Article by David Andrews; art by Isabel Aurichio
Nicanor Parra can’t hear shit. The long white hairs growing out of his ears don’t help the situation. At 103 years old, he is gaunt, deaf, and permanently hunched. He spends most of his days wrapped in blankets, overlooking the Pacific Ocean. He’s physically withering away, but the Chilean poet retains the same sharp intellect that destroyed, lampooned, and then reenvisioned South American poetry during his 60-plus year career.
Article by David Andrews; art by Olive Welsh
As I pulled up next to a faded red Honda Odyssey, I noticed a hand protruding from the driver’s side window. I glanced over and saw a middle-aged Denver dad-type slamming his head into the headrest and rapping along to the beat of Kendrick Lamar’s “HUMBLE:” “Bitch. Sit down, be humble.”
Stay humble in that Odyssey. Keep making moves. I hope the U-10 soccer league has gotten off to a good start this season, I thought. “DAMN.,” Lamar’s most recent album, is clearly a crossover hit if the dads of our world are rattling their Honda Odysseys with the politically-charged tracks of the most popular rapper in the world.
