From Bowden’s Murder City, emphasis mine:
The present is always acceptable. Period. The city teems with shacks, poor people, dust, violence, and music booming out of open doorways. Women wear lipstick, children scurry past wearing clean clothes, buses rumble down the street spewing black exhaust, and the hours of the day slide by and it is life and it is normal and people cling to it one and all and it is good, good enough to make a life out of and to cherish. The stories float over the city, stories of murders, of executions, of rapes, robberies, stories of men protesting, stories of women holding vigils. At the bridge linking Juarez and El Paso, a memorial stands to murdered and vanished women, pink ribbons fluttering in the breeze, each ribbon bearing the name of a soul lost to life. And yet, each day, men huddle at the base of the memorial hawking newspapers, and cars line up to cross and the little tower of pink ribbons becomes invisible. I stand there, I stare at it, and I still cannot see it. It is not part of the city, it is part of an effort to imagine a different city and this effort is ignored because the present is acceptable. Period.
Everyone knows the facts and yet the facts slip from everyone’s hands. Walk a hundred feet from a body on the pavement - the blood puddled around the skull - and it never happened, the young girls smile, the traffic zooms past without slowing, the city beats on and on, and the dead no longer exist and soon the memory of the dead will be a rare bit of fact polished and cherished by the family and ignored or forgotten by everyone else. This is a survival tactic and it crosses all class lines. This is the fruit of living without history. This is the result of amnesia in television, radio, and print. This is the sweet drug that comes from fantasy. The authorities are real. The police enforce the laws. The courts function. The army protects. The streetlights sweep evil from the night. There is a consensus here to believe the unbelievable, to insist that things are normal - the government is in charge, the incidents, should they even come to notice, are accidents, little imperfections in the tapestry that is life and this tapestry is sound and beautiful to both the eye and to the hand as it strokes the elaborate weave of lives that make up the city.
It took me a long time to accept that the present is always acceptable. Period.”
I don’t think is completely on point, but it is an idea that bears consideration, and if you take that skull and those few hundred feet as metaphorical or just representative of larger things, the whole thing becomes rather chilling.
Inventory #613: The Holy Spirit of Life by Joe Wenderoth
REGARDING PRESENT TENSE
I have for some time now been seeking to create for myself the sense that I am alive. It isn’t easy. My effort, in fact, is almost exclusively humiliating, not only in terms of its amazingly complex history of failures, but also by way of the dismal barren camp it forces me to call home.
5. “It’s tiring, though. I don’t even like men, and I have to pretend that I’m loving every fucking stupid piece of shit there.”
4. Candy’s fashion has been described as a distinctive stripper-meets-Tumblr aesthetic.
2. Musically, Candy’s work has been recognized for its twerk-able nature, springy beats, and cyberpunk.
1. Additionally, she admires Flynt’s ability to expose political figures and gain political immunity through blackmailing
Franz Wright, “Alcohol” (via wordsnquotes)
You do look a little ill.
But we can do something about that, now.
The fact is you’re a shocking wreck.
Do you hear me.
You aren’t all alone.
And you could use some help today, packing in the
dark, boarding buses north, putting the seat back and
grinning with terror flowing over your legs through
your fingers and hair …
I was always waiting, always here.
Know anyone else who can say that.
My advice to you is think of her for what she is:
one more name cut in the scar of your tongue.
What was it you said, To rather be harmed than
harm, is not abject.
Can we be leaving now.
We like bus trips, remember. Together
we could watch these winter fields slip past, and
never care again,
think of it.
I don’t have to be anywhere.”
There’s this mistaken idea in a lot of heroic stories that the oppressive evil villains can’t afford to kill the rebellious hero because they can’t risk turning them into a martyr. But that’s not how oppressive evil villains — or oppressive evil systems — work. They can kill without making martyrs because everyone they kill they also actively disgrace.Slacktivist - “Innocent? He was a violent thug — a vandal who threatened to tear down a House of God” (via imathers)
Thus when Ferguson, Missouri, police arrested the wrong Henry Davis then beat him bloody in a jail cell, they had to consequently thuggify him. They denied him his status as an innocent victim by charging him with a crime — four counts of property damage, because when one police officer kicked him in the head, his blood splattered onto four officers’ uniforms.
That’s a bitterly flimsy pretext for criminalizing Mr. Davis, but that’s what’s so disgraceful about this process of disgrace-ing. It doesn’t matter how flimsy or dishonest the pretext may be, it works and will keep working just as long as most people — most white people, that is — are eager to participate in the disgrace-ing and the thuggifying of innocent victims.
He “resisted arrest,” he didn’t do what he was told as quickly as he should have, he may have shoved someone, he smoked a joint, he flirted with a white girl, he broke the Sabbath and disturbed the peace. … Those are all the same thing.
One thing that’s particularly frustrating to me, as a Christian, is that it seems so many of my fellow white Christians love to imagine that they would stand beside Longinus on Calvary, saying, “Truly this man was a son of God.” Yet at the same time they’re unwilling to look upon the slain body of Michael Brown, or Trayvon Martin, or Oscar Grant, and say the same thing.
Can’t remember whether or not Fred Clarke is auto-reblog but if he isn’t he is now
was in Vegas over the weekend and happened through the arts district, which is between downtown and the strip and features some rad art. love that cowboy.
where Zod is explaining to Superman that his (Zod’s) purpose in life, down to his very DNA, is to protect the people of Krypton. even if that means genociding earth he will, and indeed must, do what he can. But Superman sliced his ship in half with his laser eyes and with the ship went the birthing chamber and with the birthing chamber went all the would-be Kryptonians, and Zod warned Superman before he did this that if he pulled his laser eyes stunt that there would be no more Kryptonians, that would be it. and Superman made his choice and the ship went kablooey. I get why Superman made the choice that he did, I really do, and if such a choice has a right answer his was probably the right one. but Supes, man, you just ended a people. try to look like you give a toot:
Brooke Candy, brooke candy brooke candy brooke candy. Brooke, candy brooke candy. Brooke candy brooke candy; brooke candy.