam Hussein, or took a selfie with the golden bust of the deposed leader of Iraq. I can not help but feel dismayed at the discrepancy between their behavior and what the piece conveys, the tragic reality of how empires, through war, often take advantage of young men, leading them to their death. Perhaps therein the risk of satirical art: tragic, black comedy can become simply comedy.
Re-created Iraqi internet café for “Virtual Jihadi,” 2008 by Wafaa Bilal in “Indulge Me.” Photo courtesy of the Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago.
“Virtual Jihadi,” 2008 by Wafaa Bilal. Photo courtesy of the Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago.
Across from “Virtual Jihadi” sits a piece the MCA commissioned for “Indulge Me:” a participatory sculpture called “In a Grain of Wheat,” 2023. The sculpture is a recreated lamassu. An ancient symbol of Iraqi history going back to ancient Mesopotamia, idols of which were destroyed by ISIS during their purge of non-Islamic art in 2015 (if they were not looted and housed at the Metropolitan Museum of Art or British Museum).
Bilal, with the help of digital scientists, reduced a scan of the lamassu into a microscopic file which was then embedded in e-coli and attached to grains of wheat. Wheat is native to the fertile crescent of modern day Iraq. Those same wheat grains sit emerging from the lamassu in the MCA, are offered to museum goers to take and plant, making the cultural heritage of the lamassu both, as Bilal states, “protected and invisible to the enemy.” Bilal imagines a field of wheat, that is, a field of lamassus, regenerating the cultural imagery so many have sought to destroy.
“In a Grain of Wheat” sits counter to the sardonic irony of Bilal’s early work and taps into the sincerity of “Domestic Tension.” The piece is radically optimistic, as the concept is somewhat obtuse. It’s difficult to imagine someone, say, after contemporary information has vanished or been destroyed, picking a grain of wheat from a stalk, analyzing it, and discovering the Mesopotamian chimera. But it’s not impossible.
The lamassu in the gallery is beautiful, its ebony frame looks invitingly towards the viewer as the grain spills out from its hooves. Culture should be preserved, and the means of science and nature have allowed Bilal, in cooperation with the audience, to attempt to do so.
Bilal’s progression as an artist can be seen through “Indulge Me.” Bilal has departed from the cynical but evocative forms of his early work and looks at the possibilities of art with an inspiringly confident eye. In an interview with Bilal, I asked why he moved away from the sardonic comedy of “Virtual Jihadi” and “Canto III.”
“The subject really imposes on us, you can’t impose on it. The idea determines a lot of things. And to me, the way it was shaped, [“In A Grain of Wheat”] didn’t need [comedy]. I thought it needed a poetic element. One thing when you experience being lost in a war is the trap of being victimized. We lived under the dictator Saddam. So, “Canto III,” by minimizing, shrinking down its grandiose presence, psychologically tended to shrink its effect on the Iraqi mind through the lens of comedy. And that allowed us to move forward and not to feel victim forever or have that victim mentality.
“‘In a Grain of Wheat,’ in the post conflict, I wanted to rewrite the narrative, and I don’t want us to be victims forever to something that was not by our design. It was imposed on us. And I think you see that mentality in Iraq. Iraqis know life has to continue, and they regenerate the narrative in order to move forward. There is no time to live in the past because it’s a constant conflict. ‘In a Grain of Wheat,’ in a way, is an index of what happened.
“You don’t forget. But at the same time you don’t stand there and cry forever over it because that is not a sign of hope. You say, this has happened,” said Bilal.
Indeed, it did happen. I live in Chicago, in a small, third floor apartment. I have no place to plant the wheat seeds I carried in my pocket walking out of the exhibit. But “Indulge Me” and “In a Grain of Wheat” provide the optimism that makes me believe that one day I will find fertile ground, and I will plant them.
Screencap from the official music video for the song “Ankles,” by Lucy Dacus
“Pull me by the ankles to the edge of the bed,” Lucy Dacus sings in her new song, “Ankles.” This line, as well as the rest of the song, is at the crux between safety and danger — both within kink and post-Trump queer politics.
Dacus is a singer-songwriter who wrote three acclaimed studio albums before joining the queer indie-rock supergroup boygenius. Dacus’ fourth studio album, “Forever is a Feeling,” comes out on March 28. She is scheduled to play at The Chicago Theater on May 1 and 2. The tickets for her first Chicago concert sold out in approximately 20 minutes, which led her team to announce a second date a few hours later.
“Ankles” plays with the perceived pain of kink’s pleasure by juxtapositioning erotic lyrics with soft melodious music. The second verse is led by a series of bell chimes that punctuate the bubbly and gently-sung lyric, “So bite me on the shoulder / pull my hair.” These bells are a subversion of the stereotype that kink is ghastly. This is the first time these bells are heard in the song, and their utility is in calling attention to the pain of being bitten and pulled. Rather than catastrophizing this pain, the bell’s pleasant noise is meant to communicate the pleasure that this type of stimulus can bring to some people.
Simultaneously, the first two verses are sung to the backdrop of consistent short notes played on a violin. The bells then introduce a slow set of drums that, together with a rhythmic violin and a sparse guitar, build into an explosive and robust chorus. This section evokes the experience of an orgasm — including an emotional escalation and an increased heart rate in those musical palpitations. Another way to see this section is as a metaphor for kink, as a power dynamic of restraint, build-up, and release.
A relationship that centers bondage, discipline, dominance, submission and sadomasochism, or BDSM, usually involves a power exchange between a dominant person leading a sexual encounter and a submissive counterpart who consensually agrees to physical or sexual domination. A healthy relationship between a submissive person and dominant person (or a Sub-Dom relationship) is built on previously-communicated boundaries and defined limits of consent; a Sub’s safe-word should make their Dom a ragdoll (the use of a safe-word immediately ends the scene, period). In a curious way, the Sub holds power by being the one that chooses to sustain the illusion that they have given away power.
Although there is no way to be completely safe while engaging in kink, there are activities that are safer than others, and there are practices a person can implement to be as safe as possible. This is why kink can imitate danger or allow a person to orbit danger in a controlled environment. This is why kink blurs the line between safety and danger.
Queer culture is defined by the danger of being criminalized or persecuted. Even in the safetest of societies and environments, queerness is still a target for hatred — physical, verbal, or cultural. There is no way to be completely safe as a queer person. In the same way, queer culture is defined by desire that can not be fulfilled easily — a desire for impermissible sexual and romantic relationships, and a desire for a normative social acceptance of queerness. Within that abstraction exists the concept of fantasy.
“Ankles” works on two superimposed levels. The song communicates a longing for forbidden sex — which could represent both queerness and kink — but also, a desire for safety.
The second Trump administration is a menace to the Queer community. Trump issued the “Defending Women From Gender Ideology Extremism and Restoring Biological Truth to the Federal Government” executive order that “attempts to end legal recognition of transgender and nonbinary people under federal law and greenlight discrimination against the full LGBTAQ+ community.” (Brandon Wolf) Trump’s intent is to escalate the removal of anti-discrimination policies, prohibiting gender-affirming medical care, and reversing the legality of same-sex marriage.
In a world where politics is so dangerous, there is a desire and hope for safety, acceptance, and comfort. “Ankles” is as much about kinky sex and intimacy, as well as true connection. The chorus sings, “I want you to show me what you mean / then help me with the crossword in the morning / you are going to make me tea / gonna ask me how did I sleep.” The speaker longs for a domestic life full of peaceful, slow mornings, and items of comfort. This is a lifestyle that is not universally accessible to queer people.
Same-sex marriage is illegal in over 64 countries, and in the 38 countries where same-sex marriage is legal, not all social circles are enthusiastic about same-sex partnerships. There are places where marriage could be judicially legal, and yet, socially frowned upon — thus barring an individual from a queer domestic life in a more covert way. This does not take into account that queer people are statistically more likely to live in poverty than their straight and cisgender counterparts. Poverty is thus a barrier for people to acquire, replicate, and consume the fantasy and image of a domestic life.
In the song, there is no canonical evidence that the romance between the speaker and their lover is public. The speaker says they “want” their lover to help them with the crossword in the morning and then make tea, but there is no in-scene evidence that this ever occurs. There is no proof that they spend the night together — and if they do spend the night, there is no proof they are living together. The fantasy of a safe domesticity pervades.
There is an emphasis on withholding in “Ankles.” The lyrics “I’m not going to stop you this time” (with a tonal emphasis on “this time” via the absence of melodic repetition) implies there were other moments the lovers had to withhold from each other. If the lovers are queer, then this line could mean that the lovers had to show restraint from each other due to homophobia — either because they could not be public with their love, or because a form of internalized homophobia kept the speaker from partaking in their queer attraction.
Likewise, linking back to the Sub-Dom dynamic, restraint is a form of power-play where one person withholds sexual gratification from the other. The line could signify the moment the speaker is unable to hold back any longer and has chosen to cave into pleasure. This sentiment is then reiterated with the word “baby” sung in an elongated manner that resembles a moan. The line “I’m not going to stop you this time” pairs with the lyrics “I want you to show me what you mean” in that these snippets of possible dialogue hint at scenes that are absent from the song but open to the audience’s imagination. “I want you to show me what you mean” indicates instances of dirty talk, where the lover had expressed a verbal or written desire to pleasure their partner, and they can now act upon it.
Nevertheless, that line sits in contrast to the verse “What if we don’t touch? / What if we only talk / about what we want / and cannot have?” These lines could, again, suggest a form of power-play where the speaker refrains from touching their partner to build tension and desire, but it could also allude to an inability to talk about queer desire in public. In that case, these lovers can not touch the way they want to, and are relegated to only talking about their desire.
There are 21 states in the United States with laws that restrict schools from discussing “homosexuality” in curricula. Schools are required to notify parents of any LGBT lesson-plans with the choice to opt their children out, or must censor discussions of LGBT information in the classroom completely. Sometimes the ability to talk about queer desire is a privilege.
Queer culture was, historically, codified. The Hanky Code, being called a “friend of Dorothy,” the “gay earring”, and flowers such as the green carnation or violets were all forms of code that queer people used to find each other and signal queer attraction. Coded messages bring on a simultaneous safety and danger. A secret code can protect an individual from being understood by those who do not know the code, but it can also out them and incriminate them to those who are searching for the code for sinister purposes.
In the song, the line “Playing with your scissors again” could refer to scissoring, a sexual position where two women rub their genitals together to receive pleasure without penetration or oral stimulation. “Scissoring might just be one of the most mythical sex acts of them all, one that is as iconic as it is controversial,” Adejoke Mason writes. Scissoring as the main form queer women have sex is a myth perpetuated by traditional porn catered to men. Regardless, scissoring is the primary lesbian imagery in the heterosexual collective imagination, which is a form of fantasy. The act of scissoring is to straight people an unfamiliar taboo to which they assign a voyeuristic curiosity, pornographic objectification, and desire.
The line could also be interpreted as a code for lesbianism under the guise of the Greek Fates metaphor. In Greek mythology, Atropos was the Fate who cut the string of life with a pair of scissors. This allusion to the Greek pantheon stands in contrast with the line “Angel of Death” — a Judeo-Christian messenger of God that brings death. Some sects of many different religions do not welcome queer people into their belief system and practice. The mention of the Angel of Death can reference mixed feelings about being queer and religious, or the position a queer person can have within a religious community. The Angel of Death can also be a metaphor for the lover. To come out as queer in a religious community can mean becoming ostracized from friends and family. Therefore, publicly loving the lover could be a form of social death for the speaker. The lover then becomes the Angel of Death: an angelic figure of benevolence and sacred love that imparts death, just as Atropos cut the string of fate when playing with scissors.
The interplay of verses and lines in “Ankles” is unique. The dialogue is not attributed to either character. Both the lover or the original speaker (assumed to be the voice of Dacus herself) could have said any of the song’s lyrics, and who says what can reimagine the sub-dom relationship of these characters and morph the message of the song. For example, if the lyrics “Now don’t move / When I tell you what to do” are credited to the original speaker, then that would align them with the dom role, but if the lyrics are credited to the lover, then that would make the original speaker a Sub. If the original speaker is a Sub then that line, once again, guides the song back into the discussion of safety and danger within kink and politics.
“Now don’t move / When I tell you what to do,” refers to how a dom could control a situation through physical restraint and “commanding” (dictating instructions). If the original speaker is a Sub receiving this guidance, then they probably feel pleasure and a certain respite from the loss of control. Submission is a break from having to make decisions and the stressors of having control. It is a form of vulnerability and profound intimacy. This submission is also, in the world of dangerous politics, a moment where the speaker does not have to worry about fighting to regain control from a position of powerlessness, or their civic responsibilities, or keeping a façade of fearlessness. Submission is a moment of falling into the care of another.
The lines “Let me touch you where I want to / There, there, there, there, there” are about desire and the fulfillment of fantasy. Obviously, it’s sexy that the speaker wants to touch their partner… but the repetition of the word “there” alludes to a deeper intimacy. The speaker appreciates all these different body parts of their lover and the lover is seen as a holistic person, not just the utility of the genitals to extract sexual gratification. The lyrics hint at a sexual relationship between the lovers that is erotic and sensual (and by extension, loving), rather than for the intent of short-term gratification.
Why “Ankles”? A woman showing her ankles in the Victorian Era was considered immodest. This reference to an older time is made clear in Dacus’ music video for the song. Dacus parades around a contemporary city in a regal, mock-tudor-style red dress—clearly, a figure that does not belong. She is an abnormality in the same vein as queerness and kink. The ankles are a tease. They are a promise there is more to observe — and fantasize about — under the skirt. They hint at how, under the ruffles, there could be an impermissible love.
Or the title “Ankles” to be a reference to foot fetishes! Another sexual fantasy that has been meme-ified as an unacceptable interest. Who knows? You’ll have to ask Lucy herself.
Transcript:
Page 1:
Panel 1: A castle smokes and burns. The gate is open. Dead bodies lie in the muddied snow outside the barbican wall. A siege has just ended, and a raid begun.
Panel 2: A hand holds a longsword in the foreground. A Lord sits on a throne atop a dais in the background.
Lord: “G-G-Guards!”
Panel 3: The helmeted swordsman steps up the dais and runs the lord through with his sword. His crown comes off his head as he’s thrust forward, and it lands on the floor with a “KLANG”
Panel 4: The soldier kneels on the ground before the crown, reaching out for it trepidatiously. Half In darkness, half in the light of the court. In the background, the lord sits limp on his throne, a sword sticking out of his chest and blood leaking down the chair.
Panel 5: The shining crown sits in a black void. The swordsman’s disembodied hand touches one of its spikes. It pricks his finger, blood drips down.
Panel 6: The soldier still kneels, the door to the keep wide open in front of him. More bodies dangle from the gallery above the court. As blood drips from his finger he mutters.
Swordsman: “Mayhaps I…”
Page 2:
Panel 1: The soldier’s norman style helmet falls to the ground with a CLANG.
Panel 2: The crown is held in the soldier’s right hand. It is stained with blood, and it emanates a sinister aura.
Panel 3: The soldier delicately holds the crown over his head. It continues radiating. A single drop of blood falls from the crown.
Panel 4: Another soldier taking part in the raid enters through the open door, he stands with a spear in his hand, and looks dismayed. Smoke from the burning castle billows outside. The Soldier calls inside:
Soldier: “Comrade!” “You wouldn’t!”
Panel 5: The Swordsman’s face is revealed, he holds the crown just above his shaggy short-cut hair. Blood from the killing of the lord has splattered his face. He looks ahead, mouth agape and wide eyed. His expression is a mix of embarrassment, fear, and anger.
F Newsmagazine is a journal of arts, culture, and politics edited and designed by students at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago.
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