250,000 Unique Site Views: A Thanks

I want to talk about some things. I want to talk about some things that matter. What does it mean to be from blue-collar America? To be from a sacrifice zone in blue-collar Louisiana? What does it mean to watch your father—the strongest man you’ve ever known, the hardest-working man you’ve ever seen—head off to the oil rigs? Because that’s where the money is. It’s booming right now. Might not be booming this time next year, but it’s booming right now.

And you watch him go. You watch the strongest man you’ve ever seen, with a heart of steel and a body carved from stone, come back broken. Two canes. Two knee braces. Struggling to walk. And you ask, why? Why does the man who gave everything come back like this? Because capital broke him. They used him up and spit him out, like they’ve done to so many in this world.

But he rebuilt himself. God, did he rebuild himself. Through grit, through sheer determination, through physical therapy, exercise, sweat, and pain. The doctor said, “You’ll never move like you used to, you'll never work again.” And he said, “Fuck you. I’ll move better than I ever have. I’ll figure it out. I’ll work harder than I did before. I’ll find a way, because that’s what’s got to be done.”

Vast stretches of trailer parks dot the landscape, with blue tarps serving as a familiar and unmistakable sight. Where the Dollar General sits across from the town strip club. That’s where I’m from. The sacrifice zone. I’m from that kind of place. I’m from that kind of people. I’m from Louisiana, and when I sit here and look at the numbers—250,000 views, 250,000 unique people who’ve heard my voice—I think about that strength. The strength of the people who came before me. The strength of my grandfather, who spent 20 years in Angola prison. The Reagan years, crack-cocaine, he paid his dues in chains. A hell of a life. A hell of a story. That’s strength. That’s survival.

I am the contradictions of this empire. I am the voice of its belly and a voice of its people. I don’t have a college degree. I moved around a lot growing up. I’ve read every book I could get my hands on. I work a regular job. I do what I can with what I’ve got. And I’ll keep doing that, every damn day, because it’s what I’m here to do.

And when I see that number—250,000—I don’t think about myself. I think about the people who came before me. To Elizabeth, the strongest woman I’ve ever known and my Mother, who's survived more than I could ever know. I think of the women in my life who shaped me, gave me the lens to see the world for what it is, and taught me how to build a code of honor to live by. They gave me the confidence to be here and speak truth to power, to believe in something bigger than myself.

That’s what I want to say. I hope what we build here will last a million years. Thank you.

-Erik Houdini

250,000 Visitas Únicas: Un Agradecimiento

Quiero hablar de algunas cosas. Quiero hablar de cosas que importan. ¿Qué significa ser de la América trabajadora? ¿Ser de una zona de sacrificio en la Luisiana obrera? ¿Qué significa ver a tu padre—el hombre más fuerte que has conocido, el hombre más trabajador que has visto—irse a las plataformas petroleras? Porque ahí está el dinero. Está en auge ahora mismo. Quizás no lo esté el próximo año, pero ahora sí lo está.

Y lo ves irse. Ves al hombre más fuerte que has conocido, con un corazón de acero y un cuerpo esculpido en piedra, regresar roto. Dos bastones. Dos rodilleras. Luchando por caminar. Y te preguntas, ¿por qué? ¿Por qué el hombre que lo dio todo regresa así? Porque el capital lo rompió. Lo usaron y lo desecharon, como han hecho con tantos en este mundo.

Pero él se reconstruyó. Dios, cómo se reconstruyó. Con coraje, con pura determinación, con terapia física, ejercicio, sudor y dolor. El médico dijo: “Nunca te moverás como antes, nunca volverás a trabajar.” Y él dijo: “Que te jodan. Me moveré mejor que nunca. Lo resolveré. Trabajaré más duro que antes. Encontraré la manera, porque es lo que hay que hacer.”

Extensas zonas de parques de casas rodantes salpican el paisaje, con lonas azules como una vista familiar e inconfundible. Donde el Dollar General está frente al club de striptease del pueblo. De ahí soy. De la zona de sacrificio. Soy de ese tipo de lugar. Soy de ese tipo de gente. Soy de Luisiana, y cuando me siento aquí y miro los números—250,000 visitas, 250,000 personas únicas que han escuchado mi voz—pienso en esa fuerza. La fuerza de las personas que vinieron antes que yo. La fuerza de mi abuelo, quien pasó 20 años en la prisión de Angola. Los años de Reagan, el crack, pagó sus deudas en cadenas. Una vida de infierno. Una historia de infierno. Esa es fuerza. Esa es supervivencia.

Soy las contradicciones de este imperio. Soy la voz de su vientre y una voz de su gente. No tengo un título universitario. Me mudé mucho creciendo. He leído cada libro que he podido conseguir. Trabajo un empleo regular. Hago lo que puedo con lo que tengo. Y seguiré haciéndolo, cada maldito día, porque para eso estoy aquí.

Y cuando veo ese número—250,000—no pienso en mí. Pienso en las personas que vinieron antes que yo. En Elizabeth, la mujer más fuerte que he conocido y mi Madre, que ha sobrevivido más de lo que jamás podría imaginar. Pienso en las mujeres de mi vida que me formaron, me dieron la lente para ver el mundo tal como es, y me enseñaron cómo construir un código de honor para vivir. Me dieron la confianza para estar aquí y hablar con la verdad al poder, para creer en algo más grande que yo mismo.

Eso es lo que quiero decir. Espero que lo que construyamos aquí dure un millón de años. Gracias.

-Erik Houdini

Barbarism in the Classroom: What 13 Year Old Ty’s Arrest Says About Our Values

What are schools supposed to be? Are they not the places where children learn what it means to be part of our society, to be part of this broader American project? Schools are meant to be places of safety, where children can grow, explore, and understand the values that shape our communities. But what happens when those values—our shared culture—are no longer about growth, safety, or learning, but about fear, control, and punishment?

Take Ty, a 13-year-old Black autistic child in Tennessee, arrested for making a nervous comment about his stuffed bunny. A comment—let’s be clear—that was harmless and rooted in anxiety, not danger. Yet, Ty was handcuffed, charged with a felony, and dragged into a police car. This is what the school-to-prison pipeline looks like. It’s a reflection of a system where the only tools are policing and punishment.

One of the comments on the article about Ty’s case struck me deeply: “I’m just glad they didn’t kill him.” Think about that for a moment. That is where we are as a society—relieved that a child, a literal child, wasn’t murdered by the police. And let’s not pretend it’s an unreasonable fear. We’ve seen this before. We saw it with Elijah McClain, a 23-year-old Black man with autism, who was killed by police in 2019 for the crime of walking home while nervous and confused. Elijah was around my age. He could have been me. But I’m still breathing, and because I am, I have to speak out for people like him—for people like Ty.

We know how these situations play out in the worst-case scenario. We’ve seen it time and again. The chilling thing is, those in power don’t seem to understand—or care—that the fear and violence that permeate our policing system trickle down to children. Imagine being Ty, a Black autistic child, standing there as police handcuff you, take your comfort item, and treat you like a criminal. Imagine knowing, consciously or not, that these people have the power to kill you and face no real consequences. Do you think you’d be able to calmly explain yourself? Do you think you’d feel safe?

What values does this reflect? What does it say about our culture, about what we’ve allowed to propagate over generations? When a child learns that the adults around them see them as a threat, that their mistakes will not be met with guidance or understanding but with state-sanctioned force, what kind of person are we shaping them to be? What does it say about a nation when its schools—the supposed bedrock of its future—mirror its deepest injustices?

We cannot deny the role of race in this. Black children, particularly Black boys, are disproportionately adultified, treated as older, more dangerous, and less innocent than their peers. This is a system that refuses to see them as children and instead projects onto them the fears and prejudices of a deeply broken society. But this is not just a racial issue. It’s also about ableism, about the systemic failures to understand and support neurodivergent people. And it’s about a culture of violence and policing that ultimately threatens everyone.

What happens when we invite the state’s hitmen into our schools? What values do they teach? Are these the values of a modern society, or are they something far older, far more brutal? Robert E. Howard, in Conan the Barbarian, described “civilization masked as barbarism”—a veneer of order and refinement that conceals the brutality underpinning it. Is that not what we see here? A system dressed up in authority and procedure, but ultimately defined by fear and violence?

Rosa Luxemburg framed the choice clearly: “It is socialism or barbarism.” Right now, we are steeped in barbarism. It’s in every handcuffed child, every needless death, every institution that prioritizes control over care. Barbarism is not some far-off, ancient concept; it lives in the everyday operations of our schools, our justice system, our culture of policing. And it will continue to thrive unless we choose something different—something rooted in humanity, empathy, and justice.

If we want to move forward, if we want to build a better society, we need to rethink everything about how we raise, teach, and protect our children. Schools should be sanctuaries, not pipelines to prison. We need counselors, not cops. We need to teach empathy, not fear. And above all, we need to instill values that reflect who we want to be—not who we’ve allowed ourselves to become.

Because right now, our children are learning. They’re learning that the world doesn’t care about them. They’re learning that fear is stronger than compassion. And they’re learning that violence is the answer to every problem. Is that who we the people want to be? Is that the society we want to build? If not, then it’s time for something new. It’s time for us to teach a better set of values.

Read the ProPublica Article Here

New in the Arcade: Traumatarium

Dark, gritty, and dripping with style—this one goes all in on its art direction, and it absolutely pays off. A Cave Noire take on the first-person dungeon crawler: stripped-down mechanics, boiled down to the bare essentials. You’ll come for the visuals, no doubt, but the gameplay has a way of keeping you hooked.

Model: @willforcsgo

Veteran's Day Address

Today, on Veterans Day, we honor those who served, but let's take a moment to really think about what that service means—what it's built on, and why so many young people feel like the military is their only path forward.

Growing up, we all saw it. I remember back in sixth grade, we'd be talking on the school bus about military snipers, about that soldier who supposedly took a guy out from two miles away. We were kids, thinking, 'That's badass, that's what a hero looks like.' But what does that really mean? Is that what it means to be a hero—to take someone's life, to drop bombs on communities we've never met? Think about it. The new Call of Duty game just came out. It's the best-selling game series of all time, and that's no accident. It's backed by the Department of Defense, openly funded as a recruitment tool. I grew up playing it, like so many others—chatting with friends about favorite guns and wars. But there's a reason these games are everywhere, and it isn't just entertainment. It's all part of a system meant to make military life feel normal, even appealing.

Then there are the jets flying over football games, with cheers from the crowd as we feel that rush of pride. But those same jets are flying missions overseas, dropping bombs on Gaza right now. They aren't just part of a spectacle for us—they're part of a war machine that devastates real people, families, communities, every day. And it's our government funding that destruction. We're not just watching from the sidelines; we're implicated, whether we realize it or not.

The message is everywhere: enlist, serve, be proud. But here's the reality—our young people aren't just choosing the military out of patriotism. Many are pushed into it because they don't see other options. For some, it's a way to escape poverty, to build a future when other doors feel closed. It's no coincidence that enlisted recruitment is highest in communities with the least opportunity.

Imagine a small town with maybe 6,000 people. The big news is when a new Dollar General goes up, right down the street from the Family Dollar that went up last year. That's 'economic development' where you're from. There's no factory, no hospital, no major employers, but there's always a recruiting office—Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, maybe even Border Patrol. That's where the opportunities are for far too many.

And it's no accident. The military is this country's biggest jobs program, especially in towns like these, where the options are thin and the future feels even thinner. You're not signing up just out of patriotism; you're signing up because no one showed you another way out. And from an early age, this idea of 'service' is drilled into you, not as one option among many, but as a path you're expected to take. When the only job opportunities are in uniform, when every career fair is filled with recruiters, when the most stable paycheck is tied to war, what message does that send?

But here's the thing: those jets flying over games, those flags waving—they don't represent me, and they don't represent the values I want for my country. We can honor the people who served without glorifying the system that put them there, a system that chews up working-class young people from forgotten places. We're not just watching from the sidelines; we're part of a culture that makes this feel normal, that makes war seem inevitable, even honorable. But it doesn't have to be that way.

A lot of veterans come home and turn to nature for peace. They find themselves drawn to our national parks, looking for something real, something life-giving after years of being part of something destructive. They reflect on the lives affected, maybe the lives taken, and there's healing in those quiet places, in the trees, the rivers, the land. These parks remind us that we can build something beautiful, something lasting.

So, as we honor our veterans today, let's ask ourselves why we have so many. Why is service often the only way forward in towns that this country has left behind? And what can we do to make sure the next generation has other doors open—doors to opportunity, doors to a future that doesn't involve a uniform and a gun?

If we're truly 'we the people,' then it's on us to reject the idea that this war machine reflects our values. Let's build a country where service means building communities, not tearing them apart. Where being a hero isn't about the longest sniper shot but about creating a future where kids in small towns don't feel like the military is their only chance to get somewhere. That's a country I want to believe in, one that respects its veterans and also questions the need for their service. And deep down, I think a lot of us want the same thing.

-Erik Houdini

The Houdini Line: Our Post-Election Statement and Goals

We can escape this.

My friends, brothers, sisters, comrades, today we face a moment that will test us all. It's the kind of moment that comes once in a generation. As you know, Donald Trump has won the presidency again, and there's no sugarcoating it—things are about to get harder for working people, for women, for our LGBTQ comrades, and for every community that's been pushed to the margins of this country.

And what have we seen from the so-called opposition? The Democratic Party—the party that was supposed to be for the people—has shifted so far right that they're promising walls and advancing genocide. They've got no vision, no courage, and no heart for the people. They don't want to fight for you; they want to fight over who gets to hold the reins of power. But let me tell you, folks: the people who hold that power don't care about you or me. They don't care about us any more than they care about the grass they step on or the wind that blows.

Now, I know that many of you—especially those who are young and facing this for the first time—might feel like the ground has been ripped out from under you. You're worried, maybe even scared about what the future holds. Some of you may even be wondering if you'll be safe here, wondering if you need to leave this country just to find security and a fair shot at life. But let me tell you this: you are not alone. You are not alone. There is an entire generation of people who have been where you are, who have felt that same fear, and they're still here. And I'm telling you, the sun will rise tomorrow.

Let me tell you, my friends, DIY networks exist. Real, true communities exist—communities that don't rely on politicians and their empty promises. You don't have to depend on the person on your TV screen. You can depend on each other. And I'm asking you right now: reach out. Look to your left, look to your right. Connect with your neighbors, your friends, your comrades, because now is the time to build, and build strong.

In the words of the great revolutionary Thomas Sankara: “There is no true social revolution without the liberation of women. May my eyes never see and my feet never take me to a society where half the people are held in silence. I hear the roar of women's silence. I sense the rumble of their storm and feel the fury of their revolt.”

And we're going to take that message and put it at the heart of our movement. Because, folks, there is no liberation if women aren't free. There is no justice if women's rights, including the right to choose, aren't protected. This is not a side issue—this is the issue. Women's rights are human rights. And we're going to make that clear in every corner of this nation.

We're still in the first half of this new American century, and what we build now will set the course. Let's remind ourselves of those words held by Lady Liberty herself:

"Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free."

That's the America we could be. And in that struggle for a better, freer future, women have always been the ones pushing forward. They're not just part of this movement—they've been leading it, keeping it strong, giving it life. Women are the backbone of every fight for real change. And we're here to say that if we want freedom, if we want equality, we have to start with them.

Because, let's be real: what kind of country are we building if we don't guarantee the basic rights of women? What future are we heading toward if half our population has to fight to be seen, to be heard, to be free? Fighting for women's rights isn't just the right thing to do—it's how we build a country where everyone can live with dignity.

So let me put it plain: if we're going to face these next two years with courage and strength, we need each other. We need connections that go deeper than the political rallies, that go beyond isolated protests on college campuses. We need a robust national network, built by us, for us. Not from the top down, but from the ground up, with every voice, every hand, every heart pulling together. I'm talking about a coalition that spans this whole country—local organizations, radical youth, labor unions, mutual aid groups—all of us together.

I believe it's time to think big. It's time to organize at a scale we haven't seen in decades, a century even. So here's what I'm proposing: December 20th, 2025, New Orleans. I want a national convention, a place where every corner of this movement can come together. I want to see communists, anarchists, democratic socialists, labor union leaders, Indigenous leaders, prison abolitionists, climate activists, creators, content makers, and organizers from all walks of life come together to build a plan, a strategy, a path forward.

This convention isn't just some meeting on a calendar. It's a starting line—a launch toward a future we choose, a future we build together. Because we're already 25 years into this century, and we've seen where the current leadership has taken us. The crises of our time—climate change, economic injustice, systemic racism, the oppression of women, the attack on LGBTQ+ rights—are too critical, too urgent to be left to the whims of the powerful. This convention is where we draw the line and start shaping a new way forward.

Folks, this convention is where we're getting down to the brass tacks. We're not just looking to fill up seats; we're looking to make real changes, to organize and strategize for a future we actually want to live in. If you want to help make this convention a reality, here's what you can start doing right now:

1. Join a Group—Just Pick One and Start Showing Up

Look, it doesn’t matter if it’s Freedom Road Socialist Organization, PSL, the Green Party, the Socialist Alternative, Food Not Bombs, or a mutual aid group in your area. Just pick a group and start showing up. Get into their meetings, meet people, understand their goals, and make connections. Our aim is to have people embedded in all these organizations, and we need them all talking to each other. If there’s a meeting or event coming up, go. Bring up this convention. Even if they aren’t officially involved, open up the conversation.

2. Educate Yourself—and Pass That Knowledge Along

Not everyone has the time to sit down with a stack of books, and that's fine. But if you do have that privilege, use it. Educate yourself, but don't stop there. Bring that knowledge to others. Be a resource for your friends, family, and neighbors. Don't talk down to them; we're not here to preach from some high horse. We're here to learn and build together. Remember, we are the masses. Share what you know in a way that's practical, that connects with people where they're at. If we want to see change, we have to make education and dialogue something real, something people can understand and see in their own lives.

3. Start the Conversations Where You Are

This is where it starts—right where you live, work, and spend your time. Talk to your friends and family, your coworkers, the people you already know. Bring up what's happening around us, what we're working toward. If you're a community leader, even if it's not a political setting, make space for these discussions. If we're going to change anything, it has to start by opening up these conversations in our everyday lives. Get people talking, thinking, and, more than anything, ready to take action.

Now, why New Orleans? Why December 20th, 2025? New Orleans has faced it all—storms, floods, and years of being neglected by those in power. It's a city that embodies resilience. But with climate change pressing down harder every year, there's a real risk that it won't be here in another 100 years. That's why we're gathering there: to make a promise, to take a stand, and to ensure that we don't let this moment slip away.

I'm not alone in this vision. None of us are. This is something so many of us feel in our gut—that together, we can do something different, something real. And I want to make something clear before we close: the attacks on women's rights in this country are attacks on all of us. We cannot build a free, just future if women are held back, silenced, denied their basic rights. Women hold up half the sky, and we will not stand by while they are pushed down. We need every voice, every hand, every heart in this fight.

So let's take this energy forward. Let's walk out of here knowing that we're not alone, that this movement is growing every day.

This is our moment in history. I know we will rise to meet the occasion.

Thank you.

-Erik Houdini

Ask yourself this, what is democracy worth? When you are starving to death, when your baby is starving to death, because you haven't eaten in three days, four days, five days, you lost count, and you can't make milk anymore. The water's poison, so what little that you can give your child is just killing them. What does democracy mean in a situation like that? Who's going to drop the next bomb on you? What does democracy mean when you're pulling your only son out of the rubble? And you can hear his screams, his voice growing fainter and fainter as the rubble is crushing his soul, his fucking ribs, his legs, his heart, his organs. Why is the rubble crushing this boy that you have raised for the last 10 years of your life? Because an American-made bomb was sent there. What is democracy worth when the bomb drops and your hands are rubbed raw from ripping apart the rubble and just trying to do everything you can, with every strength a human being can muster to rescue your only son, your only child? When the bomb hits, it takes you out too. And the very last things you hear, the very last things you hear as you bleed out on the rubble that was once your home: the muffled screams of your son under the rubble.

What is democracy worth?

-Erik Houdini on "Who do you endorse this election?"

🔴The Popular Front calls for a boycott of the Democratic and Republican parties and stresses the necessity of not voting for advocates of genocide and supporters of colonialism.

• The Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine calls on the free people of America, especially the supporters of the Palestinian people, the Palestinian and Arab communities, and the organizations of blacks and minorities, to boycott the Democratic and Republican parties in the American elections scheduled for tomorrow, which share clear colonial goals aimed at exterminating our people and strengthening the Zionist settlement project.

• These two parties were directly involved in the ongoing war of extermination against our Palestinian and Lebanese peoples, and they never concealed their blatant bias in favor of the occupation, and their continued support for its racist policies that target the existence of our Palestinian people and uproot them from their land.

• The positions of the two American parties reflect an explicit adoption of ethnic cleansing, and legitimize the Zionist crimes and massacres against our people, through financial, political and military support for the Zionist entity; the statements of the symbols of these parties also seek to beautify and justify their imperialist policies that adopt a colonial language, which sees the Palestinian people as an obstacle to their alleged “civilizational project”, and their election campaigns ignore the horrific crimes committed daily against Palestinian civilians, especially women and children, in an attempt to cover up the true face of the occupation and legitimize its crimes.

• The Democratic and Republican parties also continue their attempts to attract the support of Zionist lobbies and influential people, in efforts that aim to strengthen the policies of mass displacement and organized repression against the Palestinians.

• In this context, the Popular Front renews its explicit call to all honorable people in American society not to vote for these two parties that use American tax money, which is sucked from the blood of the American people, to support the Zionist genocidal regime.

• The Popular Front sees boycotting these two Zionist parties in tomorrow’s American elections as a moral stance no less important than any other form of solidarity with the Palestinian people and the rights of oppressed peoples. It is also an effective means of struggle to expose the falsehood of American slogans that speak of freedom and human rights. The United States, through its political tools, is trying to exploit these concepts to justify its crimes and consolidate its hegemony over peoples, without caring about the rights of the Palestinians who are subjected to the most heinous types of crimes.

• Finally, the Front considers that the boycott of the two parties is a clear internal message to the American administration and the international system around it that those who collude in shedding the blood of our people and displacing them should not receive the votes of the free people of the world and our communities, who refuse to be contributors to their election or false witnesses to their criminal policy in power.

Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine Central Media Department 4-November-2024

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