Men aren’t used to receiving affection — it means a lot when we do.

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Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

Being a man, I adjusted long ago to what’s expected of me in a relationship. It was easy to do — society is inundated with images of grand gestures performed by men for women.

The hero running to the airport to catch his one-and-only before her plane takes off, viral wedding proposals, grandiose homecoming and prom posters. We’re placed from a young age in the role of performer, shown very clearly that it is our job — the man’s job — to provide for and earn the love of his woman.

I’m not here to lament that. Really, I don’t…


Only a broken system could allow this to happen.

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Photo by munshots on Unsplash

We’ve been building to this for a long time.

Anyone who’s been paying attention could see it. If this surprised you, you need to look harder.

America’s had this coming. All the elements were there — the tension, the anger, the injustice, the system, the oppression. We are the powder keg.

George Floyd’s death was the perfect match.

It’s almost divine how perfectly inexcusable it was. There is no gray area — nowhere that pundits and spinners can twist it or create confusion, no room whatsoever for any uncertainty as to the horror of it.

And you don’t need any…


Why a meaningless world makes meaning more lovely.

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Photo by Guillermo Ferla on Unsplash

People often ask me why I don’t believe in a god. It’s a fair question, and one I expect, but I’m frequently thrown off by the questions that follow.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if there were a god?” they’ll say. “Don’t you like the idea of Heaven?”

Well, yes, of course I do. An all-loving, all-powerful father who cares for and has a plan for every human being on Earth sounds lovely, and getting to reunite with my loved ones in an eternal paradise once I die is a pretty easy sell. …


I and thousands of other boys felt a sense of community — that community harbored Nazis

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Photo by Pawel Janiak on Unsplash

It’s August 2014. I’m a white, male, American high school freshman who gets his information about the world around him from the internet. Michael Brown, a young African American man, was just shot to death by police officer Darren Wilson in Ferguson, Missouri. I go online.

A chorus of outrage swells up in front of me. Chants of “#BlackLivesMatter” ring loud; terms like “white privilege”, “systemic racism”, “white power structures” soar to and fro. A vast wave of anger, all targeted in a broad, sweeping arm outward at white people — at people like me.

I’m not claiming that I…


Trying to come to terms with the success of the worst article I’ve read in a while

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Yesterday, I saw on the front page of Medium an article titled “A Brief History of Border Walls”, and it was maybe the worst thing I’ve ever read. It was a series of incredibly weak, flawed comparisons between historical walls and Donald Trump’s proposed U.S.-Mexico border wall. Every line it drew, every analogy it made was so riddled with holes and incorrectness that I was fuming with disappointment when I saw the amount of positive response it had garnered, and I felt absolutely compelled to say something about this atrocity of an argument.

So, let’s go step-by-step and analyze the…


Why the left keeps losing to the least competent president of our generation

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Photo by Parker Johnson on Unsplash

I remember the night Donald Trump became President. It would be an understatement to say I was surprised. I expected a landslide victory for Hillary, even as someone who navigates conservative circles online and has Trump-supporting family members, I didn’t see him getting nearly enough support to win an election. And then it happened.

And when I look back on that night, the thing that strikes me most is that I didn’t really care. I was surprised, more than, because I would’ve bet my life savings on Hillary, but I wasn’t outraged, heartbroken, stunned, or any of the other words…


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My guide slithered along, down the dry, purple hill. The ground was hard like stone, yet malleable, and bent under my weight until I sank up to my knees into it and was hardly able to take another step. I had found the best way to travel was to crawl, on my stomach, so as to disperse my weight more widely. My guide had no such issue, his gelatinous form clearly more adapted to the terrain and used to travelling this route. We reached the bottom of the hill and he stopped. I sat up, on my knees, and looked…


Orson Welles’ final film looks — and has been reviewed — as a movie meant for hardcore cinephiles, but it should be a must-see for anyone looking for something different.

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On Friday, The Other Side of the Wind, directed by Orson Welles, released on Netflix thirty-three years after his death. It was filmed, directed, and halfway edited by the man himself, with Welles’ associates doing their best to finish the vision he may have had for the film after his death. …

Brett Bailey

I write.

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