Streetlights and Straightjackets

Streetlights manage the flow of human movement. For every one that is green and let's us go, there is a red one stopping someone else. How long will it be before people become fed up with having to wait at these red lights while others have the privilege of moving ahead? People will not be satisfied to wait while others move. 

Impotence and The Divine

We have pushed being to the ends of our fingertips, canceling its outward reach. We grasp forever in the darkness, not stopping at daybreak, hoping to possess this or that fragment, to invest into this or that vessel some likeness by which we can then appropriate the whole back into our being. We renounce that which resists us, that which didn't want us anyway; namely, an object inside of consciousness which we suppose is also responsible for consciousness. We feel, with the passions, a sense of eternal privation and mistake this for the emotive force, the dynamic will driving all phenomena. 

Thinking Past Fear

Thinking, today, is a condition of fear. This is why men you have never met in most cases patrol the streets with guns at their sides instead of beat guards moseying around the block with whistles like days of old. This is why we sometimes don't reorder our food when it is made wrong; we think someone is going to put a used condom in it. We're afraid of turning into our parents. We're afraid of being old and poor. We're afraid that having children will cost us money and adventure.

Spending so long in fear, we've learned to accept pathologically destructive standards for society. We think that people we've never met and never will meet even if we want to are entitled to our money so that basic living conditions might be maintained, and then when that money is used to bomb medicine plants and military boats, we grumble about how stupid the democrats are or how stupid the conservatives are or how the green party is always ruining things or how some other group, acting in an entirely democratic fashion, is threatening our democracy.

Letter to a Synesthesiac

So you insist that the number 1 is a sort of off-metallic color or transparent at the base. You tell me that the number 2 is blueish chrome. 1 is naïve. 2 is seductive and smiles at you with the weight of its ability to always be one step ahead of 1.

But for you, the letter T is yellow, the letter W is russet, the letter O is black, so when the word ‘two’ is spelled out, the yellow fading into the warm russet and cooling finally into the black is cute rather than seductive, which upsets the look of 2.