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As a guy that’s riffed on everything from the endless joy he gets from 7-11 convenience stores to walking down a sketchy street in Pakistan, these days Henry Rollins is exactly what he claims to be: a human delivery system. Rollins delivers facts and stats, cites the Constitution, and tells about his extensive world travels with sharp wit and a focused vitriol.

While some might peg Rollins as an artist of some ambiguous fashion, he denies possessing any sort of legitimate talent.

“I’m a truck driver with all of this stuff,” he said.

Some people might think that linking the inherently profound nature of Meshell Ndegeocello’s music to her sexuality is profane, but I think the link is damn near sacred. Only a handful of pop stars sing about anything other than sex not love, money not real power, and heartache to lament over relationships where neither partner initially respected themselves, let alone the other. Screen stars mimic the same, as violence, female subordination, and vilification of the poor permeate so much of our pop imagery. We can still easily count the number of female leading roles in Hollywood, and the absence of women from the corporate leadership behind our multi-billion dollar music and film industries attests to its antiquation.

Granted, the world is not as two-dimensional as straight/gay or black/white, so initially these sweeping generalizations might insult. For example, consider the number of queer people co-opted into reproducing the straight hegemony, and for this the fashion industry is exemplar. See all the fags creating stick-figure clothes and ho-heel shoes for real-world women?  Can you say eating disorder and diminished self-confidence?

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