As Matthew Rohrer put it,
“I must learn to say the things I never intended to say,” and then
I want to add: I also want to learn to say all the things I intended to
say—
intended and unintended in the very same breath. This seems to me
a power,
inherent in language itself, to make and re-make, to vision and
re-vision,
to act and re-act to the world as it throbs, or culture as
thesis-antithesis-
synthesis, fear and some trembling necessary and full. Barbaric
yawps!
Walking home drunk the other night, I said a bunch of weird, good
things
and you did, too and while it’s hard to remember exactly what
the shadows of what and the feeling still linger—even now,
even sober—we were so fired up, because
the night was so ridiculously in flower, so and so and me and you
electrified and shocking, terrific and true, and we were laughing
together,
leaving our strung-out presence like presents around the city,
me an amplifier and you a defender. One thing I definitely remember
is talking earlier—earlier when?—earlier ever
about how you convince everyone that you’re talking directly to
them,
and I convince everyone I’m dangerous with speed—it’s true
I like being worn out, even when I read, and sometimes, too,
overwhelmed
and even panicked (though mostly after the fact). When experience
kicks me
and everything turns black, or polka-dot, or mechanical bull or
post-avant,
my teeth in the trees my blood on the windshield, it's just an
indication
that I need to act decisively—to do something for myself with myself
and keep living. It's the best I can do for the people who'd miss me,
but more importantly for the ones who I would miss terribly. Life is
overwhelming
for good and for ill. But what isn't overwhelming? Beauty is
overwhelming.
Data is overwhelming. Text and the devil and the heavens
overwhelming....
How to live and what to do? To make sense all the time (or maybe
ever)
in this life/of this life is a sham. Nothing is perfectly nailed to the wall.
I want as much as possible for the carnival of what is. Better worn out
and wary, than a mannequin pretending. "The slightest loss of
attention
leads to death," said Frank O'Hara. I say: Be prepared for the darkness
when it takes you, but stay alive and stay light
for as long as you can.
—Matt Hart, from "Amplifier to Defender" (Sermons and Lectures Both Blank and Relentless, Typecast Books, 2012)
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the extent that i would be at emo night at sneaky dees every single weekend is crazy. you would think i was canadian.
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the youtube "stop drawing like this" community doesn't want you to know this but you can shade however you want forever btw. it doesn't have to make sense in fact you should actively be pissing people off with how inaccurate your light source is
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love characters who are like "this is how the world works. this is how it has to be (because if i'm wrong i have to face what i've done // if i'm wrong i have to face whats been done to me) "
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imagine being someone at new rome university and not knowing percy is the same guy as “percy jackson, son of poseidon, two-time hero of olympus, former praetor” because the thought doesn’t even cross your mind. like… he’s percy. he’s a total frat boy. on a normal night, he walks into a party, refers to everyone as bro or dude, socializes with every living (and not-living) person in the room, makes at least 50 sarcastic comments, plays 12 rounds of beer pong, drinks way too much, and then skates around campus on his skateboard yelling “I LOVE NEW YORK” (which makes no sense, because they’re in california) until someone calls his girlfriend to come get him.
and then one day there’s an attack, and frat boy percy is all of a sudden a fighting machine. he’s yelling battle cries alongside the praetors frank zhang and hazel levesque as they lead everyone into battle. (why is he with the praetors? and why…. why in the world do the praetors seem to be following his lead?) his sword slashes through armies of monsters faster than you’ve ever seen. he’s controlling the entire river surrounding the camp, creating huge waves as tall as skyscrapers that crash down all around him, wiping out monsters and causing mass destruction to his enemies’ ranks. the sky is suddenly dark above you, ice-cold water droplets are slashing through the air, and the wind is blowing so aggressively that it’s making it hard to stand up steadily. because he’s somehow created a hurricane.
and he looks terrifying. you can feel the power radiating off of him. he’s like a god. or maybe a monster. it’s hard to tell. you’re a little scared of him, to be honest. but also in total awe, because it’s extraordinary. he’s extraordinary.
frat boy percy is not who you thought he was.
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frankly, the people whose kneejerk reaction to bisan asking for a global strike form the 21st-28th is to say that it takes years to organize a general strike are really unhelpful! no one is saying otherwise, but palestine will be a smoking crater if we all wait for years to do anything - bisan is asking us to do something now. Like are we only supposed to do something if we can do it perfectly??? At some point it’s a valid critique about the work that goes into social movement, and at another point I feel like some people are just trying to absolve themselves from not putting any effort into observing a week of economic inaction.
like idk! I get it, okay! People have bills to pay that don’t magically go away for a strike, we don’t have nearly enough social infrastructure in place to support people to fully stop going to work for a week. But fuck, dude! Stop immediately responding in such a defeatist way! Cut out unnecessary purchases! Try to shop local! Put more effort into promoting Palestinian voices online! Attend a protest, call a local rep, do something!
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