“To caged mice and rats: “I would set you free, if I knew how. But it isn’t free out here. All the animals, the plants, the minerals, even other kinds of men, are being broken and reassembled every day, to preserve an elite few who are the loudest to theorize on freedom, but the least free of all. I can’t even give you hope that it will be different someday — that they’ll come out, and forget death, and lose their technology’s elaborate terror, and stop using every other form of life without mercy to keep what haunts men down to a tolerable level — and be like you instead, simply here, simply alive…”—
Let me be honest in saying I could devote an entire tumblr to just this book.
today i accidentally listened to AP radio news twice in a row. i came home and checked three different news websites. it was all the same headlines. one of the main goals of news-editorial journalism is to stay objective, keep things neutral. it is the one, single reason i will never be a good journalist. i can’t even write a buzz article about a restaurant without falling in love with the owner’s story and trying to get everyone i know to go there. but how these writers compose their word limit about 100 people dying by one car-bomb, and handgun sales and homicides up without pleading, without begging for some kind of reaction, and keep their own hearts out of it, i will never understand. when wpgu played the news, there was boppy music behind it, the girl read it like an announcement for a high school dance. it is no surprise to me that people think of americans as delusional. ignorant. this is a muted background to our drive to the bank, to class, to lunch with friends.
“Get the memo I’m cutting the strings Geppetto
Shuffle the cards and let’s argue
Rooted in between the computer games and cartoons
Stop it, watch us all get lost
Between God and a shot of scotch
Let’s get fly”—
“To refuse to participate in the shaping of our future is to give it up … Each of us must find our work and do it. Militancy no longer means guns at high noon, if it ever did. It means actively working for change, sometimes in the absence of any surety that change is coming.”—
whenever i tell people i’m a vegetarian, there is always the what do you eat? well, people, lots and lots of peanut butter. almost everyday. peaunut butter toast, peanut butter sandwich, peanut butter bagel, peanut butter ice cream, trail mix with peanuts. delicious. keep it coming. crunchy, creamy, natural, with honey, berries, jelly, apples, bananas—you name it, i’ll have one.
YES! totally dig this. but what’s funny, guys, is that i HATED peanut butter as a tot. now i always leave the house with a sense that i might smell like peanut butter. and then when we learned about peanuts in plants class and how they’re one of the most nutritious, world-feeding plants, i felt somehow completed and reaffirmed.
and when people ask me what do you eat? i like to say celery and sorghum. freaks a fucka out.
my bike was stolen. and then a lady at the cafe offered me an old bike of hers. the extent of this graciousness almost made me cry. this old lady gave me a tiny, nearly knee-high, spray-painted purple fixie with no brakes. i still love it. and love her. and love that the cafe made that possible. but it made me miss my old bike so much i did cry. i love my bike. loved. and some jerk stole it from the side of my goddamn house, and i really connected with that bright blue hunk of aluminum, and i want it back. this was going to be the winter i bundled up everyday because i wanted to save the world that much. but it was stolen.
a woman who frequents our drive-thru offered me a job. a real one. at this publishing place she is the director of. she’d been watching me work, and i’m fast, organized, and still friendly. all things she wants in a very competitively paid sales assistant, without a degree, working around my college schedule, and there’s room to grow, and cross-training, skills to be developed, and i turned it down. it feels wrong. the wrong time. the wrong move. not the kind of comfort i want for my life. not the kind of situation i am going for. not ready for professionalism, clients, email lists and cross-training. the cafe offers me great people, mj dance parties, caffeine jitters, and a laid-back job. i can’t believe i turned down a real job. feels surreal, what a weird thing to do. my little brother phrased it best, as he usually does, “sounds fucking boring.”
things always work out so well for me; it’s worrisome. when does this wear out? is it karmic? gone tomorrow, used it all up, now it’s time for the hard stuff?
i want to talk more about the crying of lot 49 and what stuck with me most. oedipa mass is on this search for answers, trying to get to the bottom of something, something that turns out to be huge. well, maybe huge. and maybe not. that’s the point. the maybe.
she talks to new people, and reads old books, and stays out late in the city and just scavenges around, and the more she finds out, the more she has to find out. this unearthing of facts and surfacing of complications grow together, wrapped like vines, combining exponentially until there’s too much to cut through. the closer she feels like she gets to the truth, the further she is from the truth. it is always evading, elusive. it can not be pegged down without something else shooting up near by, the pressure never reaching equilibrium. always a change, a new development.
as she does this, though, searches around and sleuths her answers, it becomes less about the end, and more about the process, more about the things she has found out in the meantime. in the end, it doesn’t matter what the truth is because she is a changed person, and her life will never be the same. she can not go back to the ways things were before knowing what she knows now.
and that, that is how i feel this semester.
the more i learn about this world, and how much some people have, and others do not have, and the mechanics of it all, and how i will never understand the mechanics of it all, i feel shifted in a way i hope i never rebound from. i hope i grip this tight, stare it in the face, and keep it forever.
A kilogram of beef is responsible for more greenhouse gas emissions and other pollution than driving for 3 hours while leaving all the lights on back home.
startling, and severly overlooked aspect of global warming and energy-use. really interesting stuff.
when the world’s all dark and cold and motionless, imma crunch carrots grown in my garden, sit in my rocking chair, and tell y’all i told you so. that’s really not true. i won’t do that. but just think about it anyway.
it’s midnight, and i’m done with a paper i thought for sure i was going to need an extension on. which is goddamn un-fuhkin-believable. i have a paper due almost everyday this week since i was sick last week, which feels medieval and primitive and unnecessary. it’s like they’re punishing me for getting sick at all. they even made me go to mckinley, which i think kills more people a year than the flu.
what i came here to say is that i’m really, really cold. and my boyfriend’s sound asleep with the sick i gave him. BUT, he took a nice dose of nyquil and is snoring so loudly i know he’s in a really great deep sleep. so i don’t think he’ll notice that i am going to get cuddles tonight. i’m just gonna snuggle right up to my too-asleep-to-notice boyfriend. which would be creepy except we’ve been pals for like over half a decade now. and we’re young, so that’s a long time. so i’m okay. yeah?
so i’m an english major, which means myself and MLA have been bff for about three years now. i’ve got a whole row of my bookshelf dedicated to writing handbooks, every single one of which spit MLA, nothing of chicago style or AP to be mentioned.
but sometimes a class wants chicago style outta me. and i have to admit, i think it looks fly. i love handing it chicago style papers, with the notes all neat on the bottom. refreshing, really.
“You know what everyone’s greatest fear is? It is that all the dreams we have, all the crazy ideas and aspirations, all the impossible romantic longings and utopian visions can come true, that the world can grant our wishes. People spend their lives doing everything in their power to fend off that possibility: they beat themselves up with every kind of insecurity, sabotage their own efforts, undermine love affairs and cry sour grapes before the world even has a chance to defeat them…because no weight could be heavier to bear than the possibility that everything we want is possible. If that is true, then there really are things at stake in this life, things to be truly won or lost. Nothing could be more heartbreaking than to fail when such success is actually possible, so we do everything we can to avoid trying in the first place, to avoid having to try.”—