jacktellslies: (Default)
PETA is a more openly reprehensible organisation than most. When they aren't killing puppies at their no-kill shelters, brainwashing children, and demeaning women for being mammals, however, they apparently come up with delightful nonsense like this: sea kittens. They want people to start calling fish sea kittens. They drew pictures of fish wearing cat suits, and produced a children's book about fish playing with balls of yarn. I suppose it must be quite the shock to people for whom fuzziness is a central component of their ethical decision-making process. If I wore tee shirts, I might want one of these.

If, on the other hand, you'd like to make adult decisions regarding the ethical consumption of seafood, I might recommend Taras Gresco's Bottomfeeder. It catalogues fish populations that are at risk and explains in detail, with real scientific evidence, why they ought to be avoided. Better than that, it also recommends fish that are not only currently in no danger of being overfished, but species like the oyster for which their cultivation for consumption actually represents sophisticated ecological stewardship. Gresco is as much a gastronome as he is an activist, which makes the book a surprisingly adventurous and enjoyable guide to saving the world's fisheries from imminent collapse.
jacktellslies: (sebastian)
Alligator teeth line my mouth, my throat, my stomach. The crow and the shaman in me want to sit down somewhere by myself and tear them out, one at a time.

Once or twice I've opened a fish that was torn up on the inside. It wasn't the mush of belly rot, a thing that surprises me more with its lacking than with its presence. It had swallowed something bad, something sharp. I understand that fish are little more than mouths and instinct and tubes, but I can't help feeling that they should have known better.

What does one do with the bits that don't work? Everything I help to ruin, I ruin in the same way. (This is not nehilism, I swear I'm only being pragmatic.) So how can I fail to change that? And how can I change that? I'm not sure any one of us could recognize ourselves without our myriad lies. So what do we do? Is the trick to tell ourselves new and better ones, honourable, desirable lies, until they become true? Or is it only too much whiskey and too much blood and falling asleep wondering if we'll wake up, and if we do, what we'll be? I'm not sad, but it is winter, and it is dark, and I need to understand. Honestly, honestly, what am I?
jacktellslies: (rasputin)
Dear X-Men III:

I heard a weird rumor that this movie was about the Phoenix saga. I was also led to understand that Beast and Angel would be in it. It's a shame that Angel had no lines, and that Beast just never showed. Also, why was Kelsey Grammar painted blue? Spoiler? ) What have you done with my hopes and dreams, X-Men III? How dare you waste such potential?

Die Spoiler! ),
Jack
jacktellslies: (egon schiele)
Everyone has this moment, I think. I was six, and I realized that, at the very earliest, I'd be in school for the next two lifetimes. It has been almost a third since then.

I did not graduate from high school. I broke up with it. There were tears, and there was rage. My father was starting to die, so I got mad at the school for leaving me when I needed it, and for not getting it, and for going easy on me then, rather than when I'd needed it more. I suppose I got mad at the school so that I wouldn't be angry at him. I felt the proper self-satisfaction, though. I thought that I was brilliant. I wanted to live in words.

I'm graduating quite soon, and, although I'd not felt it this fully before, because I was still in it, or because this is what people who graduate do, I regret having gone to college. I must admit that I appreciate the books I've read. But my academic writing is terrible. It has gotten me wonderful grades, to be honest, but it is nothing that anyone would, or should, ever want to read. I don't feel particularly intelligent. I don't think that I deserve my grade point average. I've met a few professors whom I adore, but I think, perhaps, that I could have learned more by having had lunch with each of them a few times. And I've spent quite a lot of money on this.

I'm better than I was when I started this. But that has more to do with what I was doing when I wasn't in class, like having weird jobs, and talking to people, and reading, and teaching myself things, and traveling, and trying to make sense of all of this. I could have run away to London and made terrible choices, but I had to go to class, you see. And I earned a piece of paper that I hope I'll never have to use. Well. This is likely only a pang of regret, and not a lasting emotion. (I deny having lasting emotions, anyway.) And there is the future to which I can look. Places to go, real things to learn. But I hate busy-work, and I cannot seem to shake the feeling that I've been doing it for nearly five years. I only finished it because I'd started.

At least I managed to spite Alex. That is something.
jacktellslies: (bear girl)
My dreams last night consisted of my trying to make out with five different girls, and completely failing on all counts. One of these girls was leaving for India imminently after having lived in Germany already and otherwise traveling extensively. The theme of this dream was that for having lived in only one country besides the one of my birth, I am a failure and understand nothing about the world. This is only slightly true, but very funny.

There will be beer and porn tonight, if you're free.

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August 2009

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