I think the parking lot as we went up the escalator looked like it belonged to a mall, but as we went up the floors the building kept changing. In one instance it was a full of racks and clothes, presumably for buying. Pressing upward though, it became a hallway like one would find in an office building. There was a big glass panel window so you could see the city streets below.
There was an interlude where we all found a way to dance with vigor to David Bowie’s ‘Heroes’ which at the end of the day might have been the most impossible thing.
But I danced into the hallway, and I settled by the window, where I saw cars hurtling into each other at violent speeds and with immense explosions. It wasn’t just two cars though; cars kept coming and exploding into each other as if through some grand orchestration. I woke up from a dream hoping to be in a world different from the one I just experienced, and was relieved, only to find that the events of the dream had been real. I woke up into a world reacting to the deaths of millions through orchestrated car crashes.
Mackenzie and I had to find a crawlspace; it was furnished like a living room, so I was surprised that I had to crouch to get around. I was immediately overcome by a rush of claustrophobia. I didn’t know if I was endangering my life by leaving the attic-ish space.
I didn’t know where my father was, he brought us to the mall building.
in the dream, the sun came up and Mackenzie and I looked around, listening to news of the murders of thousands of students by government cars that were pushed off the tops of buildings. It seemed like many others would have died, though, not just college students.
We then took a drive in a minivan through almost desolate streets. We saw many of our friends walking around and stuff. My father called and said he was in the zip code of the scene of the car crashes.
Eventually no one seemed as shaken up as I felt.
“We live in a country where politicians call rape a “gift from God” and suggest that women regularly lie about being raped. Where a group of young men in high school think so little of sexual assault that they thought it was fine - hilarious, even - to post pictures online of a passed out rape victim, and to live-tweet the rape, joking about the victim being urinated on. We live in a country where media as revered as The New York Times finds it necessary to describe an 11-year-old gang rape victim as “wearing makeup and fashions more appropriate to a woman in her 20s.” Where a woman can be fired because her boss finds her “irresistable” and a woman’s rape case falls flat because she isn’t married.
It’s time to acknowledge that the rape epidemic in the United States is not just about the crimes themselves, but our own cultural and political willful ignorance. Rape is as American as apple pie - until we own that, nothing will change.” — Jessica Valenti, The Nation (via missrep)
I lie to everyone I know
I am of the flesh,sold under sin. For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate. Now if I do what I do not want, I agree with the law, that it is good. So now it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me. For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh. For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out. For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing
wonderful David Platt message:
I was there!
(Source: youthbulletin, via yikesyikesyikesyikes)
There’s things people say about seasons people go through. I’m in a bad place. And it sometimes feels like I’m a danger to myself, but what’s interesting is the way that this negative space has fostered a new obsession with “funny” and funny sportswriting and funny comedians and writing processes … i just didn’t picture that as the backdrop of this stage.
maybe it’s cause funny demands macabre
“The hipster is a scholar of social forms, a student of cool. He studies relentlessly, foraging for what has yet to be found by the mainstream. He is a walking citation; his clothes refer to much more than themselves. He tries to negotiate the age-old problem of individuality, not with concepts, but with material things.”
A couple of night ago I dreamed a dream that means something. I’m not sure what. The part I actually remember, that strikes me as so important is this: we all walked out of a building to find a wide, wide rushing body of water in place of the streets. I found myself on the opposite bank, looking the building I had just stepped out of, and watching the water wash, wild and gray, and away from me.
To be a part of the current was to be fearful. I tried, to be cautious, never letting myself get swept toward the center of the river, trying to stay near the bank. My body actually manufactured the feeling of being swept, driven, outside of my own control, even as I slept, and I never wondered why there would be so many strange people being swept away without being told to, or being told why…
I got out of the water, looking to continue in the same direction, but the place I was pointed toward in the water wasn’t the place I was looking toward out of it. The lady answered my question, she probably called me silly, mentioning that I couldn’t expect to face the same direction after letting myself get swept away in the current…
So I went to the library and checked out The Recognitions, knowing I haven’t had time to read in 3 weeks. Am I being serious? I dunno. But I wanna read, so I stay home. I complete my duties so I can read.