Wendythirteen has been at war with slumlords and hipsters since before some punks were born. Photo by Jackie Dives

If you need proof that time is a flat circle in Vancouver, ask punk and metal show promoter Wendythirteen how her week has been.

I coincidentally did this recently, and her answer immediately transported me through time and space back to 2009. At the time, the denim vest-wearing, exclusively all-caps speaking punk was unceremoniously turfed from the Cobalt (a dive among dives, known at the time for leaking "shit-water" and stage-puking), where she was booking shows four nights a week since time immemorial.

It was a year when Vancouver couldn't shake the label "No Fun City" (there was even a documentary about it) and Wendy's passionate hate-on for slumlords, gentrification, dance music, and hipsters was pretty fucking contagious.

"At that point I was mad as fuck, I was like fuck this shit," she told VICE. "They saw dollar signs, and used soundproofing as an excuse... and it's all because I complained about them being slumlords."

Nobody could imagine a world where Wendy wasn't a permanent fixture in the shredding and thrashing scene, and bands rallied behind her as she fought for, and lost, her beloved "Cobes." Though die-hard crusties still wear "RIP COBALT" hoodies and refuse to set foot inside, the space has since thrived without losing much of its grit, and still hosts some of the city's best parties and live music.

Today Wendy is turfed again, her "cave" at the perfectly-named Funky Winker Beans set to replace her gigs with pay-to-play rules and all-week karaoke as of November 5. It's the perfect platform to launch another war against the man, but this time both Wendy and Vancouver's mosh-until-you-puke crowd are feeling a little different about the whole thing.

For one thing, Wendy isn't feeling the same rage she did in 2009. "I'm weighing it in my head, do I really want to start from scratch again? But then who else is going to do it?" she said. "For the longest time I was the only game in town, nobody would touch that. But over time, people got braver and started putting on their own shit."

Glenn Alderson, bassist of NEEDS, agrees that new promoters and DIY venues have moved into the punk and hardcore space. He also says Wendy's "TAKE NO SHIT" (caps hers) approach makes her a somewhat polarizing character.

"When we first met, she said 'Glenn, I like you, but I don't work with hipsters.' I was like 'What the fuck? I've been playing in punk bands since I was 14,'" he said." I didn't understand. But then she fucking went on to work with me for the next five years."

Alderson's band was supposed to play a gig at Funky's in November—a book launch for one of the members of D.O.A. He sees Wendy as an integral part of the punk and hardcore community, one that comes with a signature chip on her shoulder.

He also runs an alternative music weekly that has hosted a column of hers for years, where she decried how everything is turned into "a fucking hipster craft beer place" and how "the man" is running society into the ground. When Funky's recently pulled their ads, Wendy's column went too.

Read More: An Oral History of Bruce McDonald's 'Hard Core Logo'

All this could push Wendy into an unintended semi-retirement, which would feel particularly tragic for bands who booked their first gig on her stage. "She booked my first band, fresh out of high school," Ben Mintz of Wraiths told VICE. "Really, she's the only person who's done that reliably as long as I've been playing in Vancouver. She's a champion of the scene and has been here forever."

Wendy claims to have booked more first-timers than anyone else in the city. "You have just barely-of-age shredding guitar dudes, and just young punks given'er. My position in the music scene is giving these new bands a chance to play and perfect their chops," she told VICE. "You learn how to play, and then other promoters pick you up for a show."

As much as it seems like history repeating, the way bands find gigs and fans has changed since Wendy's heyday. Postering isn't the main way people find out about shows anymore, and fans are more likely to branch out beyond the same smelly teardown week in and week out. Underground-ish spaces like 333 and Black Lab offer a new breeding ground for first-timers, and the epidemic of closing venues seems to have stalled, for the most part.

"It's the old dogs versus new dogs mentality," Alderson told VICE. "Some of the old guard of Vancouver punk rock have trouble adjusting."

Wendy says she could always try wearing flannel and growing a mustache, but until then, she's on the lookout for a new home on the fringes. "I don't know who's going to give a chance to bands who barely draw 50 people on a night," she told VICE. The answer, she worries, is probably nobody, and if you disagree, fuck you.

Follow Sarah Berman on Twitter.

For this edition of First-Person Shooter, we sent a camera off to Jesse Newhouse, a beer brewer at Ninkasi Brewery in Eugene, Oregon. Ninkasi recently celebrated its tenth anniversary, and though the microbrewery started as a two-man operation, the company now employs over 100 people, makes seven flagship beers, and was ranked one of the top 50 craft brewers last year by the Brewers Association.

Before he received a degree in fermentation science and joined the brewery, Jesse was big into brewing his own beer at home. He knows a lot about making stuff that will get you drunk, and at Nikasi he specializes in developing "fruiting beer." In this FPS, he snapped pics of various stages in the beer-making process, including a massive foam blowout that covered the factory floor. Here's what else went down when Jesse had the disposables.

VICE: How long have you been brewing beer for?
Jesse Newhouse: I have been with Ninkasi for two years brewing professionally. Before that, I had been homebrewing for around three years.

How'd you get into brewing?
I started out homebrewing and from there started studying Fermentation Science at Oregon State University, where I graduated with a Bachelor of Science in Fermentation and a Chemistry minor.

How does Ninkasi compare to a bigger brewery?
Ninkasi is a microbrewery, and we differ from non-microbreweries by being still being independently owned and operated, really focusing on the craft, and not just looking to make money. We are interconnected with the community on a deep level and support as many local business as ways we can in Eugene. We focus on local ingredients as much as possible, working with local hop farms and malting companies along with providing our spent grain to local farms for feed. At Ninkasi, we strive to perpetuate better living in every aspect of our work and beyond.

What's the deal with the foam covering the floor in some of your pics?
That's blow off from fermentation called Krausen. It is formed through fermentation as CO2 is produced from the yeast and off gasses. This CO2 off gassing is captured in proteins, hop particulate, and suspended yeast, which create the beer foam you see.

What's the weirdest thing you've ever made beer out of?
Not that it's super strange, but using oysters in the mash for an oyster stout was fun. This was done on a small scale before I was with Ninkasi. The main thing I have worked with at Ninkasi is fruiting beers, which is not weird on any level, but still very interesting. I really would like to play around with some recipes utilizing fruit woods for aging and fruit wood-smoked malts. The real fun thing to play with is all the varying strains of yeast and bacteria available to ferment beers. We have been working on sour beers, kettle sours specifically, which is a new avenue for Ninkasi, but is very interesting and can make delicious beer when done right.

What's a good entry point for someone to get into brewing beer at home?
A great start is to go visit a local homebrew shop and talk to the people there. Grab a few brewing books and then possibly join a local homebrew club. The brewing community is super friendly and always out there to help each other.

If somebody wanted to try the beer you make how would they do it?
Go check out our website to find out where we're distributing, read about our beers and company, and find our address if you want to check out the brewery and have a beer in our tasting room.

Follow Julian on Instagram and visit his website to see his own photo work.

Shaun Alan Clary in an undated Facebook photo

Police have now identified the man whose body was dumped in several pieces on the side of a road in Langley earlier this week—a crime that was already fuelling speculation about rising gang tensions in the region.

Shaun Alan Clary, 27, was reportedly a member of 856, an "upstart" gang named after Aldergrove's phone prefix. The gang is linked to the murder of high-ranking Hells Angel Robert Keith Green earlier this month.

A funeral for the well-known Hells Angel of over 20 years was held today in Vancouver, with hundreds of bikers from as far as Ontario and plenty of police in attendance, according to local radio. His killing is seen as unexpected and likely to cause more violence in a region seen as a Hells stronghold.

"With over 10 years of research and experience on gangsterism, I can safely say that all 'street level' to 'mid level' gangs better watch out, cause shit is about to get real," commented filmmaker and gang expert Mani Amar.

Read More: How the Hells Angels Conquered Canada

According to long-time gang reporter Kim Bolan, Green died at a party at the 856 gang's clubhouse, and an 856 member turned himself in to police in connection with the murder the next day. 856er Jason Wallace is now charged with second-degree murder.

Police have stated Clary's death is gang-related, but haven't gone so far as to link the two murders. In fact, the region's homicide unit warned against jumping to conclusions.

"While investigators are aware of the heightened tension between particular gang associates, it would be premature to assume this conflict to be the direct motive for his homicide," Corporal Meghan Foster told the Sun.

The 856 gang has made headlines before, most notably in 2014 when BC's anti-gang unit seized $400,000 worth of drugs and pig dewormer from high ranking members.

Clary's rank within the 856 gang is still unclear. Higher-ups are known to have the numbers 8, 5, and 6, tattooed on the inside of their lower lip, which remains unseen in the selfies posted to his Facebook timeline.

According to Clary's online presence, he grew up in Surrey, and attended high school there. His profile lists a local disposal company as his place of work.

Follow Sarah on Twitter.

The average Christmas holiday with your girlfriend's family doesn't always include a trip to the local Masonic temple. But photographer Conor Beary just rolled with it. Last December, he spent a month shooting in various parts of Liberia, visiting his girlfriend's parents back in their home country. And, after a drink or two the night before, he ended up taking his camera out on a scorching day in Monrovia.

"I was at a pool party one evening," he says, "and got invited by a family friend to the ceremony the next day. He said a time and a place and I showed up to the temple for eight next morning, without any real any idea of what to expect, The only Masons I've seen before had been in a Simpsons episode."

This felt a world away. Locals in the area looked on as the masons marched – "the streets of Monrovia aren't really the type of place that morning suits and top hats go unnoticed" – and Conor did his best to fight off a coming hangover under the hot sun. For the most part, the Masons didn't seem that bothered about the unexpected appearance of a white guy with a camera.

"I spoke with people all day, and got quite a mixed feeling from a lot of the Masons. I don't think they're a community that gets a great deal of exposure so I think some were naturally quite wary – either that or busy. But the vast majority were really friendly and welcoming, I even got a few invitations to become a member."

He's still deciding. In the meantime, here are more of the photos from his trip.

See the rest of his work on his website and find out about a trip to Liberia that Conor's crowdfunding for, to set up photo workshops for children in Monrovia's West Point township.

Mural by Os Gemeos and Bboy6

All photos courtesy of Katherine Lorimer

Photo-sharing sites like Flickr and Instagram have been a boon to street artists and graffiti writers, as well as documentarians obsessed with exploring the subcultures in real time. To some extent, these photographers have become the face of a community that thrives on anonymity. Some, such as Brooklyn-based photographer Katherine Lorimer, a.k.a. Luna Park, have even risen to the same level of prominence as the artists whose work they capture.

Lorimer's new book, (Un)Sanctioned: The Art on New York Streets (out now via Carpet Bombing Culture), is a visual diary chronicling the thousands of cumulative miles she has walked through the city's rapidly changing neighborhoods. She finds as much beauty in a complex mural as in an illegal tag and never loses sight of the urban and human context in which New York's outlaw art is embedded. Her book also features conversations with several prominent artists, curators, and activists about art in public space. The sickness and death of her partner, the photographer, artist, and explorer Peter Carroll, led her to reassess how she approaches her craft, but ultimately strengthened her dedication to the art that fills the world around her.

I sat down with Lorimer in her Brooklyn kitchen to get her thoughts on the book, her obsessive photography habits, and the changing landscape of New York street art and graffiti.

KUMA, HERT

VICE: How did you get into photographing street art and graffiti?
Katherine Lorimer: I used to live in Greenpoint. One day, walking through the warehouses on the waterfront, I saw a woman's face on a door. I didn't know at the time, but it was a piece by Swoon. I realized that there's all this stuff stuck on doors and the sides of buildings, and I started photographing it. This coincided with my starting a Flickr account, and so I started posting these pictures on the site. After a couple of months to a year on Flickr, I definitely felt that there was a community there.

Unlike today, when everything is on Instagram before the paint is dry, it was about putting on your shoes and deciding, today I'm going to walk all the way down Kent, follow my nose, and look down all the side streets to see what's there. It was great, because I had no biases, no preconceived ideas of, Oh, I should photograph this or this person is going to be happy if I photograph this, or I don't like that person, so I'm not going to photograph that—all the baggage that comes with knowing the scene a little better. In the beginning, it was really just determination, walking around, a lot of luck, and enjoying the hell out of it.

What kept you committed to documenting these subcultures?
At a certain point, I figured out for myself that the process of going out and looking for art was a form of meditation. I could put all of the day-to-day stress of going to work and dealing with whatever life problems to the side and focus on only one thing. In a sense, walking and shooting is a form of self-medication, but a very addictive one. It's something that makes me very happy. I caught the golden era of street art in the mid to late 2000s, before everything started getting knocked down and fancy condos went up, and before street art got dragged into the mainstream.

ADEK, JADE, NEKST

What role has social media played for you as a photographer?
Flickr was really the basic education for me because I didn't know anything in the beginning. You would go into the "NYC street art" or "Brooklyn graffiti" groups and discover this is SKUF , or, that is Faile. There was a group of people already that made up the core of the Flickr paparazzi. Coming from a library science background really informed how I went about interacting on Flickr—the kind of people I set out to follow, people who I felt were authoritative in their knowledge of the scene, good photographers. At a certain point, I made it my goal that the archive that I was slowly starting to built would one day be an authoritative resource, at least for this particular time period, from 2005 onwards. It was important to me that if I was going to post something, it would be the best photograph possible, all of the artists would be properly identified and tagged, and that there would be some sort of relevance.

Doing as good a job as possible—which is not to say that other people weren't—for me, that was really my reason for being. People will follow you if you define the niche that you want to be active in, you follow the right people, and you make sure that you come correct and post relevant, good content on a regular basis. You want to know what stencils looked like in Brooklyn in 2008? There's a selection of them there.

Faile

In your book you condense ten years worth of photography into less than 200 pages. How did you decide what and who would make the cut?
I went through my entire archive without any preconceived notion of who should be in the book, did a first pass, and ended up with 3,000 photos. One of the main questions that I continually found myself asking was, great photo of an artist's not-best work, or not-so-great photo of the artist's best work? Ultimately, in this case, great photo trumps everything else. Then I narrowed down a list of maybe 150-200 people who I thought needed to be represented in the book. I also tried to strike a balance between having things from the illegal end of the spectrum, with graffiti tags, handstyles, throws and pieces, over into illegal street art and weird installations, ad takeovers, and muralism.

How has street art in New York changed since you started documenting it?
When I started documenting street art in 2005, there were already established players, people like Swoon, Faile, Shepard Fairey, and people that had already been active since the 90s. People coming from a graffiti background. They were active on the streets because they had a passion to do it. By the time Banksy put out Exit Through the Gift Shop, street art really blew up in the mainstream. There are more people who are active now, but maybe because they see it as a springboard into some sort of gallery or art career.

You used to have galleries that catered to a street art and graffiti audience, and they've been largely forced out of the market because of rising real estate prices. There were galleries that catered to different price points . It's important that there are galleries at different levels, because it nurtures artists throughout their career. People that are now showing at more blue chip galleries, if they've done it right, have come up and built their career gradually.

An image of some lackluster street art by Mr. Brainwash

How do you feel about street art in NYC these days?
I see next to no good street art anymore—"good" meaning something where I feel like it's not being sold to me, "good" meaning not the same thing spammed over whatever few street art spots are left. I see very little original art that's done with good placement in mind that actually dares to say something. Someone thinks they've hit upon this brilliant idea, and you know what, it's been done to death. Same thing with pop-cultural Disney mash-up stuff. Come on! Come up with an original idea!

Has street art hit its inherent limits?
The right person with the right idea could still make waves. Maybe that's just not happening in New York because the economic situation makes it difficult for not just artists, but for any of us to live a creative lifestyle. I hear from people: Try South America, or eastern Europe, or Berlin, you'll find more interesting work! Places where the cost of living is such that people can dedicate themselves to coming up with interesting new ideas.

You write in the book's introduction that graffiti is "less susceptible to being co-opted" by commercialization. What can street artists learn from graffiti writers?
There's a very strong work ethic in graffiti. The idea of putting in work and finding new spots, being aware of your environment, not just sticking your thing on the first, best wall and thinking graffiti is a background, being sensitive to its immense history. A lot of people roll in and say, Hey, I'm a street artist! and do a couple of wheatpastes, but have no clue about the depth of the history of what came before. Street art is just an entirely different beast than graffiti.

You Go Girl, NEKST

Graffiti, and to a lesser extent street art, tend to be dominated by male artists. Do you think that you bring a different perspective to the culture as a female photographer?
People told me that because I was a girl, I had no business doing this and that I didn't know what I was talking about, and that spurred me on more. I felt like I had to go extra hard to gain any respect. I don't take it personally, it is what it is.

Is street art more welcoming to women?
It has been more welcoming to me personally. That was my way into the scene, through street art, and some people immediately wrote me off as a street art photographer. My interests definitely lie closer to graffiti now than initially.

How has your approach to documenting street art changed over the last ten years?
A couple of years ago I made the decision, largely because my partner Peter was sick and I had to use my time wisely, that I was going to cut back on shooting and really focus on the things that interested me. It was very liberating. I more or less stopped blogging, because you get into this content-creation hamster wheel of going out shooting, having to edit, having to post, having to promote, and repeat.

That experience of just going out and shooting what I like and being open to discovery is something I really only experience outside of New York now. When I travel, I don't know what's going to be around the corner and I haven't seen everything on Instagram before. That's certainly been one of the greatest benefits of getting into photographing street art and graffiti—it's taken me to places in New York (and beyond) that I would have never ever in a million years ended up. If you're going through life with that filter on, you see cities in a very different way.

SP ONE

Do street art and gentrification go hand in hand?
Savvy property owners and real estate developers have latched onto the fact that having a nice mural on your building or a mural district can do wonders to property values. The question of selling out in the graffiti world is very delicate—the idea of staying true to an art form that is very much rooted in an illegal activity, but making a living based on the skills that you have accumulated over a lifetime of doing it. Artists like Steve Powers can mean you just painted the entire side of a parking garage in Brooklyn and you sell out all your print releases and the right brands want to work with you and you're savvy enough to strike a good balance as to not be called a sellout. It's not easy, but it is possible.

What would you like someone without familiarity of street art and graffiti to take away from the book?
First and foremost, that there is an incredible breadth of work being done on the streets. To me it's the biggest free entertainment. You don't have to pay $25 to go into the Whitney or the MoMA, you can just walk around and see any number of different styles and mediums all out in the open. This work very much makes New York the place I want to live. The city's vibrant streetscape has been threatened by the hyper-gentrification of the last five or ten years. There's this wholesale homogenization of the streetscape, where we have these cookie-cutter glass buildings going up that have no soul, that have nothing on the exterior—these blocks, they're dead to me. In a sense this is looking back on a New York that is largely gone, but pockets of it are still there. It also exists in other places, and, if anything, I would really hope that the book would sensitize people to open their eyes and see their cities in a different light, and maybe not go, What is that horrible scrawl on the wall? but rather appreciate it for what it is.

See more photos from the book below.

'(Un)Sanctioned: The Art on New York Streets' is out now. Order a copy here and follow Lorimer on Instagram.

Ray Mock is the founder of Carnage NYC and has been documenting graffiti in New York and around the world for ten years, publishing more than two dozen limited edition zines and books. Follow him on Instagram.

JA, RANCEROUS, PHONOH, TRAP

Elbow-Toe, READ

KATSU, READ, COUPE, EYE

BAST

Al Capone relaxing in his vacation home in Miami (1930). Photo via The New York Times/Getty Images

In the chronicles of gangster lore, "Scarface" Al Capone is typically recognized as the most infamous mobster ever. He's a seemingly-invincible mafioso who ran the Chicago Outfit with ruthless abandon and reigned as the de facto Prohibition-era don of the criminal underworld. Holding court when bootlegging was king, Capone's chokehold on the city's alcohol trade fueled organized crime's illicit profits in Chi-town. He's also credited with orchestrating the St. Valentine's Massacre, which left seven rival gangster's from George "Bugs" Moran's faction dead. Capone was a cunning and vicious adversary who rose to the top echelon of La Cosa Nostra in less than a decade, creating an everlasting legacy of gangsterism in popular culture that lives through Hollywood movies like Scarface and The Untouchables.

In a new book titled Capone: His Life, Legacy, and Legend, out October 25, National Book Award Winner Deirdre Bair takes a different approach than most Capone biographers, forgoing analysis of the gangster's well-covered "professional" life to instead examine his private and personal. She gained unprecedented access to a number of Capone's descendants who provided her with exclusive personal testimony on what he was like behind-the-scenes—from his origins in Brooklyn, to his years in the federal slammer for tax evasion, to his final days in a posh Miami mansion as a syphilis-addled ex-con.

VICE talked to Bair about the charismatic and ruthless gangster to find out why his persona continues to grip the world's imagination, despite the public knowing so little about his personal life. She also spoke about how Hollywood has romanticized his legend, how Capone was a surprisingly tender father, and why modern-day critics use his name to vilify public figures in business and politics.

VICE: You've written biographies on Samuel Beckett, Carl Jung, and Simon de Beauvoir. Why Al Capone? It seems like a departure from your previous work.
Deirdre Bair: All of my books began with either a question I wanted to answer or an idea I wanted to pursue. I knew very little about crime and very little about that particular period of American history, so I started reading. In my reading, I discovered that the public life of Al Capone was very well-known, but nobody knew anything about the private man. I started meeting his family members, his descendants, and the descendants of his brothers. I was so intrigued that I knew this was the next book I'd write. I started the book in 2012 and finished writing about nine months ago. I interviewed several hundred people by the time I was done.

I have a great deal in the book about the Italian-American experience in the United States, starting from the 1880s through Al Capone's period. I think, in many ways, Al Capone's public and private personalities were shaped by the world in which he lived, but I show the private man more than the public man in the book. I didn't need to go into the St. Valentine's Day Massacre, because so much has already been written about that. Let the scholars fight it out over what really happened and who did what to whom. The division between Al Capone the public man and the private man shows that they were two relatively, if not entirely, different people.

Can you talk about the differences between his private and public personas?
Here's how I began the book: "This is the story of a ruthless killer, a scofflaw, a keeper of brothels and bordellos, a tax cheat and perpetrator of frauds, a convicted felon, and a mindless blubbering invalid. This is also the story of a loving son, husband, and father who described himself as a businessman whose job was to serve the people what they wanted. Al Capone was all of these." This was the complex person I wrote about, the one who remains to this day an enigma, a riddle still to be solved.

His Irish wife Mae hid from the public spotlight that Capone relished in. She was independent and quick-witted with a keen sense of fun, but Capone was as good at trading quips as she was. Mae found his determination and ambition attractive. Capone, for his part, was enchanted with her and demonstrated his affection with sweet talk. He liked having his family surrounding him. He liked swimming in his pool and fishing off his boat.

When his son suffered from a steady stream of ear infections as a young boy Capone offered a New York doctor $100,000 to save his life. This was in 1925. But the boy's life was never in danger, only his hearing and surgery corrected the problem somewhat. Capone adored his son, hovering over him, fussing and worrying after the operation for years to come. A loving letter he wrote to his son just sold for $62,000.

Can you tell me about how you got in touch with his family and interviewed them for the book?
People knew my reputation and when I heard there was a cousin or a grandson I'd contact them and send them a copy of one of my books. Many of these people are quite elderly and they'd say, I'm glad you're here, because we're getting old and when we die, the real history is going to die with us. I'd meet a descendant of one of his brothers who would lead me to another descendant. I talked to his granddaughters. His wife, Mae, burned everything, though. She said she didn't want any detail of her marriage to Al Capone to remain alive after she was gone so that people could write salacious things about them. Capone's love for his son and his kindness and generosity in general were aspects that nobody had really explored in-depth, so I spent a better part of the book writing about his personal life.

I know how to evaluate sources and I was able to know what was quote-unquote "the real history," as opposed to reconstructed history that's been told again and again. One person leads you to another person who leads you to another, and when you put all of that material and information together, sift through it, and evaluate, you come up with the closest to the literal truth that you're going to get.

A photo of Capone the day he arrived at FCI Terminal Island in California (1939) via Wikimedia Commons

Are there any myths about Capone that have been perpetuated that you'd like to address or debunk?
There are so many myths, too many to count. But I do like one remark a journalist made, that if Capone had eaten in all the restaurants or slept in all the hotels , but reporters from all over the world hung outside the gates hoping that something would happen, and when nothing happened they'd invent stories. Everyone had something different to say about him and the myth and legend grew.

A rare photo of Capone in his coffin (1947). Photo courtesy of Nan A. Talese press.

Do you think you achieved your goal to write the true account of his personal life? Are there any missing gaps or details you were never able to clarify?
I think I did achieve my goal. I say this because every family member who talked to me was presented with an advance copy of the book, and they all marvel at several things: How I captured the man they knew, and how I recreated the life they led with him (and after him). They have only positive things to say about what I wrote. As for gaps: no, none. However, I learned a great deal that I chose not to write about, but I can address all that at another time.

Is there more to learn about Capone? Do you think more books will be written about him and should they be written at all?
Of course there is always more to learn about anybody (and everybody)! I like to say that all my biographies are only the point of departure for getting the complete picture. Biographies have to cover an entire life; other scholars and writers must read them and then decide what specific points are important enough to need further in-depth writing and analysis. And no biography can ever be definitive: each is good for our time, certainly, but how can we even know what questions future generations would like to have answered? Every generation needs its own.

Al Capone: His Life, Legacy, and Legend is out now through Nan A. Talese press. Order it here.

Follow Seth on Twitter

It's Saturday evening in an east London cinema and Jonathan Ross is curled up on a bean bag, sketching on a notepad and vapeing. He looks remarkably relaxed considering that both of us, along with a bunch of other paying guests, are about to be blindfolded and dragged around a room for the next hour.

It's all part of Tapestries, a production put on by artistic and theatrical company BitterSuite that aims to change the way you listen to music by manipulating your senses – or, in their words, making "you feel the music with your skin, taste the rich harmonies and smell the tonality."

The plan is for the performers to blindfold us and lead us through a space where a reworking of Leoš Janáček's String Quartet No 1, "Kreutzer Sonata", composed by Fred Thomas, will be performed live by an orchestra and feature the words of poet Kayo Chingonyi. We'll be fed foods and liquids and sprayed with various smells designed to conjure different emotions. As someone whose last dalliance with immersive theatre harks back to a hip-hop reimagining of an Artaud play in GCSE theatre, I'm initially wary.

My anxieties about being touched by strangers melt away when I meet the show's creative director, 27-year-old Stephanie Singer. "I've always had a very imaginative relationship to music," she says. While she listened to music as a child, she'd "see birds flying around the room and I was very struck to discover other people didn't".

I tell her that I thought synesthesia – the condition where sparking a sensation in one of the senses can trigger another sense – was reserved for 16th century musical prodigies and people who bang their heads in accidents. "We're not replicating synesthesia as such. We all have cross-modal correspondences where we perceive things with all the senses at once and I became fascinated as to how you could create experiences and bring people closer to the primary modal – in this case, music."

So here we are. Someone sticks a number on my shirt, and I'm handed a pre-show drink – the closest descriptor I can give it is of a butter beer latte. A few minutes later, a group of actors sweep into the room and approach their allocated audience members. My performer, Marianna, finds me and I'm handed a spoon with a little red aperitif on it. Marianna blindfolds me, politely caresses me and leads me into another room.

The author, in Marianna's arms

What happens from here on in is hard to explain. I know I'm in a large space and Marianna's touch rarely leaves my body. Once I get over my initial feelings of claustrophobia, I let go and try to focus. Violins play inches from my ears, people whisper from behind me and Marianna squirts tubes of deliciously sweet, sometimes sharp tastes into my mouth as she walks me around the room. Intermittently she dances with me, and I assume I look like some sort of corpse bride. I have moments of very lucidly imagined landscapes and scenarios; I am in a house, sat in some long grass over which I can't see a horizon. I am being watched by someone.

The score is intense and full of off keys and flat notes that reverberate around my stomach. At one point I'm lowered onto the floor and fed something fleshy. There's something comforting, infantilising and a bit melancholy about relinquishing all control and being moved through the space.

There is one particular moment where I'm laid on the floor and wrapped up in a rug. I'm swung around like a baby in a bath towel and it feels incredible. When I'm unravelled from my itchy chrysalis, I wonder if I'm supposed to feel re-born – the truth is, somehow, I managed a little nap so when I'm summoned into an upright position and my blindfold is removed I'm rather disappointed that the experience is over. I look around the room at the clapping people, the musicians and the performers and, mostly, I'm overwhelmed.

There's something disarming and wonderful about feeling as though all four of your senses bar sight are suddenly cranked up to a higher volume. I can't think of many other theatre experiences devised by young people that hit similar markers. There's less of the giggly, wink-wink nature of things like You Me Bum Bum Train and a lot more innovation and scope for introspection than Secret Cinema's dressup experiences or the Goosebumps Alive show from this past spring. What works best is how intimate an experience Tapestries becomes, where your "handler" strokes, nudges and pirouettes you through a piece of classical music that could otherwise be pretty inaccessible.

Later, I chat to Stephanie about the performance. She says that, for most people, this piece of music evokes "woodlands and folklore" and the deep-touch choreography creates sensations like "vines creeping around the body". I quickly ask what some of the most surprising reactions have been. "Tears. Lots of emotion. We had one man who afterwards told us it was the first time he'd been touched in seven years." Definitely not the average Saturday night out in Shoreditch, then.

BitterSuite's Tapestries show will open to the public in London in May 2017. If you fancy being blind-folded, find out more here

@nelliefaitheden / @jake_photo

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'Grey Objects Shine Like Crystals': My Life with Synesthesia

'Corbyn the Musical' Is a High School Play for Britain's Political Elite

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Check out Ed's website, Twitter, Instagram, and buy his book on Fantagraphics.

Hot Water Music is probably what most people think of when they think of punk music from Gainesville. Photo by Matt Geiger.

This weekend, thousands of frat bros will leave the sleepy college town of Gainesville, Florida, while a comparable number of street punks, deep-pocketed music fans, and various riff-raff flood its streets. It's a bizarre Halloween switcheroo that happens because the University of Florida Gators happen to take on their rivals in a recurring out-of-town football game that takes place at the same time as a giant punk rock festival known as the Fest kicks off. The few hours when the jocks and their Southern belle counterparts collide with the influx of train-hoppers is always glorious.

Matt Walker grew up in Valdosta, Georgia, and when he got into independent music in the late 90s it was right around the time that legendary punk band Hot Water Music was blowing up about 100 miles to the south in Gainesville. He would regularly take the pilgrimage to see them as often as he could, and when he decided to head to grad school for journalism, he figured he might as well do so at the place he'd previously adopted as a spiritual home.

This week, he released a book called Gainesville Punk: A History of Bands and Music, which explores how the place that produced people like Tom Petty, Stephen Stills, and John Vanderslice went on to incubate talents like Laura Jane Grace of Against Me! and Chuck Ragan of Hot Water Music. I called him up to discuss the Fest and how it helped make Gainesville the Southeastern epicenter of punk. Here's what we talked about.

The first issue of the seminal, scene-defining Florida zine 'No Idea.' Photo courtesy of Matt Walker.

VICE: There's another Florida college town––Tallahassee––that sits about two hours away from Gainesville. What is it about the latter that made it more conducive to breeding so many punk bands, and could things have been different if the dudes from the formative band Roach Motel had chosen to attend a different state school?
Matt Walker: I think it was just a series of random circumstances that came together to make it what it is. Each scene built on the previous one. I think a lot of the earlier bands had some sort of tie to UF, which gave them a lot of free time to learn their instruments and go to shows. And I think in the 80s, there was some momentum building, and it was probably like places like Tallahassee and around the country. It's hard to say. It's possible. George Tabb zine and record labelNo Idea plus Allen Bushnell opening the Hardback, which was kind of an anything-goes venue for punk or anything else, contributed to the scene becoming bigger than it did in other towns.

Can you talk a little bit about the Hardback––which is now called Boca Fiesta––and about how it shaped the Gainseville music community?
My most distinct Hardback memory was the first time I ever went there. I think it was the first time I had ever gone out of town to a punk show. I went to see this band from Canada called Grade. I remember walking in and being kind of mesmerized by the atmosphere—low, lattice-work ceilings with water from the roof dripping onto the floor, stickers everywhere, the smell of stale beer. I was hooked. The opening band was this absolutely brutal band called Dragbody. At the time, they seemed like really big, intimidating dudes. These days, we have some mutual good friends and I know they're softies. Next was Grade—melodic post-hardcore at its best. The last band, I had never heard of but the crowd seemed to double in size as the band picked up their instruments. They launched into a song and the crowd became like one organism, lurching forward then falling back. It was Hot Water Music.

I think the Hardback was absolutely the CBGBs of Gainesville. It supported independent artists who were looking for a place to play original music. It wasn't about drawing in a big college crowd with cover bands. It was about originality.

Is there a "Gainesville sound," or any sort of through-line or characteristic all these bands share?
I don't think there is. It has the reputation of being, like, beardcore. I think all bands from Gainesville got the reputation that they sound like Hot Water Music, but that's really not the case at all. There are definitely some bands that are influenced by them, but looking through the book, the bands I talk about from the late 90s and early 2000s—Hot Water Music is definitely in there, but bands like I Hate Myself, Palatka, Strikeforce Diablo, As Friends Rust don't sound anything like that. So I don't think you can define Gainesville by any particular sound.

Matt Walker created this chronological showcase of Gainesville punk––much of which isn't available on streaming services like Spotify.

How did being in Florida as opposed to a place like New York City or LA influenced these guys and girls in either aesthetic or ethos?
In the foreword of my book, Patrick Hughes wrote that Gainesville is a sleepy, hot, and humid town where people run a little slower. He also mentioned that it's a little less violent than some other punk scenes. A lot of the kids who come here are tied to UF in some way. They're not street punk kids who are coming into town, they're kids who are pretty well-educated and have things to say and thoughts about various things.

The Gainesville house show scene is an organic entity, too. It always exists in some form and expands and contracts as needed. Most house shows over the years have taken place in the student ghetto near campus, in crappy punk houses that despite being dingy and rundown, are often bustling with activity and creativity because of the groups of people who live there. The bars shut down promptly at 2 AM. If there was a house show happening after hours, people would cut out at 1:40 to try to make it to Gator Beverage before they close to stock up for the show.

I was familiar with the punk house scene in the mid-aughts, but what spaces were important in the previous decades?
In the 90s, the Spoke House was the epicenter of creativity in the Gainesville punk scene. When Fugazi or Green Day came through town, they stayed at the Spoke House. Later on, the Utility House, then Megarock Arena, hosted tons of awesome shows. The 911 house was around for years but unfortunately burned down a couple of years back. The Ark was maybe more than a punk house. It was an amazing place where people lived with purpose and contributed to the scene in numerous ways. There are other places—those are just a few that come to mind. Spoke House still exists but it's occupied by regular college kids these days. I walk by it several times a week at my job. Utility House was torn down years ago. The Ark is now a gym called The Ark Gym, which seems weird. I'm not sure about Megarock.

"The first few times I went to the Fest, it seemed like everybody knew each other. Like, literally everybody."

One thing I noticed when reading your book is that the Gainesville bands that ended up being the most commercially successful seemed to be outsiders in the beginning. Is there more of a pressure to resist fame in that scene than other punk communities?
I think there's a certain level of hazing when a new band comes up, especially if they're really active and working hard and really good. I think there's a little bit of pushback, but then after they prove themselves and that they're not trying to exploit the scene or just make a buck, they're accepted. The older bands are kind of cautious about what the new bands represent and are trying to achieve, but when they see they're sincere, they kind of get a pass.

I think what constitutes selling out or being commercially successful is different now than it was in like the 90s. Like in the 90s, Less Than Jake signed to a major label, and I think they took some crap in the scene. But nowadays, nobody has anything bad to say about them. Similarly with Against Me!, each album went on to a different level of availability, and they got a lot of criticism for moving on from label No Idea to Fat Wreck Chords to a major label. But, in town, the people who were friends with those guys were always happy to see them get bigger.

I feel like I know quite a few people who have no ties to Florida but who either are very aware of or attend the Fest. The community that revolves around that event seems to drive attention towards local music that wouldn't necessarily see an international or even national audience without it.
I've been to every Fest since Fest 5 in 2006, when I moved to Gainesville. The idea of the Fest hasn't changed much, but it's definitely grown. Some of this might be due to the fact that I'm getting old, but at the first few I went to it seemed like everybody knew each other. Like, literally everybody. Now, there are more people and I think that although they have punk rock and the Fest in common, it's not like one big group of friends, but rather a bunch of groups of friends. Although it's bigger, I think the vibe remains the same for the most part. And of course, as I've gotten older, bands I'm friends with have broken up or moved away so I don't always get to see the usual faces I used to see each year.

When I lived there, folk punk was kind of the predominant aesthetic. If someone who once passed through Gainesville and UF was looking to get into what's good there now, who would you point them toward?
I will say I'm a little out of touch with what's going on because I have a two-year-old son and I've spent the past couple years focusing on the history of punk rock, as opposed to what's going on now. But there are still a lot of awesome bands playing in town. I don't know that's there's one driving band or trend that's guiding things right now, but one of the most popular bands is UV-TV. Bite Marks is another good band that has Matt Sweening and Mark Rodriguez who were in bands like Assholeparade, True North, and Palatka. Edmonton is awesome, too; they kinda remind me of Piebald. Frameworks is good––they just went on tour with Against Me! And then there's people like Chris Wollard from Hot Water Music who's band the Ship Thieves is playing around town on the more rock end of the spectrum. So there's still a lot going on.

'Gainesville Punk: A History of Bands and Music' is out November 7. Pre-order it here.

Follow Allie Conti on Twitter.

(Illustration by Joel Benjamin)

It's official: we're worn out. Scientifically knackered. Two-thirds of adults told researchers at Durham University that they need more rest, in a global study that surveyed 18,000 people. This is hardly surprising, though, since scientists have warned that our working hours are leaving us sleep-deprived.

But, less predictably, we seem to need to be alone to fully rest. Reading and spending time alone were listed as some of the most restorative activities, topping 58 percent and 52.1 percent of the polled people's restful activity lists. Weirdly, this makes it sound as though more people might benefit from an introvert's approach to life, where you recharge by spending time on your own. Since at least half of the population are extroverts – who don't need much alone time – I wanted to figure out if pop science has it all wrong, and if it isn't just introverts who need to shut themselves off from the world now and again.

The researchers from Durham University measured the participants' personalities, and found that introverts were more likely to find doing nothing and being alone to be restful. "But even extroverts viewed these solitary activities to be far more restful than socialising with friends," says Professor Felicity Callard, who led the study. "Across the sample as a whole, more sociable activities, such as spending time with friends and family, and drinking, tended to rank lower down. This certainly suggests that time alone might have beneficial outcomes for everyone."

Sanna Balsari-Palsule, PhD student in psychology from the University of Cambridge, says we all need time to restore and re-energise, and while that might be in different ways, we're all much more similar than we might think. She sees a difference between rest and what she calls "restorative niches." While rest, as a basic human need, looks similar to all of us, restorative niches are the places, activities and states of mind that let people recharge. In her research, Balsari-Palsule discovered subtle differences in what introverts and extroverts perceive as restorative niches.

"I found that both introverts and extroverts report that having lunch with their colleagues is a restorative niche for them during a busy working day. It was only when I probed further that I found that for introverts, lunch with one colleague is restorative, while extroverts report that having lunch with three or four colleagues is restorative. Also, both introverts and extroverts listed running as a restorative niche, but it was only when I examined more closely I found that introverts listed running alone as a restorative niche, while extroverts listed running clubs."

So do extroverts need restorative time alone, too? Not necessarily, according to Balsari-Palsule. "For extroverts who already spend a large portion of their day engaged in introverted roles and having to act out of character, I would expect that seeking out time alone would be an additional strain," she says. "On the other hand, extroverts who purposefully seek out alone time may be more productive in a work setting. Time alone can translate into time away from distractions and some of the strengths associated with introversion are the abilities to be introspective and to think things through."

It's no coincidence that 34-year-old Rebecca Lynch, creator of "introjis" – so-called emojis for introverts – calls herself a "super-introvert." But she disagrees with Balsari-Palsule, and says even if extroverts have to force themselves to spend time alone, they should. "I think extreme introverts are more aware of when they need to shut off and be alone for a while, because they get physically tired around others. Extroverts can just keep going," she says. "But alone time is important for everyone; that's when we do our deepest thinking, when we make creative discoveries. I know creative extroverts who struggle with that and have to force themselves to be alone."

Extrovert and English teacher Jack Dobson, 25, sees more of a balance. "I need a lot of social contact in my life, and the idea of spending time interacting with people, whether I know them or not, doesn't phase me. That said, being an extrovert doesn't mean you can't suffer from social burnout – it merely means you can handle a lot more social activity before you reach your limit. I think we all need time for self-reflection and to do our own things. I enjoy spending time on my own and I feel it gives me clarity of thought and much-needed rest. Although, I do find too much time spent alone can make me crave social interaction, and if that isn't forthcoming, can make me feel pretty down."

Our society generally rewards extroverted behaviour more, and as you're navigating school, first jobs and university (for those who go), spending time by yourself is easily looked down on as lazy or boring, rather than important for your mental health. But according to Robert de Vries, lecturer in quantitative sociology at the University of Kent, we should act more like extroverts, not introverts.

He analysed previous studies and found that extroverts tend to be more successful, and are 25 percent more likely to have high-paying jobs. "Several of the studies we reviewed tracked people through their teenage years through to adulthood and found that people who were more extroverted as teenagers were more likely to do well in career terms as adults," he says. "Extroverted people are more confident, sociable, and assertive. It's easy to see why these qualities might help you both in terms of doing well at school and in getting on in your career."

Rather than saying we all need time alone, de Vries says it depends on the person and their circumstances. "Most of the academic research on time alone focuses on the negative side, like loneliness and a lack of social support," he said. "On the other side of the coin, there are lots of people who are overwhelmed by constant social interaction," he says.

Until the research catches up, we'd do well to try and pick the best from both worlds. So many of us are deprived of rest that we can't "have it all", but meeting somewhere in the middle seems as a good a place to start as any. We could end up better-rested and happier at work – and find it easier to say we'd rather just stay in sometimes.

@Jessica_E_Brown / @JoelBenjaminDraws

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Poltergeist, directed by Toby Hooper (of Texas Chainsaw Massacre fame) and co-written by Steven Spielberg, was a childhood obsession for us. We watched it on a never-ending loop the same way other kids might watch their favorite Disney movies. The fixation started when we were five and six, after our dad brought home the movie with its strange cover, a drawing of a little girl in darkness with her hands pressed against a television screen. The film tells the story of a family taunted by spirits who ultimately suck their youngest daughter, Carol Anne, into a netherworld via her bedroom closet. To most kids our age the story would have been horrifying, but for some reason the film felt comforting to us, even heartwarming.

Our compulsion to watch the movie soon transitioned into a need to reenact it. Mud in the backyard became a swimming pool filled with skeletons. We would bend our utensils at the breakfast table, and ritualistically stage burials of Carol Anne's dead canary, intoning, "Now I lay me down to to sleep."

Maybe we found something relatable in the portal-traveling child. Her character evoked a mixture of innocence and unease. The look and feel of the house she lived in fascinated us with its Star Wars bedsheets, pet goldfish, dust, and the glitter kicked up from under the bed by some otherworldly chaos—a setting imbued with the same pastel-color palette of our 1980's childhood home.

For this photo essay, we pay homage to our childhood fascination, from the scene when Carol Anne discovers that her canary has died to when she's first touched by the spirit's supernatural energy and dragged across the kitchen floor in her football helmet. And finally—the most important ode—the unforgettable two words Carol Anne says to her parents after she's engulfed by an eerie glowing light from their television: They're here!

~ Kelsey and Rémy Bennett

Photographer: Kelsey Bennett
Starring: Solveig Almaas
Production Designer & Stylist: Rémy Bennett
Set Dresser: Tafv Sampson
Makeup Artist: Mical Klip

Find a behind the scenes video here.

Harm reduction at work on the front lines of Vancouver's opioid crisis. Photo by Rafal Gerszak

Front line mental health and social housing staff in Vancouver's Downtown Eastside say they're feeling the weight of Canada's opioid crisis, and are now responding to more overdoses in housing than they are at the neighbourhood's world-renowned safe injection site.

"It's been chaos and constant putting out fires," said Alex Tegart, front line staffer for social housing at the Portland Hotel, a block and a half west of Insite. "Not only in our building of 90 residents, but on the streets, in the alleys, in Pigeon Park... Actually today we got a call from Pigeon Park."

Portland Hotel Society is perhaps best known as the operator of North America's first legal safe injection site. The harm reduction service made international headlines when it opened its doors on the 100 block of East Hastings Street back in 2003. But the non-profit also runs dozens of housing and shelter projects in the neighbourhood, accommodating a total of 1,175 low-income people—many of whom struggle with mental health and addiction issues. Their approach to housing encourages safe use over banning substances.

"Sometimes I'll respond to an overdose and my heart rate barely rises above normal," Suzanne Wetzer, staff at another nearby low-barrier social housing project, told VICE. Armed with the overdose antidote naloxone and oxygen, workers like Wetzer and Tegart are increasingly acting as first responders for a neighbourhood seen as an epicentre of the nation-wide crisis. Often just down the hall from the city's hardest-to-house residents, they're tasked with keeping people alive in the minutes before paramedics arrive.

Portland Hotel Society's acting director Andy Bond told VICE overdose interventions in Downtown Eastside housing have reached an "unprecedented" level, not seen during his 18 years with PHS, even during the overdose epidemic of the 1990s that spurred the region's first public health emergency. Their residents, and the street-entrenched homeless that call the neighbourhood home, are most vulnerable to the latest fentanyl epidemic.

"Within the last 12-month period we're looking at over 1,000 overdoses requiring the use of naloxone," Bond told VICE. That includes spikes when social assistance cheques go out. "That number is alarmingly high—on par or greater than the number of overdoses at Insite during the same time period."

Across two of the non-profit's lowest-barrier temporary shelters, between 95 beds, PHS has seen an average of one overdose a night over two months. "Just this past weekend we had four in a twelve-hour period," Bond said.

Staff say these in-house and street interventions can be a lot more dangerous than the ones happening in supervised settings. Front line workers told VICE they're maneuvering around clutter and garbage, fire hazards, and sometimes piles of used syringes just to get to overdose victims. They're also forced to guess how long they've been down. "Their face is blue and grey, their mouth is open, it looks like they're dead—and sometimes they might be," said Tegart.

And because fentanyl is 30 to 50 times stronger than heroin, it's taking a lot more effort to revive people when they go down. "It can be really scary, you're used to seeing somebody come back from one or two vials within about 30 seconds, and now it's taking five minutes and five vials," Wetzer said. Workers are too aware that every minute without oxygen increases the risk of brain damage.

Coupled with British Columbia's latest coroner report on fentanyl-detected deaths, the PHS findings paint a picture of a crisis that ramped up in the spring and has not slowed down since. Over the first eight months of the year, the number of overdose deaths where fentanyl was detected grew by 211 percent, from 97 in 2015 to 302 in 2016. The rising death toll doesn't account for the many more saves Bond's staff are making.

Read More: Why I Report on the Opioid Crisis

With the constant rush of adrenaline, and the loss of long-term residents to overdose, front line workers say they're being pushed to the limit.

"We lose people way too often, and it's always hard to come to terms with the fact you saw them on the street and you had a chat and gave them a big hug, and they were doing really well, and then all of a sudden they're gone," said Michelle Wishart, manager of the PHS-run Drug User Resource Centre, set to close and be replaced by a new operator down the street.

"As jarring and intense as it can be, I think there's something really amazing about it," Wetzer told VICE. "I think fundamentally being able to save a person's life is a beautiful thing that I'm thankful we're able to do."

Follow Sarah Berman on Twitter.

In celebration of Waypoint, our new video game vertical, the staff is streaming 72 games in 72 hours—a marathon binge of tabletop games, bargain bin disasters, and next-level stuff on PSVR headsets.

A variety of heads have already come through the VICE office this weekend to hangout and button mash with the Waypoint crew, who are still posted up in the lobby and surprisingly still awake. So far iconic producer Just Blaze, musician Meredith Graves, VICELAND's Desus & Mero, the Internet's Jayson Musson, and more have all stopped by. In a few hours, though, two more special guests will be here, and if you already thought we were geeking out...

PRODIGY OF MOBB DEEP IS GAMING RIGHT NOW! AND CHIEF KEEF IS COMING BY LATER TO PLAY VIDEO GAMES IN VIRTUAL REALITY! HOLY PIXELS!

While we're not sure if Sosa has skills yet, we asked in advance what his favorite games of all time are. A man of few words, Keef simply told us "Call of Duty, NBA 2K, GTA." (Classics, if you ask us).

Join us for as little or as long as you can, and let's celebrate the start of Waypoint's journey.

Head over to their website here to watch the livestream, and follow Waypoint on Twitter.

Below, watch the best of Just Blaze's livestream session from earlier this weekend:

Are you a latter-day fan of Oscar-winner Nicolas Cage and the balls-to-the-wall, batshit insane acting style he calls "Western Kabuki"? Then don't walk, run—maybe while screaming incoherently?—to the first theater in your area showing Cage's new movie, Dog Eat Dog. Cage stars as Troy, alongside Willem Dafoe as Mad Dog and Paul Schrader as Grecco the Greek. It's a crime movie on its face, but it's really about three deeply racist, psychopathic murderers, who, in the course of committing an ill-fated crime, manage to spray bullets, ketchup, blood, brains, slurs, mustard, and psychobabble all over the greater Cleveland area.

Cage is promoting Dog Eat Dog alongside two other movies that are being released around the same time, and that sounds tedious to me. So to break up his monotony, I decided to futz with the interview format a little and used only lines from Nicolas Cage movies as my questions.

I still wanted the interview to work the way he expected, so I added words—usually "Dog Eat Dog"—in order to form real questions. And at first I relied on some more obscure quotes to make sure the interview stayed on the rails, but then I threw in some weird curveballs. It worked! Cage never seemed to remember that these had been his movie lines, and he was surprisingly interested in talking about fish dreams. Still, I doubt he thought I was a very good interviewer.

Our conversation has been lightly edited for length and clarity, but the awkwardness of my questions has been preserved.

VICE: I guess we better get going, don't you? (The Rock, 1996)
Nicolas Cage: I think so.

So, Dog Eat Dog, what's going on here? (Con Air, 1997)
Well, I guess what's going on is whatever you want to have go on! It's really up to the audience to decide for themselves what they want it to be.

So, Dog Eat Dog: How does it feel to have all of that evil inside of you? All of that power? (Ghost Rider, 2007)
Um, yeah. You know somebody once said that the bad guy never really sees himself as the bad guy, and so when I was playing the part, I wasn't thinking of Troy as the bad guy. Although I did walk away some days thinking, Wow, I guess this took a turn for the worse, yeah, these are three pretty bad boys. I don't think any of us were thinking about our characters in those terms when we were filming it, because then it wouldn't really have worked.

The three guys, they're still all one person, right? In a way? (Adaptation, 2002)
I mean, that's an interesting one. I haven't thought of it in those terms before. But I don't see why one couldn't see it as like a three-headed hydra? Or three heads to one body, and they are a group. I know Paul really liked that movie The Wild Bunch. So he was often thinking about these guys as sort of a modern day Wild Bunch. And even if you look at the picture and you look at the old , you see some of the ways he set up some of the scenes, especially when each of the characters is their own version of a date: Willem Dafoe's got the masseuse, Christopher has the kind of normal, elegant girl, and my guy has the pretty hooker. All three dates go horribly wrong, and that's not unlike what happens in The Wild Bunch. There was some illusion to that, but like I said, the movie is really whatever you want it to be, and I always try to not infringe on audience reactions. I want them to have their own connection and their own secret with the movie.

Would you say you explore the notion that cop and criminal are really two aspects of the same person? (Adaptation, 2002)
No, I never got that far with it or that philosophical with it. I just saw it more as these are three guys—hard-luck guys—out of jail who are just trying to survive, the only way they know how. They don't have skills in other universes. Like, they are all hard-luck guys who resorted to crime to survive. I didn't think about it in terms of philosophizing as to the two sides of the coin of law and criminality.

The dream toward the end of the movie, was it all just wishful thinking? (Raising Arizona, 1987)
Yeah, I think it's whatever you want it to be, again. But just let me just say something about Paul Schrader: He once gave me a note that it's better to create characters that raise more questions than answers, because they have a longer shelf life if you make it enigmatic. And don't explain it away too much. It'll live longer. And I think the best example of that would be like Stanley Kubrick's 2001. That's as enigmatic as it gets, and we are all still wondering what that is about. But there is a line in that passage where it says that my character is dead—Troy is dead—so I think that you can go where you want with that. For me, I think he's—and I shouldn't even be saying this, but—I think he's in limbo.

So, Dog Eat Dog, the film itself: How'd it get made? How'd it get burned? (The Wicker Man, 2006)
Well, I'll tell you exactly how it got made, especially the way it did get made: Because I said I'd do it! You know Paul did Dying of the Light, and it got taken from him. And he wasn't able to cut it the way he wanted to cut it. He was very upset, the reason why Paul got final cut on the movie was because I said I would do the movie. I got it green-lit, and he was able to make it on a certain budget, and he got his final cut. And I'm glad he did because it's a work of art. He is a maverick filmmaker, who is a total intellectual. He's going to be the smartest person on any movie set he walks in, and he knows it! And he lets you know it! He doesn't give a shit! It's going to be his way or the highway, and you can either partake with that or not partake with that, but it certainly served him well. And I'm very proud that I made the movie with him.

You enjoying this? (The Rock, 1996)
Oh, I love Dog Eat Dog, it's exactly the kind of movie I want to be making right now. It's a midnight movie. It's unpredictable. It's full of surprises. It doesn't stop moving. It's electric. I'm very happy with the results.

Do you like the Elton John song "Rocket Man"? (The Rock, 1996)
I love "Rocket Man." I love all of Elton John's music. He's one of my favorite composers. He's just amazing.

You think fish have dreams? (Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans, 2009)
You know something? I don't want to begin to pretend to know about the ichthyological world, and what they are thinking, but, man, I have been to an aquarium here in Las Vegas and I was with a girl, and three panther groupers came to stare at her. There were millions of fish in that aquarium, and they all came to look at her. I have no idea to this day why, except maybe she was wearing a shirt that had black-and-white, and they have black-and-white polka dots. Maybe they were attracted to the way she was dressed, or maybe they had a dream about her! And there was their little mermaid on the other side of the aquarium, and they were giving her some sort of telepathic... who knows. I don't know. It was wild. So maybe they do have dreams.

That's kinda weird, right? (Adaptation, 2002)
It was weird as it gets! And she was creeped out that they were totally into her.

Follow Mike Pearl on Twitter.

Illustration by Armando Veve.

Dog Eat Dog will be in theaters in LA and New York on November 4, and on VOD November 11.

All photographs by Michael Marcelle

You know how it is. You want to go out for Halloween, you really do. You mean it when you RSVP to those parties on Facebook, when you plan your elaborate costumes, when you trade excited emojis in group texts. You are going to go to the warehouse party on the edge of town and see some shit. You are going to get someone else's body paint smeared all over you.

But then you realize: Halloween is a Monday. Your hangover from the weekend is still buzzing around the back of your head like an undead bee, your costume is balled up and torn on your bedroom floor, the contents of your purse is scattered in the alley outside the bar, along with your hopes and dreams for the weekend. The only really spooky thing that happened to you was when you accidentally looked at your bank balance at the ATM.

Still, it's Halloween. Fine. You said you would go out. You're going out. Just for a couple. A quiet rehash of the last few days, a huddle with friends where you reassure one another that it was fine, really, and Allison won't hate you and she probably doesn't even remember, and anyway everyone was drunk, who cares dude?

Here's what you can dress up as for tonight when you really don't want to be yourself:

Fancy Guy

1. Put on your only suit
2. You're James Bond! Or, a waiter?

The Chef from Hell

1. Grab some kitchen utensils
2. And maybe a bloody apron?
3. You don't have an apron.
4. But still! Who knows what you're cooking up? Spooky!
5. Be careful not to lose your good spatula

Amelia Earheart

1. Say you're going to go to a party
2. Don't show up
3. Voila!
4. Someone we know actually did this

Guy Who Lost His Dog

1. Get a dog leash
2. Go around asking people if they've seen your dog
3. Kinda funny!

Captain Cool Cup

1. Get your novelty mug out of the cabinet
2. Drink out of the novelty cup all night, even at bars
3. At the end of the night put the cup on your head
4. It's a captain's hat!
5. No, this IS a good costume

Lampshade Head

1. Just grab that lampshade, put it on your head
2. C'mon honey
3. You can't show up at the party with no costume
4. Honey
5. C'mon

My Costume Is I'm Not Wearing a Costume

1. Go out of your house
2. It's a Monday and you're 34. What are people expecting?
3. Ugh

David Duke in July. (AP Photo/Max Becherer)

"White people will be a minority in America soon. Every minority has a spokesgroup, except European Americans. We're not allowed."

That's Michael Lawrence's pitch for David Duke, a former Ku Klux Klan big shot and perennial political candidate now running for the US Senate in Louisiana. Lawrence ran Duke's campaign before quitting, he told me, to deal with flooding on some properties in Baton Rouge he owned. "For a long time now, David has been the sole spokesman for white people. And he has paid an incredible price for standing up," lamented Lawrence, who still supports Duke, "in being labeled a racist."

The news isn't that Duke has crawled out of the marshes to run for the seat left by fellow embarrassment David Vitter. The news is that Duke recently somehow polled the requisite 5 percent needed to land him in an upcoming televised debate—the most legitimacy the notorious racist and anti-Semite has had in a long, long time. As an added irony, or insult, he will enjoy this honor at New Orleans's historically black Dillard University.

Duke has haunted Louisiana's conscience since the 70s, when he became a regular spouting his rhetoric on Louisiana State University's "Free Speech Alley." To fund his larger ambitions, in 1976, he wrote a pseudonymous sexual self-help book for women titled Finders Keepers. In 1979, he founded the National Association for the Advancement of White People. After failed Senate and presidential bids as a Democrat, Duke turned Republican and in 1989 was elected state senator in a special election. Following a short and uninspired term, Duke ran for governor and lost, though he garnered more votes than he ever would again in his many other failed political attempts.

After his partner Don Black (who married Duke's ex-wife Chloe Hardin) left to start the white nationalist site Stormfront, Duke founded the European-American Unity and Rights Organization (EURO) in 2000. Following a short stint in jail for lying to his own supporters in order to fundraise from them and cheating on his taxes, Duke remained mostly in the shadows until this past September when he came to New Orleans to ostensibly stop protestors who were threatening to tear down the city's famous statue of Andrew "Trail of Tears" Jackson. The mostly black crowd reportedly ran him out of Jackson Square with chants of "Racist, fascist, anti-gay! Right-wing bigot, go away!"

Though Duke is one of the most prominent white supremacists to publicly support Donald Trump, state and national Republican officials have disavowed Duke's latest run at power, which the candidate has said was sparked by the violence against police officers in Dallas and Baton Rouge. "He became very concerned in regards to the Obama administration and the unhealthy way the mainstream media was affecting the racial climate in this country, with this bias toward African Americans against the police officers," said former campaign manager Lawrence.

I asked Lawrence if Duke represents the opposite of the Black Lives Matter movement. "That's fair to say," he admitted.

There's also a pretty strong echo of Trump's campaigns in Duke's latest run. "The issues that Trump is hammering, it's the same social base as Duke's, playing on the same fears, and offering the same false hopes. And they both are making it respectable to be intolerant," said Lawrence Powell, chair of the Louisiana Coalition Against Racism and Nazism, a group created specifically to stop Duke in the 90s, and which has removed its mothballs only recently for this Senate race.

John McCusker, a staff photographer for the Times-Picayune for almost three decades, covered Duke's 1991 gubernatorial campaign, where he eventually took nearly 40 percent of the vote—more than 670,000 ballots—in a runoff election. "Those were the salad days for him," remembered McCusker. "You'd go by his house in old Metairie , and there were cars everywhere. It was packed. Just people organizing. Plus, he had that NOAWP bookstore is his basement, a library where he sold his books."

Watching Trump's recent ascent reminds McCusker of that era. "Today the issue is immigration, but back then affirmative action was the monster under the bed. We also got a taste 20 years ago of what these reporters are going through today, being made to feel uncomfortable at the rallies. Duke was the only other candidate I've seen sort of sic the dogs on the media. If you're covering Duke, he'd just bomb you with kindness and graciousness, to disarm you—he'd go on to talk to the crowd about the liberal media and all that, but he didn't single us out and call us scum," said McCusker, alluding to Trump. "His people would make the press all sit in this little fenced area by ourselves, so that it only took one loudmouth to start yelling stuff about the media, and then everyone focuses on you."

Retired now, McCusker has great empathy for reporters trying to cover Trump today: "We also had to cover both candidates equally and fairly, even when it felt almost ridiculous to do that. Doing it tends to legitimize the illegitimate."

Duke and his support may be a stain on Louisiana politics, but as shown by politicians from Senator Strom Thurmond (from South Carolina) to American Nazi Party founder George Lincoln Rockwell (from the East Coast), to segregationist Alabama governor George Wallace to Trump (from New York), overt bigotry has proven itself nationally popular. As LCARN's Powell pointed out, back in 1989, New Orleans author Walker Percy told the New York Times, "Don't make the mistake of thinking David Duke is a unique phenomenon confined to Louisiana rednecks and yahoos... Don't think that he or somebody like him won't appeal to the white middle class of Chicago or Queens."

"This is not confined to the so-called fever swamps of Louisiana," Powell told me. "It extends everywhere, from Alabama to Michigan."

It's tough to determine how much of a threat Duke actually poses to the current ticket. The latest poll had him down near the bottom of the pack at 5 percent, but Lawrence claims that these surveys underrate Duke's support and that he's consistently overperformed polls in his career.

But win or lose (again), Duke is happy with what he sees as the results of his hard work. "After four decades, the issues that I've spearheaded and fought for are now mainstream," Duke, who wouldn't comment for this article, told the New York Times last month. "I've won, in the sense that these are now mainstream issues."

If his past campaigns can be seen as a precursor to Trump's alt-right movement, Duke himself shows how an outsider candidate can sink.

"When we'd dig up greater evidence of Duke's old racism, there was no negative effect," McCusker remembered. "You'd think that everyone knowing he was a Nazi in the Klan would sink him... But what finally sunk him was a TV forum with Governor Edwin Edwards. No one knows more about the government than Edwards, from the budget to where the bodies are buried... So the debate moderator asks, 'Who is the biggest employer in Louisiana?' And Edwards is levitating, can't wait to answer. But Duke can't answer it. That was the moment."

"For voters it wasn't, Duke's a racist and my morals won't let me vote for him," McCuskers said. "It was that he doesn't know his stuff."

Follow Michael Patrick Welch on Twitter.

Photos by the author

Seared into my childhood memory is a particularly terrifying episode of the show Tales from the Darkside. Titled Ursa Minor, it aired when I was eight, and I've never forgotten it.

In the episode, a young girl gets a teddy bear for her birthday under somewhat mysterious circumstances. While she loves it, she's soon blaming it for various mischief about the house. Flowers knocked over? "Teddy did it." Muddy paw prints on the wall? "Teddy was playing."

Mom thinks her daughter is just lying about her own misbehavior, but nope, the teddy bear is actually quite possessed, and quite dangerous. After being told by an "expert on magic" that teddy bears "have strong magic," the mom tries to get rid of the bear, throwing it out and getting her daughter a doll, but the bear comes back, destroying the doll and unleashing its terrifying power.

The episode ends with a shot of a massive bear paw smashing through the family's door. I've never forgotten how much that Tales from the Darkside episode terrified me as a child. And now, three decades later, I've invited a different disturbing teddy bear into my home.

His name is BooBuddy Jr., and he sees dead people.

BooBuddy Jr. is built by GhostStop, a company based in Florida that sells equipment for paranormal investigators and ghost hunters. In addition to offering a wide range of audio and video recorders (to capture orbs and ghostly voices), thermometers (to measure for cold spots), motion sensors, and other gear, GhostStop sells a wide variety of Electromagnetic Field (EMF) meters. Originally built to detect harmful radiation in your home, EMF meters have become popular among paranormal enthusiasts under the theory that ghosts can affect electromagnetic fields.

There are dozens of EMF meters for sale, many tailored specifically to ghost hunters, but sometimes the meter alone isn't enough. Enter BooBuddy Jr., who in addition to sensing electromagnetic fields, is also what ghost hunters call a "trigger object"–something with emotional or psychic resonance that can further entice ghosts to communicate. Trigger objects can be related to the deceased individual you're trying to contact (a lock of hair, say, or a photograph). Or, more generally, they can be something welcoming, something a child (or a child's ghost) might respond to. Like a teddy bear.

When you turn him on, BooBuddy Jr.'s belly glows green, but if he's near an EMF field of any kind (or, presumably, a ghost), his paws will light up red. Curious, I acquired myself a cuddly EMF meter, to see how good he was at finding ghosts.

As soon as he arrived, my wife Nicole and I began adopting the mannerisms of the girl from the Tales from the Darkside episode, blaming BooBuddy Jr. for anything we could. "It wasn't me; BooBuddy Jr. made a mess in the sink," "BooBuddy Jr. forgot to take out the trash," "BooBuddy Jr. didn't pay the electric bill." He was also, in short order, re-christened as "Deady Ruxpin." I took Deady throughout the house, looking for spirits or dangerous appliances. We found nothing, but I soon realized this wasn't a proper test of his abilities. So I recruited some friends and took him to a haunted-ish place to try him out.

The place was Brooklyn's Morbid Anatomy Museum, a building that, in addition to being one of the more spooky places in the city, used to be a nightclub and, before that, a bodega. So, I figured, there'd be plenty of spirits at hand. After hours, Nicole and I, along with a few friends, were allowed to go upstairs to the library, where we put Deady Ruxpin on a table and gathered around him. We dimmed the lights and clasped our hands together in a circle.

At that point, we realized none of us knew how to conduct a séance. So, we turned to the most reliable source we could find: Wikihow. We followed Wikihow's instructions on "How to Conduct a Séance" as best we could (no candles, though, because that's a fire hazard). We gathered our participants, clasped hands once again, and then began to chant, summoning the spirits. "Spirits of the past, move among us," we intoned, looking at our cuddly medium. "Be guided by the light of this world and visit upon us."

Deady Ruxpin did nothing. No red lights lit up, nothing moved. We tried again. Still nothing. We began asking simple yes/no questions: "Is anyone here? Would you like to speak with us? Are you in pain?" Deady Ruxpin remained mute. If any unseen spirits flitted about the room, none were triggered by our furry pal.

We tried using the ol' Good Medium/Bad Medium tactic: "Look, Deady, I'm on your side here, but my friend, she's a bit more impatient. You think you could cough up some spirits before she has to get mean?" Deady Ruxpin stonewalled. His belly glowed bright green, but his hands remained unlit. Immune to our cajoling, the bear would not, no matter what we did, light up. Finally we gave up.

Perhaps we were simply unworthy mediums. Perhaps the spirits felt we weren't taking them seriously. Perhaps the Morbid Anatomy Museum isn't really haunted. Certainly, I can say, the museum is free of harmful electromagnetic radiation—which, given its location in Brooklyn, is fairly uncanny in itself.

As we drove home from our failed séance, my wife and I put Deady Ruxpin on the dash of our car, just out of curiosity. And sure enough, for the entire drive, his paws lit up constantly in intense, unceasing flashes of red. Maybe this is because AM/FM radios will set off EMF meters—as will cellphones, fast-food restaurants, and anything else with a microwave.

Or maybe, as I prefer to believe, the city truly is filled with ghosts.

Follow Colin on Twitter.

Was it 2004? Or 2005, maybe? There was definitely a specific year where Halloween turned from a thing kids did to get free candy into a thing adults do to get drunk on spooky cocktails and go home with a guy dressed like Luigi.

Adult Halloween took place this weekend (kids' Halloween is still the 31st, FYI), and every street was full of crappy fake blood and wasted zombies. Photographer Alice Zoo went out on the town in London to shoot the costumes, the fallout, and what it looks like when you get your face paint all mixed in with your kebab's garlic sauce.

Follow Alice Zoo on Twitter.

Don't trust a school that doesn't believe in evolution. Photo via Facebook

While many people feel like the stuff they learn in high school is essentially useless, one Alberta woman says the diploma she received from her Christian home school program literally wasn't recognized by any university to which she applied.

Bari Miller told the CBC she received her education through Wisdom Home Schooling, an organization that is subcontracted by the Trinity Christian School Association to provide home schooling to Alberta students. Both parties were shut down by the Alberta government last week after being accused of having shady finances and no oversight.

Trinity and Wisdom have refuted the allegations and are obtaining legal counsel.

Miller said in her case, she was shocked when she realized that her education was worthless, as her transcripts were rejected by the post-secondaries she hoped to attend.

As part of her curriculum, she said she learned "evolution didn't happen."

"It was combined with a lot of biblical analysis and I really didn't learn any science that would be acceptable to a lot of Canadian universities."

Wisdom home schools 3,500 kids in Alberta. The education ministry has said it was never accredited through the province.

Miller said she's frustrated that Wisdom was able to operate without accreditation.

"I don't understand how that makes it any different from your kids just not going to school," she said.

Another woman who identified herself as a Wisdom grad on Twitter posted photos from her old exams which included fill-in-the-blank questions like, "In the late 1970s, Jim Jones tried to institute a theocracy, but his abuse of the Bible only led the people of his community into: (death)."

But supporters of Wisdom have also been vocal, launching a #WeStandWithWisdom hashtag; an online petition demanding Wisdom be allowed to operate has garnered more than 2,600 signatures.

Follow Manisha Krishnan on Twitter.

As editors it's impossible not to feel the weight of the opioid crisis that has gripped so many parts of Canada. While the roots of this epidemic reach back many years to when OxyContin flooded our cities and towns, 2016 has brought daily headlines about staggering overdoses, monumental drugs busts and lives lost. VICE.com and VICE News have been on the frontlines of this coverage since the beginning. From the documentary Dopesick, our incredibly personal, devastating look at the lives of young people addicted to fentanyl, to our investigations into the troubling lack of Naloxone in Ontario pharmacies, the unregulated chaos of private rehab facilities, and the international drug pipeline breaking through our border, we've been dedicated to showing the reality and the humanity behind the opioid crisis. And recognizing that humanity is why we're spending the next week peeling back the layers of this epidemic and hearing from the people at the centre of the storm. From epidemiologists committed to changing our failing strategies on drug prohibition, to frontline workers in Vancouver's Downtown Eastside and finally to the users themselves, so often misrepresented and ignored; Relapse: Facing Canada's Opioid Crisis is our opportunity to listen to those most affected and continue the conversation as we make our way towards recovery.

Full Schedule for Relapse: Facing Canada's Opioid Crisis

Monday: How North America Found Itself in the Grips of an Opioid Crisis

Tuesday: How We Can Solve the Opioid Crisis

Wednesday: Keeping the Downtown Eastside Alive

Thursday: The Never-Ending Cycle of Waiting for Drug Rehab in Canada

Friday: Portrait of a Crisis