Nassau Weekly

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  • Counter Cultures

    Counter Cultures

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    Some lesser-known identities of a counter, however you define it, recognizing the dangers of slipping into the full absurdist guerrilla art territory of #notmakingsense.

  • On Umwelt: Experience as a Shapeable Thing

    On Umwelt: Experience as a Shapeable Thing

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    What if we can find control over our experience of the world just by shifting our attention?

  • Counterculture: Full Design

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    The Nass is a rebel without a cause. A tortured creature. A little dog with a big bite. This week, we’re counterculture.

  • Anthracnose: An Exodus

    Anthracnose: An Exodus

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    Leaves cascade from the oak,  to which my parents swore,  stems diseased  by my sins? I trace the veins anyway,  hoping they will lead me  to their quiet, promised land.   It lies within  a barren forest.  where whispers linger, taunting as they pray for me.  I am lost, trying to find my breath. I…

  • A Cacophony of Swallows in Flight: Full Design

    A Cacophony of Swallows in Flight: Full Design

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    Check out our newest issue in collaboration with the Blacks Arts Collective here, or pick up a copy somewhere on campus!

  • A Letter from the Curators

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    The Black Arts Collective is a group of Black artists on campus that come together to think about the world around us and create our responses to it. Across various mediums including painting, dance, sculpture, photography, and film, we have established a generational conversation within shared frameworks. We have notoriously avoided institutionalization and a formal…

  • Letter from the Editors

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    Dear Readers,   This week, the Nassau Weekly and the Black Arts Collective try something new. As part of our efforts to link this campus’ artistic worlds, this special issue comprises content created by Collective members, which has been edited by Nass staff and co-curated by the leadership of our two respective groups. This special…

  • Auction

    Auction

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    introducing the body  size thirty-four B tits, forty-four round hips slim twenty-nine-inch waist  thick thighs I used to once hate  a gap so spaced that words fly out of it a forehead so big you could play chess on it  brown skin, lips thin  height small, not tall  disclaimer of the body  I can’t be…

  • Blackness in Residence

    Blackness in Residence

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    The Amistad sails a silent scream across the sea.  In its wake, a dark tapestry woven with violence.  Mouths in the hold lie open, inaudible, begging for the nothingness that is everything.    On this ship, terror lurks.  A violence of abstraction separates Black from man and kills him twice, Discarding his body like dead…

  • Love Is

    Love Is

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    Love is an expression simple to understand but tough to maintain. It’s like a symphony of instruments  created individually but only complete together. The catch being that the notes are obscure. The sheet music is unscripted and all that’s left is  You. Its blind conductor who was given no directions. You see, love comes without…

  • The Risk of Growing Old

    The Risk of Growing Old

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    What is the rush and rationale we feel to advance in our age?

  • A Restaurant in Hayward

    A Restaurant in Hayward

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    Mmm, linoleum floors, my favorite, I think.   It’s 7:30 am, according to the analog clock on the wall, and I’m officially pissed at being up this early  for my driver’s license exam.   “Window 10 is OPEN!” an older lady screeches, and I lung forward.   She wears glasses that hang  from a cord…

  • A Cacophony of Swallows in Flight

    A Cacophony of Swallows in Flight

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    A flight to the Caribbean to escape the confines of Princeton.

  • Ammo

    Ammo

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  • Trapped

    Trapped

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    The tracing of distress tailored against the coarse lining ripples and bumps engulf flickers of dim hope. The clashing dissonance overwhelms one boundary, edging to the brim of its inverse. The tracing persists. Wrenching and tugging at seams of a suffocating cloth proves pointless. A bloody mind splitting battle entails a victory lap to celebrate…

Bisexual Tower member: I wish it was 1952 so that I’d be forced to repress my sexuality and thus society would have made up my mind for me.