jacktellslies: (emma goldman)
And I've received answers, or at least confirmation of the question: too many birds dead on the pavement smashed into windows, and Joan of Arc everywhere. She was a statue I've passed a dozen times before, never noticing that it was gilded, that the frame of the rider was too small. Then I found the stylized flames of the logo of Arc Waste Management Company, and Alex had a bottle of Joan of Arc something on his desk. It was the name of an album today in the used record store where we stopped, too. So, for the time being, I'll attempt to differentiate between the armies of England and windows I can neither see nor understand. I spoke to Finn for the first time in a while (there seems to have been good reason for this) and he was thrilled with my new anger. He'd always thought it would look pretty on me, and that it would be more useful than a good many other things. That is comforting. The universe gave me a free copy of V For Vendetta, and seems to have gone to great lengths to do so. My rage, in this case at least, will most likely not culminate in the bombing of Parliament, but it seemed fairly clear that there were other things to which I was meant to be paying attention.
jacktellslies: (emma goldman)
I am angry, and arrogant, and resentful. But how does one prevent oneself from becoming these things when one is surrounded by so much injustice? I hate people who own things. And it is not jealousy, but revulsion. I do not want to be consumed by this, but people have so much that they cannot see their having. More importantly, they cannot see others' lacking. I do not spit on them, but how do I stop myself from wanting to do it? People who do more are paid less. How can I not be burned with that? How does one keep from feeling that they are correct, that there is something like one correctness, when one is surrounded by behaviours and opinions that are so clearly wrong, and actively cruel? I think I understand why revolutions birth dictators. I tease myself about it: there are books, ideas, t-shirts, art forms, social networks, and foods that belong to the people, that will be hailed by the state. These things are mine to decide. It is a game of ideological bingo.

I try to quiet myself, to go dreaming. I think that I can find something still there again. The lights used to blink on, one after another. I'd fall into it easily. I begin, now, but my rage fights it. It tears it up at the roots. Things never even go dark.

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jacktellslies

August 2009

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