Ernest Hemingway would have died rather than have syntax. Or semicolons. I use a whole lot of half-assed semicolons; there was one of them just now; that was a semicolon after “semicolons,” and another one after “now.”
And another thing. Ernest Hemingway would have died rather than get old. And he did. He shot himself. A short sentence. Anything rather than a long sentence, a life sentence. Death sentences are short and very, very manly. Life sentences aren’t. They go on and on, all full of syntax and qualifying clauses and confusing references and getting old. And that brings up the real proof of what a mess I have made of being a man.
Glenn Greenwald was one of the first reporters to see — and write about — the Edward Snowden files, with their revelations about the United States’ extensive surveillance of private citizens. In this searing talk, Greenwald makes the case for why you need to care about privacy, even if you’re “not doing anything you need to hide.”
The lie is my expense, the scope of my desire
The Party blessed me with its future and I protect it with fire
I am the Nina, the Pinta, the Santa Maria
The noose and the rapist, the fields overseer
The agents of orange, The priests of Hiroshima
The cost of my desire: sleep now in the fire!
Never let them forget…
…that the UN officially declared the Western Shoshone nation to be the most bombed nation in the entire world, and then promptly turned their heads the other way
I’ve included the official document for the curious and knowledge-seekers alike. The link should take you to the relevant page.
I think at this point the United Nations can do nothing beyond making suggestions. Its power ends there. The U.S. will go on ignoring decisions it does not agree with (see: U.N. stance on Israel’s war crimes) and continue doing as it pleases.
FEAR AS A WAY OF LIFE: WHY WOMEN IN COMICS DON’T ‘JUST REPORT’ SEXUAL HARASSMENT
By Juliet Kahn
“If the harassment is so bad, why don’t women just report it?”
“I want to believe these women, but if they’re not willing to come forth and put their name to these accusations, I just can’t.”
“These claims of harassment are all so overblown. I never see it happening.”
I have been a woman in the comics industry for a few months now. It has been wonderful. It has also been terrifying.
Terrifying in a way I’m used to, though. When you grow up enveloped in the miasma of “tits or GTFO,” “attention whore,” and “fake geek girl,” fear becomes the price you pay to enjoy your hobbies. You don’t even think of it as fear most of the time.
Sometimes you join in the fear mongering yourself, enjoying the a**hole glamour of not being too pussy to call another girl a slut. Sometimes you hide in woman-heavy spaces, which go maligned elsewhere (“Tumblrinas!”) but do a pretty solid job of keeping you safe. The fear comes back eventually, though, as a slew of graphic rape threats or a simple joke about “feminazis” you are expected to chuckle along with. It might be in response to a screed worthy of Andrea Dworkin—or maybe you just tweeted something about disliking Guardians of the Galaxy. What matters is that you were a woman with an opinion on the internet, and now you must be punished. You must be made to fear.
Fear is also meant to keep us safe from sexual harassment, assault and abuse. We’re told not to stay out too late, not to go out alone, not to drink, not to lead anyone on, not to go home with anyone, not to ever feel safe in any situation that a man might take advantage of. If you fear the (implicitly common) worst from the men around you, you will escape it. When harassment, assault, and abuse take place anyway, fear is often a distinctly purposeful element of the encounter. Sometimes, this is subtle—it might take place in a deliberately secluded spot, or the perpetrator might be in a position of power over your future. Or, in the case of rape-and-death-threat style online harassment, the naked point of it might be to instill fear. After the harassment, assault, or abuse has taken place, it is fear that keeps women from speaking out. Fear of being branded the whiny bitch, of enduring the Anita Sarkeesian experience, or having one’s career torpedoed by a thousand nerds high on a lifetime’s worth of entitlement and vitriol.
Fear is what keeps us silent. Fear is what keeps men from understanding the ubiquity of these experiences. Fear is what keeps us from attaching a name to our allegations. Fear is what makes harassment, assault, and abuse a rite of passage for women in this industry and the world beyond. Fear, in this society, is what makes you a woman. And fear, in extinguishing discussion of its cruelties, keeps us from understanding its nature and better dismantling it.
litlfrog replied to your photo “I have, for the most part, kept my years-long struggles with chronic…”
aww man. I love you, brother.
Love you too, brother.
litlfrog replied to your photo “The surgery center had been trying to reach me an hour after my HIDA…”
Life is MUCH better with no gall bladder than with a bad one.
I’m ready for pretty much anything after 6+ years of living like this, old friend. :-)
The surgery center had been trying to reach me an hour after my HIDA scan, but by the time I got the message they were closed for the weekend. I was too ill to travel up to see my family for my birthday this Saturday, which depressed me. They piled into the car and drove down on Sunday to visit me. I was grateful and happy to see them.
This morning I called the surgery center and they said the results indicated my gallbladder has ceased to function. I’ll know more on Wednesday, but it’s likely that they’ll need to remove it.
Not coincidentally, I discovered this telling abstract about gallbladder disease among American Indians:
"…. In conclusion, gallbladder disease was found in epidemic proportions in diverse American Indian populations."
— “Prevalence of gallbladder disease in American Indian populations: findings from the Strong Heart Study." Hepatology. 2002 Jun;35(6):1507-12.