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Judge Not…A Viewers’ Guide to the Kings County Courthouse Scandal

When a tightly organized group of people takes control of an electoral process it becomes a political machine: eight Brooklyn Supreme Court Justices are being investigated for bribery and nepotism.

New Skool Journalism

In collaboration with Youth Speaks, a writing program that offers free after school poetry workshops for NYC teens, the Brooklyn Rail is proud to bring you the words and visions of the city’s up and coming writers.

The Brooklyn Tabernacle Moves On Up

He that gathereth in summer is a wise son, but he that sleepeth in harvest is a son that causeth shame. -       Proverbs 10:5

New York City, LLC

It is by now commonplace to say that the city has a “new C.E.O.” Hardly a day has passed during Michael Bloomberg’s fist two months in office without the introduction of some sort of new “efficiency” or “downsizing” initiative, cloaked in management-speak, and presented by one or another nicely-suited new city officials. 

Economy: That Kenny Boy, He Sure Is Good People!

Poor Ken Lay. The media won’t give him a break; Congress is labeling him corrupt; since January he has been unemployed; and, according to his wife, he’s broke.


“Cloaca,” the machine that takes in food and turns it into shit, surprised the hell out of me. I’d expected to like it—a little. I wanted to see it eat, and I did see food washed down its gullet into a food disposal.

My Vagina Says Hey

My vagina says “hey” My vagina “hey” like a hey that gives me hope hello? “hey” it comes quick as that

The Starry Skies Above

Aries You’ll be making love in March, as Venus frolics through your horny pastures, Ram! You’ll be especially charismatic – or is that bombastic – after the 21st, but take the time to listen to the whispers of those more sensitive souls around, and by the beginning of April you’re ready to talk – or write – your way into the citadel of power.

Slice: A Question of Style

“Oh, yuck,” the guy said.   “What?” I replied frantically, as I tried to serve him a drink.   “It’s them,” he sneered.  “C’mon, I’m busy, just tell me what,” I pleaded.  


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