Lindsay Coulton's van jeans. All photos submitted

When your band is going on tour, the stuff you manage to jam in the van can pretty much be divided into two categories: items so valuable that you would probably jump off a building to save them, and the things you more or less expect to be destroyed.

Muhammad Ali, then called Cassius Clay, before his fight against Archie Moore in Los Angeles in 1962. (AP Photo/Harold P. Matosian, File)

Muhammad Ali, who died on Friday night at the age of 74, was one of the most fascinating figures of 20th-century America. The greatest heavyweight boxer of all time was a mass of contradictions: A 60s countercultural icon perhaps best known for his religious beliefs, a notorious loudmouth whose every action seemed carefully considered, a living symbol of black power and pride who taunted Joe Frazier with racially-tinged insults, an all-time-great athlete whose protest against the Vietnam War led to the white men in charge of his sport to stop him from competing at the height of his prowess.

In his later years, as Robert Lipsyte wrote in his New York Times obituary, "Ali became something of a secular saint, a legend in soft focus. He was respected for having sacrificed more than three years of his boxing prime and untold millions of dollars for his antiwar principles after being banished from the ring; he was extolled for his un-self-conscious gallantry in the face of incurable illness, and he was beloved for his accommodating sweetness in public."

But in his youth, during the years when he went from being Cassius Clay, the young braggart, to Muhammad Ali, the fiery champion, he was at the centre of constant controversy. In his prime he was not only the world's best boxer but one of the planet's most fascinating celebrities. In those days boxing was one of America's most literary sports, and the tangle of politics, personality, persona, and pugilism Ali represented drew writers, commentators, and interviewers of all sorts. The resulting body of work paints a fascinating portrait of a man who somehow lived up to his own legend.

Here is a selection of just a few things that Ali said, and were said about him:

Mark Kram writing about Ali for Esquire, in a 1989 piece looking back on his career:

With the emergence of Muhammad Ali, no one would ever see the same way again, not even the fighters themselves; a TV go, a purse, and a sheared lip would never be enough; and a title was just a belt unless you did something with it. A fighter had to be; a product, an event, transcendental. Ali and the new age met stern, early resistance. He was the demon loose at a holy rite.

George Plimpton in Harper's on Cassius Clay's press conference before his 1964 fight with Sonny Liston

Clay made a short, final address to the newspapermen. "This is your last chance," he said. "It's your last chance to get on the bandwagon. I'm keeping a list of all you people. After the fight is done, we're going to have a roll call up there in the ring. And when I see so-and-so said this fight was a mismatch, why I'm going to have a little ceremony and some eating is going on—eating of words." His manner was that of the admonishing schoolteacher. The press sat in their rows at the Miami Auditorium staring balefully at him. It seemed incredible that a smile or two wouldn't show up on a writer's face. It was so wonderfully preposterous. But I didn't see any."

Floyd Patterson as told to Gay Talese in a 1966 issue of Esquire:

Before my fight with Cassius Clay I remember one day he came stomping up to my camp. He was surrounded by Muslims and came barging in, calling me "rabbit," and he held a bunch of carrots in his arms. All the television cameras and photographers moved in close to get action shots of the bloody scene. But they were disappointed. Clay handed me the carrots and I took them. The photographers took pictures, the pictures got into the papers and on television, and I guess it all helped sell tickets to the fight. But in the split second that Cassius Clay's eyes met with mine, I could sense that he was a little embarrassed by it all. He seemed to be apologizing, saying, "this is what I have to do." And later on, when we had a press conference before the fight, and Clay was screaming and bragging to a bunch of sportswriters, he leaned over and whispered to me once: "You want to make some money, don't you, Floyd? You want to make lots of money, don't you?"

Baseball's Jackie Robinson, who later criticized Ali for his antiwar stance, writing in 1964 (found in The Muhammad Ali Reader, edited by Gerald Early):

Despite his loudness—and sometimes crudeness—Clay has brought excitement into boxing. He has also spread the message that more of us need to know: "I am the greatest," he says. I am not advocating that Negroes think they are greater than anyone else. But I want them to know that they are just as great as other human beings.

An excerpt from a 1975 interview Ali did with Playboy, in which he said a lot of controversial things about women and race, but also spoke from the heart about poverty and wealth:

"I was driving down the street and I saw a little black man wrapped in an old coat standing on a corner with his wife and little boy, waiting for a bus to come along—and there I am in my Rolls-Royce. The little boy had holes in his shoes and I started thinkin' that if he was my little boy, I'd break into tears. And I started crying.

"Sure, I know I got it made while the masses of black people are catchin' hell, but as long as they ain't free, I ain't free."

From "Ego," Norman Mailer's famous 1971 essay on Ali:

He is fascinating—attraction and repulsion must be in the same package. So, he is obsessive. The more we don't want to think about him, the more we are obliged to. There is a reason for it. He is America's Greatest Ego. He is also... the swiftest embodiment of human intelligence we have had yet, he is the very spirit of the twentieth century, he is the prince of mass man and the media.

Robert Lipsyte in the New York Times Magazine in 1971, after Ali returned to boxing after being banned due to his opposition to the draft and just before his famous fight with Frazier:

He feels superior to boxing, a gift to boxing, a hero of history who has temporarily ennobled a sordid and ungrateful sport. In an accurate prediction just before his three-and-a-half-year exile from the ring, he said: "When I'm gone, boxing will be nothing again. The fans with the cigars and the hats turned down will be there, but no more housewives and little men on the street and foreign presidents. I was the only boxer in history people asked questions like a senator."

From a piece by Ira Berkow, also in 1971, about how fast Ali really was:

A fly again laded on his knee. Ali suddenly grew still. He slowly reached out to snatch the fly. Jabbed. Had it! "My timing's back!" cried Ali. "See, at least I'm not too old."

A quote captured by Roger Kahn in 1975, in an Esquire piece anthologized in The Muhammad Ali Reader:

Lead image by Lia Kantrowitz

Hello you food eaters/motherfuckers,

I have never been to China or met a Chinese person, but I have eaten a lot of food and much of that food has been Chinese. Egg rolls, fortune cookies, soup dumplings, dried jellyfish, beef and broccoli, sesame noodles, crab rangoon, hot and sour soup, fried rice, chop suey, Peking roasted duck, spring rolls, chow mein, kung pao chicken, duck's heads, stir fry, dim sum, congee, caterpillar fungus duck, jade rabbit sea cucumber, braised abalone, I could go on...

Although I am very fond of Chinese food, it is exceedingly hard to find good Chinese restaurants, so finding frozen Chinese food in my grocery store was a godsend. I ate four frozen Chinese food dinners, and reviewed them for you. You're welcome.

Tai Pei - General Tso's Chicken

I can't believe Tao Lin sold out so hard.

The weirdest thing about this frozen food is that you microwave it in the original packaging and plastic wrap and then eat the food directly from the same box it's displayed in.

Inside the colorful container was a bunch of different items in a spicy brown sauce. There were un-crispy snow peas and fibrous sliced carrots that were weird and wooden when chomped through. The broccoli was good, the rice was nice, the chicken was edible. What really carried this box of stuff was the spiciness of the sauce it's in.

The textures of half the things weren't great, but, like Frank Herbert said, "He who controls the spice, controls the universe."

I wouldn't eat this again.

GRADE: C-

Tai Pei - Sweet and Sour Chicken

As with the other chicken-based frozen food from Tai Pei, you microwave this in its display container with the plastic wrap still sealed.

The Tai Pei General Tso's chicken was saved by its spicy brown sauce. That spiced sauce was sorely missed in this box of edible food ingredients. This one was in a sugary, pineapple sauce that masked, overwhelmed, and bullied any potential for other flavors to peak through.

Chewing the carrots was like trying to masticate a tatami mat. The snow peas were tough. The chicken was too soft and the vegetables were sinewy. Every bite tasted like pineapple and corn syrup.

GRADE: D

Chung's Gourmet Quality Spicy White Meat Chicken Mini Egg Rolls

These were spicy, crispy, and small. There was chicken and other things inside them. I dipped mine in soy sauce. I had three, but the bag contains enough to feed like five people. My friend and colleague Thomas Morton commented, "These tiny egg rolls are pretty tasty. I'm likin' them."

I'm getting much fatter from eating this garbage, and I'm becoming nervous about developing stomach cancer from all the preservatives. These frozen food reviews are breaking my mom's heart.

I will definitely eat these again.

Grade: A-

You're supposed to pan-fry these in oil for two minutes or until golden brown, and then pour in a third of a cup of water and steam them. I gave them extra time to fry in oil that was so hot it was sizzling and dancing. I gave them extra time to steam too, but they still came out like little soggy balled-up towels. I couldn't finish these, even if the dipping sauce was acceptable. Maybe I'll try frying them harder some other time.

Grade: C-

Follow me on Instagram to see what I'm eating.

Jayne Ellen Heideck photo courtesy Morgane Oger

Police have arrested the trans woman accused of starting a fire at one of Canada's only sex reassignment clinics last month. Jayne Ellen Heideck, 42, turned herself in to Kelowna RCMP earlier this week and is now being transferred to Montreal.

Heideck had undergone sex reassignment surgery at the Centre Métropolitain de Chirurgie, where a blaze caused $700,000 damage on May 2. Heideck faces charges for breaking and entering and arson causing danger to human life.

The clinic specializes in sex reassignment or gender-affirming surgeries including vaginoplasty, phalloplasty, breast augmentation and breast removal. It's the only clinic of its kind in Canada that accepts government health insurance.

Police originally investigated the incident as a possible hate crime, but dropped that pursuit a few weeks later when Heideck was announced as suspect. At the time, Trans Alliance Society chair Morgane Oger told media Heideck was unhappy with the results of her operation and may be experiencing mental health issues.

"Jayne expressed strong dissatisfaction," Oger told the told the National Post, "however, I am not aware of any negative surgical outcomes."

Media reports say repairs at the clinic are still underway, but some surgeries are continuing on schedule.

Follow Sarah on Twitter.

Check out Ida's Tumblr, blog, and Instagram.

Here's Victor, in his shamanism clinic (All photos by the author)

Almost all of us have heard of ayahuasca by now. The hallucinogenic medicinal plant used by indigenous communities in South America is said to be a potent healer, and/or a herb that makes you freak out and vomit a lot. Now that thousands of outsiders have cottoned on, the old tradition has turned into a bit of a cottage industry filled with chancers.

While in Peru, I met with Victor Cauper Gonzales, a 55-year-old shaman from Pucallpa who is well-known locally for treating complicated illnesses. He has an impeccable work ethic and won't treat you unless you actually have a health issue. We talked about the seven years he spent roaming the jungle before becoming a shaman, the dangers of fakes and how the ayahuasca tourism boom has impacted his hometown.

VICE: Hi Victor, can you tell me how you got into shamanism?
Victor Cauper Gonzales: I decided to become a shaman 36 years ago, when I was at university studying to be a primary school teacher. I come from a family with a very strong tradition of shamanism: my grandfather was a renowned shaman and he taught me a lot of things. He'd take ayahuasca and travel to different places and planets. He used to share his insights from those places with me.

So you followed in your granddad's footsteps?
Despite that upbringing, I initially chose an educational path and went to university. But I wasn't too happy with it and I knew my calling was to continue our family tradition, so I dropped out and went into the jungle by myself, living there alone for seven years. I had no money, no nothing. I just survived in the jungle like our ancestors, eating the plants and fishing. After seven years, I knew that I was ready to become a shaman and heal others.

Was there anyone to train you?
No. Having a good maestro to direct you is important, but being a shaman also requires intuition and patience. You need to be able to get in touch with plants. It's something you have to learn yourself. It comes gradually. But if you don't have this within you, a maestro cannot help.

What was your first ayahuasca experience like?
I followed a very strict diet during my time in the jungle, getting to know all the medicinal plants and surviving by myself. An ayahuasca diet dictates you to not consume sugar, salt, or alcohol and avoid sex so I completely devoted myself to the ancient wisdom passed to me by my ancestors. But those seven years were my preparation process—I didn't take any ayahuasca then.

When I finally felt ready to take it, the long wait proved to be worth it. It was amazing. Because I'd trained both my body and mind so well for such a long time, I was immediately able to travel in different times and dimensions during that first ayahuasca experience. I connected to the spirit of my grandfather and talked to the spirit of plants too. Since then, ayahuasca has been a very important part of my life.

There are now loads of foreigners coming to Peru on "ayahuasca holidays", sometimes taking it without any preparation. How do you feel about that?
It's very dangerous. There are serious travellers who understand the health benefits of this medicine, but there are also a lot of foreigners who see ayahuasca as an interesting way of getting high or drunk. But if you're not prepared, if you don't follow the diet and don't know what you're doing, you cannot benefit from taking ayahuasca anyway. This way, a lot of people end up having bad experiences too.

There's a very common misunderstanding among many people: ayahuasca isn't a drug—it's a very strong medicine that needs to be taken responsibly. It can fix or relieve so many illnesses. That said, it's not a quick fix either. It has to be a slow, gradual and deliberate process. Most people I treated took ayahuasca dozens of times over a period of time to heal. But many don't have patience for that. They want to go on a holiday and be fixed. But patience is the very core of ayahuasca.

How do things compare now to when you first started practicing shamanism?
It's an industry now. Westerners realized there's money to be made. A lot of the retreat centres are western-run. This is in a way similar to illegal mining. They come and steal our ancient wisdom and sell it for profit.

When I first started, ayahuasca was all about healing people. It used to be about diagnosing the illness and helping people to improve. But now there are companies commercializing this and completely contaminating the culture of ayahuasca.

Even worse, there are shaman training programs. People come, sign up to a course, take a few workshops, maybe get a certificate and call themselves a shaman. Then they go on to treat people. This is extremely dangerous. You cannot be a shaman in two weeks. Can you imagine a doctor operating on someone without any knowledge and proper equipment?

That's fair. What motivates you to keep going, despite these changes?
It's very rewarding to heal people. Sometimes I have patients who've lost all hope. Modern medicine can't help them anymore, so they come to me. I've helped people with cancer, AIDS, diabetes, tumours, stomach problems, you name it. Most of them keep in touch with me and update me about their progress. Their families call me to thank me; it's an amazing feeling.

What kinds of people come to you for treatment?
I used to have only local patients. But in the last three years, foreigners have started to visit me as well. I don't have a website or anything so I have no idea how these people from China to the Czech Republic find me. It must be the word of mouth.

Are there any people to whom you'd deny treatment?
I only treat people with serious physical ailments. I don't treat people who just come to seek adventure. I can distinguish that easily. When I consult my plants, they tell me who needs ayahuasca and who doesn't.

For example, I wouldn't treat you. Spirits of the plants tell me that you don't have any problems in your body. You are just a bit confused and have some emotional problems—but nothing big. You don't need ayahuasca.

Ha, well, which 20-something isn't confused and doesn't have emotional problems?
Exactly. You cannot force a flower to blossom. It will blossom, but on its own time. Ayahuasca won't add you ten years of maturity. You just need to experience and learn certain things in life by yourself.

Thanks, Victor.

This interview has been edited for clarity and length.

@didemtali

More on VICE:

Crappy Ayahuasca Shamans Are Making Gap Years Dangerous

How Tripping On Ayahuasca Helped Me Process My Mum's Murder

We Asked Why Someone Would Take Ayahuasca More Than 20 Times

"I throw house partys". Photo by Nick Little.

This article originally appeared on VICE Australia/New Zealand

What happens when your parents leave their Wellington house to you and four mates for six months? Throw some parties, naturally. And what do you do when those parties outgrow the house? For Olly de Salis, 19, the answer was to set up 121, the outfit behind some of Wellington's most insane events.

When the messiest of those parties ended with fire trucks outside, big fines, a massive hole in the floor, pissed off landlords, and all the chaos caught on CCTV, the only option, really, was to collaborate with a mate to put together a zine, 21 Eviction, available at the Subject stand at Wellington Zinefest this weekend, documenting the process of being kicked out of the flat.

VICE caught up with Olly to talk about shitty flats, wrangling with officialdom, and the very cool things happening in Wellington.

Olly's parties turned into house gigs. Photo by Toby Kepes.

VICE: Hi Olly, how did 121 get started?
Olly: 121 is the street address for my family home. Effectively my parents went on holiday so while they were travelling around Europe we started throwing big parties, and they turned into house gigs, and they turned into these mass multimedia art exhibitions. We got people painting murals on the walls and bringing in TV installations, and acts were performing on the kitchen bench. I saw the potential of it so I just took the name 121 from the street address and started doing events in official venues.

How did you parents take it?
When I was calling them the way I framed it was slightly more innocent than what was actually going on, but they were ok with it. They've always been pretty cool parents in the way that they're supportive, and they 1) realised they had no choice of whether it was going to happen or not and 2) I suppose they realised it's actually pretty cool. I think my dad is jealous he didn't do the same sort of stuff when he was a kid, to be honest. They definitely weren't happy, but when they came back they said it was a lot better than they expected. I'm still repainting the walls to this day.

How did it turn into something bigger than your average house party?
Basically I have a shit-ton of mates who are really good musicians and really talented artists and they didn't have anywhere to play, anywhere to do their art, and I was like, holy shit, I've got a massive house and it's perfect for a gig and we can probably paint on the walls . After doing this massive party, and there were like 300 people there, it meant 300 people saw these artists, 300 people listened to these musicians. It's just about getting artists who are up-and-coming some exposure. That's my biggest drive.

Photo by Marcus Seumanu

What's coming up?
The last event I did was an underground rave in an underground car park, maybe like 1200 people were there, just house and techno so I'm carrying on that theme with my next big event, and that's an office-block rave . I've managed to source a location which is three storeys up in an office block and it's gonna be a mass multimedia art exhibition with house and techno.

What's been your craziest event?
It was at our flat warming [at 21 Marion St, after moving out of my parents']. There is this common area in the middle that looks like a boxing ring—there used to be organised fights, like illegal fights there—and they've since put in CCTV cameras. All the flats come off this boxing ring so when a party happens everyone just merges into the middle. A photographer who takes photos of all my events got egged on by his friends to jump from the second floor and he actually went straight through and made a big hole. No injuries, though, everyone was fine.

We had a knock on our door on Sunday morning from our landlords, saying we've never seen as much damage as we have last night, I'm pretty sure you guys are gonna get kicked out . And then they were threatening to take us to the Tenancy Tribunal and they sent us all the CCTV footage and all the evidence and stuff like that.

A spread from Olly's zine showing the boxing ring. Photo by Subject.

What happened?
We ended up actually getting our bond back because the whole building is completely illegal, an old candle factory that was turned into a brothel which is now apartments, which is like one-percent earthquake proof. We were there for three weeks, had our flat warming, and were probably there for another four weeks. It wasn't long.

How did the zine come about?
We got all this CCTV footage and it was rare footage, it was so sick. I really wanted to do something with it. Roydon who runs Subject is a really good mate of mine, he's done heaps of visuals and art for my events. We had maybe like 100 pages of footage and photographs from the night so we thought putting a zine together would be cool.

Another zine spread. Photo by Subject.

And was it all worth it?
It actually was because 21 Marion was just the biggest piece of shit. In a massive warehouse they had just put up little box rooms and dodgy staircases and our front door didn't even lock. We just wanted to get out of that place.

Follow James on Twitter.

Pedro Fuentes got to Sheffield from Chile in 1975. All images courtesy of and copyright of Jeremy Abrahams

Pedro Fuentes remembers being a six-year-old in the Chilean city, Valparaíso, and reading the words "Made in Sheffield" engraved onto his mum's cutlery. Years later he was an engineer in Santiago and, when the company needed some specialist steel, he recommended buying it from Sheffield. Then, when a stint as a political prisoner led to him fleeing the Pinochet dictatorship, he came to the UK as a refugee and settled in that very city, where he found a job in a steel mill.

Fuentes is just one of the people photographed by Jeremy Abrahams for his new project Arrivals, where one person who came to Sheffield from another country in each year from 1945 to 2016 was pictured in a location they chose. The lives of all the subjects are, unsurprisingly, intertwined with the city—and sometimes more surprisingly, as in Fuentes' case, the relationship began even before they arrived.

Many of the narratives weave into big stories that make up Sheffield's singularity, from steel to Leppings Lane; another Chilean, Isilda Lang, remembers being on the pitch, working for the Red Cross, during the Hillsborough disaster. It was, she says, one of the two catastrophes she's faced in her life—the other being the Pinochet dictatorship.

Isilda Lang, also from Chile, arrived in 1977

It's this variety of experience that Abrahams, an education specialist turned theatre photographer, wanted to capture in the project that will be exhibited at Weston Park Museum in September, and—if the crowdfunding goes well—in a book.

This career-shift wasn't so random. Now 60, as a younger man Abrahams enjoyed taking black-and-white pictures, developing them in his blacked-out attic. "Of course they were never any good," he says. They were unpeopled landscapes—"I think I was trying to follow in the footsteps of Ansel Adams; failing dismally, of course." We spoke on Skype about making a project like this at a time when a polemic debate on migration rages in the UK.

VICE: How did the idea for Arrivals first come about?
Jeremy Abrahams: It's strongly related to a friend who came to Sheffield aged 10, on the Kindertransport from Prague in 1939. She never saw any of her family again.

Her life is an inspiration—she had two children of her own, adopted one, fostered many others. She was a headteacher in Sheffield and when she retired she started visiting schools, talking about the Kindertransport—drawing parallels between events in the 1930s and today.

At the time , the media was starting to talk about migration extremely negatively. I thought if I simply take a picture of one person who came to Sheffield each year from 1945 to 2016, and let them tell their stories in their own voices, then that would gently show that immigration's always been part of our lives—here are these people that are extremely well-rooted in our communities.

Why did you choose Sheffield?
It would have been quicker, and probably easier, to do it over the whole country. But I think it was always going to be Sheffield... each person chooses somewhere they want their picture taken. So as well as being portraits of the individuals, it becomes a portrait of the city.

It's also a portrait of the pattern of migration—in the 50s and 60s from the West Indies; from former British colonies; from Pakistan and Kashmir; then from Somalia during the civil war. Then later on—because there's free movement of labour—from eastern Europe. You also see people coming because of the troubles in the Middle East.

Did you have a message in mind when when you started the project?
I guess what I'm trying to do is with the project is to make a gentle contribution to the debate—it can be a little strident, polarized. I thought that when people saw Arrivals, simply presented as a collection of stories about people, it would humanize those people. Rather than being identified as "immigrants", they would be identified as themselves, as Justine, as Claudette.

People would see how they are rooted in Sheffield and read, in their own voices, why they left and why they chose here. And the incredibly positive attitude people have to the warmth of the reception they've had.

Lee Cho arrived from Malaysia in 1990

Was it a conscious decision to make the project about all arrivals, not just refugees?
Absolutely. Some have come as refugees, like Tareq Al-Khaleeli who fled to Syria from Iraq and was there when civil war started, others because of free movement within Europe, such as Magdalena Garpiel from Poland. Then there are people from former British colonies like Naveed Khan, whose father was in the British army.

The thing with immigration is that it's portrayed as homogenous whereas there isn't one reason for immigration. There aren't even several reasons—there are countless reasons, as many reasons as there are people.

Tanya Schmoller arrived in 1945, from Montevideo

Whose story were you most surprised by?
Tanya Schmoller's was one of the most amazing. Unfortunately Tanya died in February. She was born in Montevideo. She hadn't gone to university and was working for the British Council. One Christmas, Allan Lane, the founder of Penguin Books, visited Montevideo. Tanya showed him round and he asked her what she wanted to do with her life. She said: "I want to go to the London School of Economics." He said: "Come and work for me in London and you can go in the evenings," which was exactly what happened. Also she was at the first World Cup Final in 1930—Uruguay versus Argentina.

Thomas Hezekiah Goode's story shows how the city has changed. He arrived in 1955 as, in his words, "one of the early wave of West Indian immigrants chasing a dream of a better life"—when there were the "no dogs, no Irish, no blacks" signs in the windows of flats for rent.
Yeah, he's quite a character. He experienced those infamous signs for himself. He made the quite subtle point that he's a landlord now—he owns properties. I think that was gently put, but do you know what I mean...

Thomas Hezekiah Goode, who arrived in 1955 from Jamaica

Ghulam Nabi, who arrived from Kashmir in 1961, seems a great example of the positive impact arrivals can have.
Ghulam instigated a project to get funding to rebuild some housing in Darnall —at the time the quality was very poor. They were successful in getting a small estate built. At first it was primarily Kashmiri people, but now there are people from all over the world. He's very proud of that.

Which location stood out for you?
Pierre Ngunda Kabaya's—he came in 2011 from the Democratic Republic of Congo. I asked whether there was somewhere of importance to him. He said, "no, it's all beautiful." I thought, I like Sheffield too but that's pushing it a bit! I asked if he was sure. He said, "really, it's all beautiful," and got out his phone to show me a picture of the refugee camp he used to live in—he said, "believe me, it's all beautiful."

I said let's go somewhere you can see all of it: the highest point in Sheffield, the roof of the university arts tower. It was a different way of showing Pierre in his new home, rather than in a specific location.

Pierre Ngunda Kabaya came from DRC in 2011

How has working on this changed your relationship with the city?
It's been a process of integrating myself into the city, having driven out of it every morning for 25 years to go to work. Whenever I go to a shoot now it's within the city and it's going to places I've never been to. One day I phoned the Pakistan Muslim Centre to ask whether I might meet people. The guy said: "Can you get down here in 20 minutes? It's Pakistan Independence Day, everybody will be here." It's not somewhere I'd have ever thought of going.

Thanks, Jeremy.

The Kickstarter crowdfunding campaign for an Arrivals book ends on Saturday the 12th of June.

@ellsviolet

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Writer's Block is a semi-regular column about graffiti legends, street bombers, and vandals with a mixture of stories, off-the-cuff interviews, and never-before-seen pictures. Above, a photo of SKUF painting, courtesy of SKUF.

Over the course of the 90s, New York City graffiti completed its move from the subways to the streets. Increasingly criminalized and vilified, illegal graffiti became more gritty and less colourful, as writers faced grater risks attempting the kinds of elaborate pieces that defined the best of 70s and 80s subway graffiti. But they adapted and learned to make do with less, further perfecting the practice of bombing with razor-sharp tags, quick and crisp outlines, and stylish two-colour throw-ups. SKUF YKK, a proud Bushwick native from a large Puerto Rican family, emerged as one of the leading figures of that era.

Among his peers, SKUF earned distinction for his style and the ubiquity of his work across the city. The graffiti formula is simple: quality x quantity x risk = respect. His tag is instantly recognizable by the swooping curve of his letter 'S,' which draws in the eye, while his throw-up is marked by the tension between the somewhat flattened 'S' and the bulging, elongated 'F' that is resolved by the tightly rendered 'K' and 'U,' creating balance, flow, and a distinctive sharpness. For years, his name could be seen all over the city, and the beef he was embroiled in as a member of the notorious YKK crew with their rivals in DMS is the stuff of New York legend.

Twenty years after he arrived on the scene, SKUF, who recently turned 40, has turned his attention from the street to the academy as an administrator at the Brooklyn art school Pratt in order to help write and teach the history of NYC graffiti. He is working on creating new courses that examine the influence of graffiti aesthetics on fashion, and recently hosted a panel at Pratt featuring a number of well-known former graffiti writers who now apply their skills to other creative trades. (He asked that we do not include his government name, though Pratt is aware of his past). I sat down with SKUF recently to talk about his experiences as a graffiti writer in New York, getting into and ending beef, growing older, and finding creative success.

Photo by Ray Mock

VICE: How old were you when you first noticed graffiti?
SKUF: I was born into it. I'm the youngest out of four siblings. My older brother was a breakdancer and at that time hip-hop and graffiti was basically all one unit. I remember hanging out with my brother in the train station and his friends and peers pointing out what they saw. OE3 and P13 were like the gods. I was really young, I'm talking eight years old, and understood the concept.

Coming from a neighbourhood, an oppressed community where there's a lot of poverty... took everything away and made what was going on around you disappear. It could make you a king. I wanted to be that; I wanted that escape route.

How did you pick your name?
STAK FUA gave me the name SKUF in '91. The name that was handed down to me; I never chose it. It's funny, though. Eventually art imitates life: I ended up getting all these scars and getting cut up in all these major beefs, so it's like I'm really scuffed up now.

Photo by Ray Mock

How important was graffiti for you to survive in your neighbourhood?
It wasn't. It was totally at the bottom of the totem pole where I came from. It was laughed upon. I came from a block where people hustled a lot. Big time. Crack made its assault on the neighbourhood and the reality is my cousins and people I grew up with were the ones involved in it. So they were like, "Why are you doing this? Come on, let's get this money, let's hustle!" I always had a hustling spirit and I always thought about how to make a dollar out of 15 cents. I was raised that way. was frowned upon. I kept it secret. It's strange because for people from other communities, graffiti was at the top of the totem pole. "I'm a graffiti writer! I'm cool!" But where I came from it wasn't. It was like, You're gonna get into a beef over this?

Do you still feel strongly about some of the beef you were involved in with other writers?
Not at all. I can't picture myself caring about beef. I'm a grown man, I have a family to feed. I know what I've done in life. If somebody has an issue with me, that's their problem, they need to go talk to a psychologist about it and figure it out. Don't get me wrong—I'm not gonna let anyone put their hands on me, that's just ridiculous. And I'm not gonna let no one try to belittle me in any way, shape or form. But I'm not gonna be the one looking for it.

I'm a dad now. My child looks at everything I do and he's like a sponge. Picture me, I've got beef, it's like the silliest thing in the world. But again, I keep my gangsta in my back pocket when needed. That's just where I'm from, who I am.

Photo by Akira Ruiz

Do you ever run into anyone you used to beef with and discover that you have more in common than you thought?
Oh yeah! Of course. I had major beef up in the Bronx with RYNO KGB. He's one of my close friends now. Just recently sorted out issues with DMS, which is like major in the New York City graff scene. This is beef before me and SKID . We're talking about thirty years, grandfathered in, I don't even know how it started. All I know is I always had beef with them and they always had beef with us.

That's a big deal—no more DMS vs YKK beef.
So far. I think it's a good thing. It's a problem that's been going on for years, so let's see how everybody feels themselves out. There's been bloodshed. I know firsthand how the bloodshed can have you harbour feelings for a long time. I've been on both ends of that.

We're not just talking about someone getting a black eye.
No, no. We're not just talking about that. It's deeper than that. A lot of people don't understand that. People have died over this. They're not seeing their parents anymore; they never have kids. I think in this new era, you get a real easy pass. I don't feel any negative energy towards , it's just the cycle of life.

I think that the violence and all of that came from my background, my community, where I came from. I had this void that I didn't know how to fill. When I became a parent, everything changed. Even before, I decided to educate myself, go to college and change my life. I can't picture anybody that just turned forty talking about beef over graffiti.

Photo by SKUF

Did you have mentors who taught you what it means to be a graffiti writer?
I learned a lot from STAK FUA, who definitely put the pieces of the puzzle together, graffiti-wise. I've learned a lot later in life from , he's mentored me big time. Even my own peers. SPOT and NOX and KEZ, when we were kids we would compete with each other to step our game up, never really understanding that we had an audience. So all of this destruction and all of this style and all of this getting up was us really competing with each other. We had no idea that we had a big audience.

You and the writers you mentioned all have really good handstyles, which nowadays is becoming rare. How important is it to be able to write anything in your handstyle?
This is what I do. I doodle. We're all creative people, right? We wanna do something new and we wanna do something better, so we're constantly practicing to break the mold. It takes a second to bite and it takes a long time to create. I see where many styles come from. Some of these "top writers"—I know where your stuff came from, I've seen it before. But you have to respect the style master who actually stood there, doodled, and practiced all day to be different.

At the same time, you have to respect those who took this practice and took it to the street. Graff is about the street, or the train. About freedom. If you're not out there trying to risk it to express it, or looking for permission to do it, something is flawed. You're missing the pure essence of it. I'm not here trying to advocate vandalism or whatever, but we didn't ask for permission. Practice, hone your skills, and be different. Don't be afraid to flip something a certain way, as long as it's aesthetically pleasing and it matches... put it out there in the street. That's the drive of what makes you different than any other human being that just walks the street stuck to their iPhone all day.

Photo courtesy of SKUF

How do you feel about the impact of social media on graff?
There's kids out there getting their feelings hurt over an argument on the internet—I don't get it. I was famous before the internet. I really had to put in work. I see those guys and they are not really putting in work and they put every little tag they do on the internet and then beef with each other over it on the internet. Are you serious? And they get emotions about how many likes, or who liked, or who followed, or who didn't follow—I don't know man, it's just too much mental energy to waste. I think it's good promotion when people get to see what you're doing, but it's not bombing, that's for sure.

There's been an explosion of permission murals in New York's neighbourhoods. What does it mean to you to see street art murals in your neighbourhood?
I like good art. Some of it's nice. BUT—street art is street art. Graffiti has culture. There are rules to this. There's bloodshed to this. There's incarceration behind this. Graffiti has changed people's lives in negative and in positive ways. Street art doesn't understand that. You just put something nice over a bunch of throw-ups and tags because it means nothing to you, but it means the world to us. That's where the problem lies.

I feel my way of fighting back in this situation is to hit them in the books, in the history books where these people are learning their art. Because a lot of these people who do these murals have gone to school. They're educated, they've taken art history classes, but apparently they didn't learn about us. We need to get writers in these books as contemporary artists and document this culture and make it part of the curriculum, so that people who learn this information can go out and teach the next generation about us, the same way we learn about Matisse and Picasso. We need to write our own history.

Photo by Ray Mock

Speaking of which, can you tell me about how the Vandalizing Pratt panel come about?
Some of the guys in the panel—DASH, DONTAY, WANE, CES, and, of course, writing. My goal with the panel was to bring that to light, to show that this is a respectable trade, that we all can take from this trade that we've been part of and make a living and have creative and positive outlets. Because I see so many of my peers slip through the cracks and not make it—always the ones with this raw talent that's innate. You can't even learn this in school, and you've wasted it. It hurts me.

Not many people give back to the culture. I'm not an active writer anymore, but I love this culture. It's made me the man I am today. I learned a lot from it. I didn't know it was a creative outlet. I just knew that I was escaping my community. I knew where to place my name, advertising, guerrilla marketing, colour comprehension, font mastery, so much that you could take from this, and I've been able to make a living of it.

Photo courtesy of SKUF

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.

For more of Brian Blomerth's work, visit his website, Twitter, and Instagram.

In the new episode of Tea Time (which our sound engineer Nick accidentally called "Teat Time" in a recent email), my guest is Jonah Reider, a guy who is sick of being described as the dorm room chef. He's tired of people saying stuff like "this cooking prodigy started a gourmet supper club called Pith in his Columbia dorm room, which quickly became one of the hottest restaurants in town." Or that he was interviewed by a million publications and even went on Colbert. So I won't say any of that.

I first met Jonah at a weed dinner party where he prepared a number of cannabis-infused dishes that even got my taste buds stoned. I had the chance to burn one with the young dude, who revealed himself to be a chill and friendly kid with a nice, goofy laugh, leading me to think he'd be the perfect podcast guest. Plus, he'd get the chance to talk about his deep knowledge of cannabis cooking without having to talk about his dorm. So he came on the show, got absurdly high with your boy, and talked about all the fancy dishes he made me during that first meal, as well as how he cooks up mind-blowing stuff like weed soda.

My second guest in this episode, Zeke, brought by some clear cannabis concentrates, which we dabbed. Jonah was destroyed, but he carried it very well. Also, I was destroyed and probably carried it less well. After that, I'm a little bleary on what happened, so you should probably just listen to the episode.

For more on Jonah Reider's dorm room restaurant, visit Pith's website and follow Jonah on Instagram.

From the column Pupdates, where human puppy and artist Zak Krevitt explores all things anthropomorphic. All photos by the author

The stigmatization of furries, the online taunting and trolling, is something that's plagued the community (known as the furry fandom) since it began popping up in mainstream media and on TV shows like CSI, ER, and Entourage in a consistently ruthless "look at these perverted freaks" sort of way. But, in reality, furries are some of the nicest, fun-loving, and respectful people—people who just happen to feel more like themselves when roleplaying as anthropomorphic woodland creature in custom-made fursuits.

As with most underground social groups, the best place to see all your like-minded friends is the convention scene, and Biggest Little Fur Con (BLFC) in Reno, Nevada was no exception. Every year, nearly 50 furry conventions take place across the US, and BLFC is the fastest growing con on the circuit, tripling its attendance in just three years. This year, from May 12 through 15, approximately 3,500 members of the furry fandom attended BLFC, making it the third-largest furry convention in the US. According to the organizers, some estimate that the four-day event brings in upwards of $3.5 million to the city. Nervous and excited, I hopped on a plane to America's biggest little city to meet up with Martin Freehugz, a furry friend who got me more interested in the subculture, for my first ever furry convention.

Upon arrival to the resort, I was greeted with a wave of fursuiters strutting on patterned casino carpets, together representing species that spanned the entire spectrum of the animal kingdom. If you can think of it, you can fursuit as it. Dragons, lizards, deer, wolfs, foxes (lots of foxes), eagles, and even some original animals the furries have made up, like the Dutch Angel Dragon and other adorable fairytale creatures come to life.

At BLFC, the emphasis on fun, cuteness, and creativity was everywhere. There was life-size Yahtzee, go-karting, video games, board games, and copious amounts of dancing. At night, a series of fandom fave DJs blasted the crowd with EDM and trance. Getting lost in the lights and lasers among a crowd of fuzzy, wide-eyed animals on two feet was an overwhelming experience. I found myself dazed and half-crying, but also overjoyed in a way I hadn't expected.

I roamed the halls with Martin/Freehugz in his blue wolf suit, who seemed to know everyone. In fact, everyone seemed to know everyone—you couldn't go 20 feet without seeing an attendee gleefully stop a fursuiter for a hug and a picture. It became apparent that the fursuiters were the local celebrities of the scene, and certain suiters were extra famous, with huge online followings.

The other celebrities of the con were the artists, the people who draw your chosen furry charterer's representation, or fursona, in a variety of mediums and scenarios, such as homemade accessories, badges, comics, and more. Free of corporate sponsorship, the "dealer's den" hosted artists and makers selling their wares to a crowd more than ready to spend. The organizers of the event even told me the dealer's, collectively, were expected to make somewhere in the $100,000-200,000 range.

After a night of dubstep, hugs (furries love hugs), and spiked chocolate milk, it was time for the highly anticipated Fursuit Festival. While most fur cons have a parade of fursuiters, BLFC opted for a Festival of Fur, where nearly 1,500 fursuiters gathered for a giant group photo before breaking out into dancing, games, and a plethora of organized photoshoots. An announcer could be heard over the loudspeakers saying things like "Predators vs Prey photo shoot at station four, Blue Fursuiters at station one, Malamutes on five." Two parents and their fuzzy little offspring, all in fursuit, skipped by me and my heart grew two sizes. I watched as they disappeared into a sea of neon fur. See more photos from the convention below.

Visit Zak's website here to see more of his photo work.

What is it? A "homestay" for a highly educated bilingual slave-person.
Where is it? The North Shore, natural habitat of grannies, property tycoons.
How much are they asking? Your life and free will, seven days a week.

You can't fault Vancouver for feeling a bit of existential malaise this week. We already knew we're living in the most expensive city in the country. Now we find out our combined earnings last year didn't add up to what the city's single family homes raked in just by sitting on valuable dirt. The do-nothing houses actually made $6 billion more.

It's enough to make a broke millennial wonder: what's the point of earning a wage anyway? Why bother going to work when this freakshow real estate market is just going to drown us all in debt and despair some day, probably soon?

Enter one enterprising baby boomer who I guess sees our generation's depressing prospects as a charming business opportunity. This person doesn't have time to care for his own mother, but also doesn't feel up to paying for said care. I think it's reasonably safe to assume this is exactly how one ambitious Craigslist ad came to exist; the post invites a young "unattached" person to become an unpaid live-in babysitter for his aging French-speaking mom. He won't charge you rent for the privilege.

True, Craigslist posters have flirted with indentured servitude before. You can't go two weeks without seeing someone try to wrangle a measurement-specific sex partner with the promise of cheap/free rent. But this one stands out in its creative recasting of the rental/homestay relationship. It says to young people: no sweat if your participation in capitalism isn't panning out, full-on serfdom is always an option.

The ad is bold in its ask for commitment and credentials—there's cooking dinner Monday through Friday and further availability required on weekends. "Ensure all medications are taken... Ensure there are appropriate groceries... Take care of garbage and recycling... cleaning/housekeeping... drive and/or escort to doctor's appointments, hair appointments... arrange social things." Just a couple extra house chores, really. (Like the kind of things a good son or daughter would do for their aging mum, but who's judging.) The post could go further to sell more of its unique perks. Free unlimited access to a sewing machine. Perfect if you can't afford evening plans. A little bit racist OK, etc.

Despite repeated mention that it is not a job offer, the ad then gets specific about certification. For one, you need language skills in both French and English, and applicants should have a nursing degree, social worker diploma, health care assistant certificate, "or equivalent experience or competence."

With all the talk of grandma-related responsibilities, it says surprisingly little about the home itself. There are no images beyond a granny stock photo and passing mention of a balcony, fireplace and nearby beach.

It all makes me wonder how this grandma really feels about this. Might she harbour some resentment for the humans she gave birth to, who are now contracting out her medical assistance on a website that also facilitates casual encounters? (Speaking of, the ad inexplicably mentions visits from a mysterious "weekend companion," but you can bet living with grandma will surely put an end to your own sexual exploits.)

Still, I can't blame young Vancouverites for wanting to get out of the wage-earning rat race, for considering servitude in exchange for not paying rent. This ad is a reminder that no matter how long you stay in school, how many tips you earn, how much data you type into spreadsheets, chances are you'll still be at the mercy of whichever rich asshole owns the dirt under your feet.

Follow Sarah on Twitter.

Courtney Act, on the Why Drag? book cover

For over a decade, British photographer Magnus Hastings has been shooting some of the most notorious queens and asking them one simple question: Why drag? Whether during his cross-dressing childhood or his wild, heady party days on Sydney's scene, it's a question Magnus has been asking himself for a lifetime.

"I grew up an all-singing and dancing, cross-dressing at any opportunity little boy who would steal his sisters' shoes and clothes and put on plays for my somewhat exasperated parents," he says now, although he quickly realised he preferred pointing the lens to putting on the heels.

Drag may well be kicking down the doors to mainstream cultural acceptance, but it's not just the popularity of the art that has changed starkly in the time Magnus has been capturing his queens; it's the motivation. "The older queens talked about fitting in within the drag scene, about it giving them the confidence if they felt less than as a man, a way to fit in with the beautiful people without the need for a six-pack," he says.

Drag in decades gone by wasn't just an excuse to get dressed up and run wild—you only need to look to the seminal ball culture documentary Paris Is Burning to see that drag can provide community and salvation as much as it does a seriously good time. "I have often compared drag to being a superhero," Magnus says. "For some queens it gives them their power, their confidence. They can exist and behave in a way they just can't when out of drag."

"Younger queens talked more in terms of art and creative freedom," he continues. "Lots of newer drag is more fluid, less about one specific alter ego. They're trying out many things out and using as the canvas."

Why Drag?, with photographs by Magnus Hastings and a foreword by Boy George, was published in May by Chronicle Books. We've got some of the queens' responses from the book below

@mikesegalov

Muhammad Ali was hip-hop before hip-hop existed. He is a father of hip-hop. He's one of the men who the young hip-hop generation watched as we shaped our idea of what it meant to be a man. (There are many fathers of hip-hop—I would include Malcolm X, Richard Pryor, James Brown, and Bruce Lee on this list, but their stories are for another day.) By hip-hop I do not here mean simply rappers or even the specific hip-hop community. I mean something more like, "Ali was a core influence on the essence of hip-hop culture as broadly understood." Hip-hop culture meaning people like Jay-Z and Rakim, as well as people like Richard Sherman and Jamie Foxx and Serena Williams and SNL's Leslie Jones and on and on. Hip-hop culture is bold and brash and sometimes at war with the nation that's enthralled with it. That's because hip-hop is the son of Muhammad Ali. How? Let me count some ways.

Ali Was the Epitome of Masculinity

At a time when it really meant something to be the heavyweight champion, Ali won the title—three times, in the division's most competitive era, slaying Sonny Liston, Joe Frazier, George Foreman and others, making those great fighters nothing more than his foils. Plus, critically, Ali beat them with style. He seemed to dance in the ring. He definitely floated like a butterfly. He was smooth, cool, balletic, powerful, and pretty. His constant proclamations of his beauty were not mere vanity, not just a way to brag about how infrequently he got hit. It was his way of saying black is beautiful. But even when discussing his own beauty, Ali was robustly masculine. His entire vision of masculinity—bold, brash, fully aware of its own genius, certain of its beauty—became the hip-hop generation's ideal. He was, as Ossie Davis said of Malcolm X in his eulogy, "our living black manhood." Ali taught us what it was to be a man.

Ali Was a Media Manipulator

Hip-hop culture loves to create a scene, stand out, demand attention. It's about the multi-gold chain, the stunna shades, the look-at-me ride. Ali was boxing's greatest showman, product, and pitchman. He told us in rhyme how great he was and then backed it up. And he knew how to get attention for his fights. He knew how to talk to reporters so they would hang on his every word, how to be funny, witty, poetic, unpredictable, and winningly braggadocious. He taught us to boast and do it in an entertaining way. The overwhelming audacity of the hip-hop ego comes from Ali.

He was also a trickster. You could see the mischief in his eyes. You could see it in the way he manipulated the press. That famous photo of him boxing underwater was total theater. He told a reporter it was part of his training—a complete lie. But it's one of the most iconic photographs of all time. His lesson was that style could become its own substance.

Ali Fought the Law and Won

Ali's most important fight was against the government when they tried to draft him into the army to fight in the Vietnam War. Ali saw a white power structure that was oppressing black and brown citizens and was also asking him to go kill people of color in another country. He understood that his country was not living up to its promise to its black and brown citizens and that made it impossible to reconcile the demand that he kill on its behalf. This was no dodge to get out of fighting. This was a profound statement—a citizen standing up to his country and demanding it do better, even though that decision led to him being kept out of boxing during his absolute prime. Hip-hop loves a man who righteously stands up to the government and tells the power structure you don't have respect for black people. Ali was Black Lives Matter before BLM.

Ali Was a Warrior

Hip-hop has always been about battling. From old-school MCs battling each other face-to-face to today's back-and-forth of dis tracks, hip-hop loves to get into and watch a good fight. Ali was known for kicking ass. He went to battle with the baddest men of his generation and most of the time he came up a winner. The outcome, though, is almost besides the point: We may never forget Ali getting knocked out by Joe Frazier in their first fight, but we could never imagine Ali running from a fight with anyone. He was too bad and too courageous for that. Even when he was older and slower, he still fought Larry Holmes. Hip-hop definitely took after him on that score.

He Shocked the World, and Forced It to Embrace Him

For many people in the 60s, Ali was a villain, a loudmouth, an athlete who violated the unwritten rules by talking about politics, and radical politics at that. Many watched his fights hoping he'd lose. But over time, because of his character, his principles, his success, and his personality Ali grew to be globally loved. Those who remember the man who became a Muslim when the Nation of Islam was feared know that the biggest stunt Ali ever pulled off was making the whole world love him.

Hip-hop, like Ali, has gone from countercultural and dangerous to universally beloved. The culture can only hope to honor its father Ali by continuing to speak truth to power.

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On the list of fees at the Shelby County Criminal Court, in Tennessee, expungement is by far the most expensive. Photo courtesy Josh Spickler of Just City

This story was co-published with the Marshall Project.

Bill was surprised to learn he still had a felony record.

For decades he believed that his 1973 conviction in Memphis for possession and intent to sell four ounces of marijuana had been erased, because that's what he was told after he finished the court-mandated community service at the time. Now a retired mechanic, Bill passed several employer background checks over the years with no trouble. But apparently the record of his felony lived on, a fact Bill became aware of when he was denied a renewal of his concealed carry permit last year in Arkansas, where he now lives.

"You're 22 years old, fresh from the military, and you make one mistake and it haunts you in your late 60s. It's strange," said Bill, who asked that only his first name be used because of the long-ago conviction.

But when he sought to clear his record, he learned Tennessee would charge him $450, one of the highest such fees in the country.

"I couldn't afford it. I'd have to give up something, maybe eating, and I really like doing that," Bill said.

Many states charge $150 or less to apply for expungement, the legal term for clearing a criminal record, and some states offer a waiver if the applicant is too poor to pay. But the Tennessee legislature wanted money for the state's general fund, so it set the fee much higher.

While a gun permit may be discretionary, a decent job or money for an education are crucial, and for many people once convicted of a crime, Tennessee's high fee has put expungement out of the reach. In Tennessee, there are over 950 restrictions based on a criminal record, including disqualification for any state-funded student loan or grant. A record also bars employment in a number of fields and any job that involves working with children.

In recent years, increased attention to the connection between these restrictions, which make it difficult to lead a stable life, and recidivism has spurred lawmakers in states across the country to pass legislation affording those with a conviction or an arrest a clean slate, according to a Vera Institute report. Between 2009 and 2014, 31 states and Washington, DC, established or expanded expungement laws. Most laws only included misdemeanor convictions or arrest records.

A growing number of states are including some low-level, non-violent felonies. Of the 17 states that do so, the application fee is generally in line with standard court fees. But three states are charging far more. Tennessee's $450 is trumped by Louisiana's $550 fee, and as of July, Kentucky will charge $500.

"These agencies are not getting the funding that they need to function, so it's hard to ask them to bring it down."

Louisiana's high fee results from inefficiencies that make processing an application arduous—the state's jurisdictions are largely autonomous, with no central storehouse for information, said Adrienne Wheeler, executive director of the Justice & Accountability Center of Louisiana, a group that has worked to make expungement more accessible. Further, the justice system—from the state police to sheriffs' departments as well as district attorneys and court clerks—are underfunded and depend on fines to make up for the tax dollars they don't receive.

"We were pretty vocal that this was an impossible cost," said Wheeler of recent reform discussions. But, she said, "These agencies are not getting the funding that they need to function, so it's hard to ask them to bring it down."

In Tennessee and Kentucky, bloated prices have little to do with processing the application, but rather the state revenue they were designed to produce. Fifty-five percent of the cash collected in Tennessee goes into the state's general fund. In Kentucky, it will be a full 90 percent.

The prospect of revenue is exactly why Tennessee lawmakers were persuaded to pass felony expungement legislation in 2012, said State Representative Raumesh Akbari, a Democrat. At the time, the official estimate was that the law would raise $7 million for the state annually. In reality, it has generated only about $130,000 each year, according to an analysis by a criminal justice nonprofit, Just City. The lack of income is tied to the fact that few would-be applicants can afford to apply, Akbari said.

Public awareness of the issue is gaining momentum in Tennessee. At a fundraising event in February, Memphis Mayor Jim Strickland raised $55,000 in private donations to cover the cost of expungement for indigent applicants. A similar fund run by Just City, which eventually paid for Bill's expungement, has underwritten 70 applicants since its launch three years ago—a modest gain, said Josh Spickler, the Just City executive director.

"The real battle is at the statehouse," he said.

The relatively small revenue stream provided by the expungement fee has complicated legislative reform. A recent bill, sponsored by Akbari, would have lowered it by $100. It had wide bipartisan support, but never made it to the floor because it would have reduced overall income by $88,000.

Akbari is undeterred and plans to reintroduce it next year. The $100 reduction is a baby step, she said. Eventually she would like the fee to reflect only the cost of processing the application.

A version of this article was originally published by the Marshall Project, a nonprofit news organization that covers the US criminal justice system. Sign up for the newsletter, or follow the Marshall Project on Facebook or Twitter.

This post originally appeared on VICE UK.

This is the VICE Interview. Each week we ask a different famous and/or interesting person the same set of questions in a bid to peek deep into their psyche.

You know David Cross from being Tobias in Arrested Development, or from The Increasingly Poor Decisions of Todd Margaret, or from the funniest sketch literally ever. Ahead of his new tour Making America Great Again, we spoke about that time his body made a weird panicked smell, whether he'd fuck a robot, and transvestites.

What was your first email address?
Oh I have no... I don't know. I mean, I don't know. It was probably something generic. This is going back! I'm frankly glad I have a memory hole, I'd rather have other information filling up that space than my first email address.

What would your parents prefer you to have chosen as a career?
I haven't talked to my dad in forever but my mom is pretty happy with what I've done. She's very happy, I think she's... sorry that's a boring answer. Cheesemonger.

Worst phase?
That was when I first moved to New York in the early 2000s. I had a stupid kind of death wish, I just got way too heavy into drugs and partying and not taking care of myself and I was a bit of a mess. It was not a good time. And I'm surprised I came through and escaped, to be honest with you, I was just all over the place. So that would be my worst phase for sure.

How many books have you read and finished in the past year? Don't lie.
There are a couple that I definitely started and didn't finish. I got halfway through. I would say 14 or 15, I imagine. I was on tour and I read a ton of books and I had surgery before that, so I was sort of sitting around. I'd guess 15.

What conspiracy theory do you believe?
I mean there's nothing I really am adamant about. Like the silly ones: of course I don't believe in the easily dismissible, like 'the earth's really flat' and 'we didn't land on the moon' and 'there are lizard people running things' and 'chemtrails' and all that kind of nonsense. But I would answer that by saying it would not stretch credulity to believe that... well, I don't believe 9/11 was an inside job at all. But it wouldn't surprise me to learn that say the government was giving ample warning of an impending event such as the one that happened on 9/11 and chose not to do anything with that information that came from multiple sources. Oh wait, that did happen. That did in fact happen. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that they knew something was coming and sat on it because there were a handful of people that knew that it would allow them to do what they eventually did.

So you haven't gone full 'jet fuel can't melt steel beams' yet?
I—as I said, we know that they were given information and chose not to do anything. And that was a choice. Bush went on vacation after that. And I believe that there were enough people gathered in airtight room somewhere, who said, let's let this happen and then we can... They had shit ready to go in 24 hours so... I'm not... that wouldn't surprise me. I also wouldn't be surprised or shocked to learn that there was a second gunman during JFK's assassination, that wouldn't surprise me. So there's that.

So you don't trust the government and they will probably take you out after this interview?
No.

When have you, in your life, been truly overcome with fear?
I think I remember very distinctly I was in my mid-20s, and I was living in Chicago with my then-girlfriend and I was just a fuck up, a fuck up. I was drinking way too much and I had this terrible terrible terrible job at a hardware store and I worked in the warehouse where we would load trucks up to go to various stores or deliver things.

And it's a shitty job, and I had no money and it paid shitty and it was in the middle of this awful heatwave. My life was a fucking mess and it was miserable. And it was on this pallet... I drove a pallet driver? Whatever you call that? This thing around the warehouse and it has the tongues on it, or whatever sticks out and you lift it up three stories and you pull you have to get it into one of the pallet things where then you lift it up and bring it down.

And I had got myself up to the highest level to pull these TV boxes in, I had to grab like three of them at a time. And they were heavy. They weighed like 70 pounds, and I was up there and I'm like: I'm just going to fall. I'm going to fall down, and what's the worst that can happen? I break a leg or break my arm, ribs, and then I'm going to get workman's comp and I'm just going to be sitting pretty. I can make five times what I'm making right now, and I don't have to work this stupid shitty job.

And I remember really thinking this through and I'm going to do this and what's the worst that can happen and I just got to make sure I land okay and I really remember this smell that as I was getting ready to do it, that I can only describe as like a metallic, electric metallic kind of... it was coming from me, and I was sweating and I was so fucking scared and I was sitting there like psyching myself to do just all you got to do is let your foot flip, just let your foot flip. Here you go. Here you go. We're going to do this. Fucking let's do this, it's going to be over in a minute. It's going to be fine. Just do this.

Obviously I never went through with it. But that was about as scared as I've ever been, and the smell that was coming off of me... whatever I was sweating, whatever the combination coming out of me was, was just this weird metallic. I think that kind of snapped me out of it too. I was like what am I doing, this is crazy. This is crazy. You know, but that was about the... I don't know if it's fear, I don't know. That fear, it was pretty scary. Then it was scary to think that I even go that close to self-harm, just to get out of a fucking shitty job. Shitty situation I guess. I guess it opened my eyes up to what a loser I was.

Last meal?
If I get to go anywhere for my last meal, I would go to Wolvesmouth. Which is an amazing experience in Los Angeles where a guy and his team cook in his apartment, and it's communal feeding—like 16 people who are mostly strangers and who eat in his dining room, and he makes the most amazing food and it's beautiful. If it was being brought to me, then I'm just going to go full on barbecue. I would get Franklins just to cater my... Franklins and John Lewis. Not the British department store but the barbecue pit master in South Carolina.

Whole rack of ribs to yourself kind of thing?
Oh yeah. Ribs, pulled pork, everything.

Would you have sex with a robot?
Fuck yeah. No hesitation. Yes. Why wouldn't I? For moral reasons? No, fuck that. I'm assuming this is a twenty-first century robot, it's not some weird thing. It's not a mannequin with a hole cut out.

I had a stupid kind of death wish, I just got way too heavy into drugs and partying and not taking care of myself and I was a bit of a mess. It was not a good time.

If you were a wrestler, what song would you come into the ring to?
I would come in to—and you've got to play the whole thing—Gavin Bryars "Jesus Blood Never Failed Me Yet," but all five movements. It's a 75-minute long thing. But you have to play all five movements when I enter.

Would that also be your funeral song?
No, my funeral song would be the in-flight safety song that plays on Virgin America.

What's the grossest injury or illness you've ever had?
Uh, I've been pretty lucky. I had to have the end of my middle finger on my left hand sewed back on one night. It's a long fucking story, it's full of other injuries. I was taking off a sock, I was holding my other foot and my hand was grasping onto a door frame, and there were like four of us who were somewhere in Massachusetts for a friend's wedding, and we were hammered and we had done all this other shit.

We had tried to steal a boat, all this crazy shit, and we all had a shower because we were in this nasty, nasty water, and I was taking off my sock and I was holding onto the door frame and my friend closed the door to the bathroom to take a shower and crushed my finger and I was like pounding on it and pounding on it, and it was in there for a good 45 seconds because the shower was running and he didn't hear, and I was just screaming my head off. And then, when he opened the door it was crushed and hanging on by the back skin of it, so I had to go to the emergency room. There was like blood everywhere. It's not that big a deal, because it was just the end, but it was pretty nasty to see. You could see the bone, and the blood was spurting a little bit... with every heartbeat it would kind of bubble up. So that was pretty gross, I guess, but not major.

Do you think drugs can make you happy?
I know they can!

What film or TV show makes you cry?
The hardest I've ever cried was when I was watching Breaking the Waves. I cried, then I got my shit together, and then I cried and got my shit together. That film made me fucking weep, openly on the streets of New York as I was walking home. And... Peep Show? I don't know if I... oh, and Toy Story 3 definitely made me cry, yeah. I'm so repressed emotionally that it doesn't take much, especially if I'm on a plane. I'm a plane crier too, which is a real condition. If you get above a certain altitude, have a few glasses of wine. Oh god, I can cry.

What have you done in your career that you're most proud of?
Shit. I don't mean to sound arrogant, but, you know, I've been a part of a lot of things that I... I mean, this answer might change in 15 minutes depending on how I feel if I really thought about it, but I would say I'm really proud of what we did, considering there was just a blank piece of paper in the beginning—and you have to include the third season—but all three seasons of Todd Margaret. As a whole, I think the first two were okay, they were good, but when you add that third season, I don't think it's aired in the UK yet, but it's really a cool thing that we did. I think I'm proud of being part of what became known as alternative comedy. Whatever role I played in that. Again, it was not a calculated thing, it's not like we all came together and went, 'hey guys, let's make a fucking cultural shift in what comedy is!' but it just sort of happened, and I'm proud of my part in that. So, I don't know.

It's actually a quite difficult one for you.
I just... especially the idea of having no idea, and then creating this idea, this thing that eventually became Todd Margaret. And again, you have to include the third series. The first two are fine, but when you add that third series and the idea of it and the twist, the writing, I think the writing is really pretty awesome, story-wise. Anyway, yeah.

What have you done in your life that you most regret?
My immediate response for that is the numerous times I have mistreated people or used girls, or misled them knowingly and then, when I had gotten what I wanted from them emotionally or physically, sort of found a reason to break up. Actually, now that you mention it—now that I'm mentioning it, I should say—my biggest regret that has to do with what I was just saying... a girlfriend and I, my on-again-off-again college girlfriend for several years... She was the girl I knew when I was in Chicago, and we had this long, on-again-off-again, tortured, highly emotionally relationship and we got back together and I'm sure that it was me trying to win her back again, and got her. We worked at it, and we ended up going like, 'let's move in together,' and we were young, and we were very excited and we found a house in Somerville, Massachusetts, a duplex or whatever, and it was so exciting, and then after about three months, I was seriously thinking it was a mistake and I wanted to break up again. Just awful, you know? Serial breaking up.

And then, what I regret—and I've since told her this too and was happy I was able to tell her—my behavior, instead of being a man and talking about it and saying, 'I know I'm awful, but I think we should break up again,' I tried to create such a toxic atmosphere because I was a total pussy and didn't want the confrontation. I tried to get her to break up with me, so that it was her idea, and that's probably the most shameful, awful behavior I've exhibited. You know, it was nothing to do with her, if was all me, and I was just too much of a pussy to act like a man, you know. But then, I think that's probably up there with my biggest regrets.

What memory from school stands out to you stronger than any other?
One of the stories I like to tell, and I remember this vividly. This would have been, shit, sixth grade I think? In the States, when we're getting ready for our Christmas break period, you know, there's like a two-week holiday period, and the last day of school before everybody goes on break, there's like really no classes and everybody just sorta has parties, and you go to English class and you go to math class, and you're really just dicking around.

I remember the teacher's name was Ms. Coleman, and we were playing charades. And Ricky Carpenter got up and he started doing kinda—I'm trying to describe this over the phone—but in a charades-pantomime way that you would do the Mae West, kinda one hand on the top of your head, one on your hips. It's a very female, suggestive... it's hard to describe, but that's sorta the universal, oh 'sexy woman.' So he is doing that, and then he kinda does like a limp wrist thing, and I said: 'transvestite!'

My teacher got really upset, yelled at me, screamed at me for saying something obscene—that's at the word 'transvestite'—and she made me go outside and sit in the hall for the remainder of the class, by myself, because I said the word 'transvestite.' That was the kind of atmosphere in the very Baptist, southern Baptist, and uptight Georgia. I literally said the word 'transvestite,' she saw that as obscene, and made me leave the classroom. And that was where I was educated. Public education in Georgia is not the best.

David is on tour—check the dates out on his website.

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Actress and producer Ashley Fires's recent film Family Play Date may sound like wholesome children's programming; it categorically is not. Uploaded to the a la carte porno site Clips4Sale earlier this spring, the movie is basically a set piece for a taboo-defying incestuous orgy between mothers and sons, sisters, and cousins. The flimsy premise is that Fires is taking her son Lance to visit his aunt Lux Orchid and his cousins Anya Olsen and Harlo Adams. It opens with Lance and Harlo making small talk, catching up on shared interests. Then Harlo casually mentions that one of his hobbies is fucking Anya, his sister.

Shortly thereafter (and apropos of nothing), Lux starts sucking her son Harlo's cock. Fires propositions Lance to follow suit. He hesitates at first, but all too quickly gives in after Fires coos about the beauty of keeping it in the family. Eventually, Anya arrives and the scene descends into an all out familial fuckfest. It ends, to quote Fires's blurb on the site, with "one mom... covered in the precious nectar of her son, while the other mom has a stomach full of it."

For the uninitiated, the clip might seem like the fringe edge of fetish. But for Fires, it's just another day at the office. Since the start of 2016, she has released 17 of these "fauxcest" films and they make up a substantial portion of her earnings. (The titles include: Mommy Made Me Do It, Little Sister Has to Do The Unthinkable, and Daughter Exchange Club: Double Team Lunch Break .) She's also performed in numerous fauxcest scenes for other studios; in a six-week period this year she did three scenes of incest at funerals alone.

Fires is one of many adult performers and producers who, over the past few years, have begun to specialize in and define their careers by performing in simulated incest scenes. (There are rare instances of real relations performing together. However, most incest porn features actors pretending to be step or blood relations. It is often referred to as "fauxcest.") And like most rockstars of the fetish, that's a path she never sought out. When she got her start in porn in 2003, she made a living doing mild girl-on-girl or vanilla hetero sex scenes. But over the past five years, demand for fauxcest has grown so rapidly that it's sucked in seasoned performers like Fires and become an inevitability for those new to the adult industry.

"My fans only want to see me as mommy," says Fires, who at age 34 has switched from daughter-sister to mother roles. "I am mommy and only mommy."

Photo courtesy of MissaX.com

"The theme of an incest situation, which you only find out at the last minute or after the fact is incest, has been around in literature for a long time," says Karin Meiselman, a psychotherapist specializing in the treatment of incest victims. "It's always been titillating to people that you could be involved in incest and not even know it."

With precedents running from Sophocles's Oedipus Rex to the Marquis de Sade's Incest: A Tragic Tale, it's likely that incest has had a carnal appeal as long as we've been telling and acting out stories. Fauxcest productions even enjoyed a brief surge in popularity in the late 70s and early 80s, epitomized by 1980s Taboo, a title that's spawned 22 sequels and has kept a following for over 35 years.

"Every mom and pop porn store has a copy [of Taboo]," Holly Kingstown, an editor at the porn news site Fleshbot, tells VICE. "It is a classic title that has to be there, right along with Debbie Does Dallas and The Devil in Miss Jones."

But over the past half-decade, Kingstown says, interest in the genre has massively exploded. Jeff Dillon, vice president of the adult video distributor GameLink, recently estimated that interest in the genre has grown by 1,000 percent since 2011. They saw a 178 percent spike in consumption over 2014 alone. Especially popular among millennials, fauxcest accounted for ten percent of all titles purchased by young adults on the site in 2015. This demand has led some studios and performers to exclusively produce fauxcest, while it's prompted others who'd never tried it before, says Kingstown, to cash in by creating at least one fauxcest series.

Photo courtesy of MissaX.com

As its popularity's grown, the character of fauxcest has changed. In the past, studios producing fauxcest filmed it with disclaimers that the content was not real and made pains to show that the fake relations were just step-whatevers. Now, some distributors take pains to make relations seem real and direct—and the disclaimers they do present usually get chopped off when their videos are published on tube sites.

The scenes have also shifted, Fires and her husband Jack Kona, a porn producer since 2001, both say, from campy and light to grim and rapey. Fires has received scripts asking her to do things like cry as she seduces and sleeps with her stepdaughter at her father's funeral. The studio Primal Fetish has an entire line of videos in which brothers repeatedly coerce their sisters into sex, replete with sneers of disgust and pained whimpers.

"You have to because you're being blackmailed," says Fires. "They want to see you... surrender to the sexual act and enjoy yourself. But at first you have to have your hand up and say, 'I don't think this is right.'"

No one agrees on why fauxcest is trending or transforming. Some think pieces argue that it's just a new frontier for porn consumers oversaturated with vanilla sex. Odette Delacroix, a 26-year-old mainstream-and-fetish performer and producer who runs several taboo sites, tells me she goes with whatever people are still willing to pay for in the era of free porn, be it fauxcest, diapers, or wearing corpse makeup and passively getting fucked. Others argue that it's a convenient genre for engaging stories, which is what's really in demand. And others still argue that it's a direct offshoot of Cersei and Jaime Lannister's incestuous relationship on Game of Thrones, along with other mainstream media depictions.

But for whatever reason, says Kingstown, "people are going with that Maury Povich shtick. I'm not sure what that says about us as a society. But it is just ridiculously popular at the present."

Photo courtesy of MissaX.com

In the early 2000s, Fires turned down the rare fauxcest scripts that came to her. "I grew up with brothers," she tells me. "One of the scripts, even though it was step-brother and sister, they seemed pretty close. I was kind of grossed out by it actually."

After several requests and seeing how profitable the niche could be, she finally decided to make a scene with her own film crew in 2006 that was based on a script written by a fan. The script was a point-of-view ass worship scene that originally featured a brother and sister, but Fires switched it to stepsiblings. Fueled by the novelty of the taboo, she got into the performance. And at the end, she decided that she might do another scene in the future. Or she might not. Since the genre was so marginal, she thought she'd always have the luxury of making that choice.

But today, both Fires and Kingstown say, there's a lot less hemming and hawing about whether or not to take a fauxcest role. The vast majority of new or incoming performers, they say, will end up doing some form of fauxcest; a 2013 analysis of 10,000 pornstars and their works showed that "daughter" was already the sixth most common role for women, and "sister" was the tenth—rankings which have likely gone up.

WATCH: Cash Slaves

Everyone I spoke to for this story—performers, producers, talent agents, and writers for industry rags—said that few performers these days openly express discomfort with these roles. Since the actual sex in this genre is pretty tame compared to popular genres like rosebud porn, performers see it as a welcome respite from the physical extremes and acrobatics that have come to oversaturate the market. They make about as much money for these taboo yet vanilla scenes—$500 to $1,000 per day or shoot depending on the studio and performer—as they would get from more physically taxing heterosexual scenes. "I have to make the performers do circus tricks anymore," Kona tells me of casting fauxcest films. "I have to make them shoot things out of their ass or take fists up their pussies... I just to come up with a good scene."

Fires and Kona think the growing number of stars open to fauxcest reflect the ubiquity of the genre in the industry and beyond. Amongst performers, when everyone sees everyone else doing these scenes, it robs some of the stigma from them—although Fires suspects that a few performers may just be choking down their discomfort to jump on the bandwagon and get a paycheck.

Ashley Fires in 'Mommy Don't Leave.' Photo courtesy of Ashley Fires

Although more people are willing to do fauxcest than ever before, casual observers might wonder if they should. It's easy to think that repeatedly performing simulated incest could have a lasting impact on your psyche, especially when interacting with your real family.

Psychotherapist Karin Meiselman has never had an adult performer as a patient, but she thinks even those uncomfortable with fauxcest can take a role and firewall themselves from any negative psychological impact. It's just like mainstream acting, she says—a sentiment many performers I spoke with share—where playing someone whose morals you disagree with doesn't have to bleed into your life and wellbeing.

Fires says she understands on an intellectual level that what she's doing is a fantasy—her firewall. However, when she's in the act, she sometimes has to remind herself of that she's not actually fucking her "brother" or "son." It's a weird situation for her to be in considering she has actual brothers and wants to have her own child one day. And for her, fauxcest isn't an occasional role. She's The Fauxcest Performer, repeatedly typecast in complex-to-dark tableaus. It's become a part of her identity and as the genre continues to grow, there are other performers who are beginning to fall in the same boat.

"You hear a lot of actors complaining about it now," says Fires, "like, 'God, if I could not just fuck my father or my brother, that'd be great.'"

Photo courtesy of Odette Delacroix

These genre performers all have their own ways of disassociating from, rationalizing, or even getting into their regular participation in fauxcest.

MissaX, another performer and producer who frequently casts and stars in fauxcest scenes, feels the work gives her more freedom to act than mainstream porn. "I imagine would get tedious, like working in an assembly line," she says. "You go. You read your two sentences. Then you remember to arch your back and suck in your tummy while another actor has sex with you... leave." She sees her work as erotica and believes fauxcest is at least in part about imbuing porn with a sense of connection in an era of vapid digital interactions. She's even willing to do things—for generally submissive scenes—that trigger dark memories "if the end product is artful and unique."

Delacroix looked underage in most of her early works, which were filmed while she was in her early 20s. She defined those movies as outlets for people with pedophilic urges, drawing on academic research making similar claims. She thinks that the fauxcest films she makes today provide a similar resource—a fantasy that might keep fathers or stepfathers from abusing their children. Fires, on the other hand, says she isn't certain whether the movies she makes are fueling or extinguishing the desire for people with incestuous impulses. Depending on where you come down on that question as a performer can surely tug on your conscience.

Photo courtesy of MissaX.com

One of the things that's kept Fires chugging along in the fauxcest field is her belief that fetish genres like this one often go in cycles. Eventually, the theory goes, fauxcest will oversaturate the market and once it's lost its edge, demand will fall and performers won't be asked to fuck their "parents" or "siblings" nearly as often. Although Fires is making a good living acting and producing these films, a part of her hopes that eventually the fauxcest wave will crash, so she can take her earnings and move on to other erotic forms of expression.

"It's been real," says Fires to those who consume the porn genre. "It's been fun. But come on, guys..."

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A cult figure in Britain, journalist and documentary filmmaker Jonathan Meades has never run with the pack. He specializes in a provocative kind of revisionism—underlying all his best work is a deep understanding of his subjects, an eye for the telling detail, and a chaotic sense of humor.

After two years off our screens, Meades returns this year with the third part in a trilogy of films about architecture under totalitarian dictatorships Ben Building: Mussolini, Monuments, and Modernism, which focuses on Italy under fascism.

Gavin Haynes meets him at a London exhibition of his digital art, to talk through his life and career—from the "crimes" of Tony Blair, why he thinks religion is "absolute bollocks," his views on London's high-rise makeover, and Britain's secret military LSD experiments.

Before Caitlyn Jenner and Janet Mock there was Miss Major Griffin-Gracy. Photo courtesy Major! documentary.

In the world of trans activism, Miss Major Griffin-Gracy has been at the forefront of the fight for equality for over 40 years. She was front and centre at the infamous Stonewall riots in 1969, became an advocate for prisoner's rights through the 70s and 80s, and, after a move to San Francisco in the 90s, began working closely with the HIV/AIDS community. And in a new documentary Major! premiering at the Inside Out festival, filmmaker Annalise Ophelian tracks Gracy's current work for trans people of colour through the TGI Justice Project which advocates for transgender women of colour who have been through the prison system.