Playing
Ravi Shankar
THE LIVING ROOM SESSIONS - PART 1
EMIL CIORAN
In every man sleeps a prophet, and when he wakes there is a little more evil in the world.
ABE KÕBÕ
The Woman in the Dunes
There wasn't a single item of importance [in the newspaper]. A tower of illusion, all of it, made of illusory bricks and full of holes. If life were made up only of important things, it really would be a dangerous house of glass, scarcely to be handled carelessly. But everyday life was exactly like the headlines. And so everybody, knowing the meaninglessness of existence, sets the center of his compass at his own home.
EUGENE O'NEILL
Long Day's Journey Into Night
It was a great mistake, my being born a man, I would have been much more successful as a seagull or a fish. As it is, I will always be a stranger who never feels at home, who does not really want and is not really wanted, who can never belong, who must be a little in love with death!
WENDELL BERRY
Sex, Economy, Freedom, and Community
No settled family or community has ever called its home place an “environment.” None has ever called its feeling for its home place “biocentric” or “anthropocentric.” None has ever thought of its connection to its home place as “ecological,” deep or shallow. The concepts and insights of the ecologists are of great usefulness in our predicament, and we can hardly escape the need to speak of “ecology” and “ecosystems.” But the terms themselves are culturally sterile. They come from the juiceless, abstract intellectuality of the universities which was invented to disconnect, displace, and disembody the mind. The real names of the environment are the names of rivers and river valleys; creeks, ridges, and mountains; towns and cities; lakes, woodlands, lanes roads, creatures, and people.
And the real name of our connection to this everywhere different and differently named earth is “work.” We are connected by work even to the places where we don’t work, for all places are connected; it is clear by now that we cannot exempt one place from our ruin of another. The name of our proper connection to the earth is “good work,” for good work involves much giving of honor. It honors the source of its materials; it honors the place where it is done; it honors the art by which it is done; it honors the thing that it makes and the user of the made thing. Good work is always modestly scaled, for it cannot ignore either the nature of individual places or the differences between places, and it always involves a sort of religious humility, for not everything is known. Good work can be defined only in particularity, for it must be defined a little differently for every one of the places and every one of the workers on the earth.
The name of our present society’s connection to the earth is “bad work” – work that is only generally and crudely defined, that enacts a dependence that is ill understood, that enacts no affection and gives no honor. Every one of us is to some extent guilty of this bad work. This guilt does not mean that we must indulge in a lot of breast-beating and confession; it means only that there is much good work to be done by every one of us and that we must begin to do it.
ISAAC ASIMOV
Roving Mind
Imagine the people who believe such things and who are not ashamed to ignore, totally, all the patient findings of thinking minds through all the centuries since the Bible was written. And it is these ignorant people, the most uneducated, the most unimaginative, the most unthinking among us, who would make themselves the guides and leaders of us all; who would force their feeble and childish beliefs on us; who would invade our schools and libraries and homes. I personally resent it bitterly.
ANONYMOUS
"An Open Letter to Every Trump Voter on the One-year Anniversary of his Reelection"
Not ONE FUCKING WORD from ANY Trump voter for the duration of your life. Not about ANY fucking problems, ANY suffering brought on by this dictator or by his corrupt and incompetent cabinet.
You refused to acknowledge the truth and lacked the ability think critically. And then you FUCKING did it again.
So, STFU. Stuff it. Swallow it. Choke on it. You got exactly what you voted for. You owned the libs. It was funny. You knew what would happen and didn't FUCKING care. You sold your soul.
You got laid off because your company was forced to downsize or go bankrupt?
Stuff it.
You got fired because the government decided your job was abuse, fraud, and waste?
Stuff it.
You lost your seventh-generation family farm?
Stuff it.
You lost your third-generation construction company?
Stuff it.
You lost your health care? Your local health clinic closed?
Stuff it.
Your child got sick with e-coli? You got the measles? You can't afford your insulin or your inhaler?
Stuff it.
Your bank ripped you off and you lost your house?
Stuff it.
The air and water you breathe is filthy now?
Stuff it.
Your plane had a crash landing?
Stuff it.
They sold off public lands for logging near your home?
Stuff it!
FEMA isn't there to help you after the hurricane? The wildfire? The tornado? The earthquake? The epidemic?
Stuff it.
Your daughter died of sepsis because she couldn't get an abortion?
Stuff it.
Your wife bled to death because an emergency room was too afraid to treat her after a miscarriage?
Stuff it.
Your dad got disappeared by ICE and will never be seen again?
Stuff it.
He said China was going to pay the tariffs? He said Mexico was going to pay the tariffs? He said Canada was going to pay the tariffs?
Stuff it.
You can't afford groceries and the food banks are closed?
Too fucking bad. Go hungry. Pray harder. Stuff it.
Just keep your fucking mouth shut.
You knew in 2016 he was a wannabe tyrant, a liar, a charlatan, a grifter., a mobster, a sexual criminal. A monster. A soulless ghoul. And then you claimed Jesus chose him, chose this.
You knowingly voted for every ounce of this. And then you did it again. You spit on and dishonored every person who served our country and the family members of those who sacrificed for our freedoms. And then you did that again, too. You sold your soul.
And now YOU fucking OWN IT until your dying breath.
Stuff it.
Swallow it.
Choke on it.
STFU.
You're getting exactly what you voted for. We all are getting exactly what you voted for.
And YOU fucking OWN IT .
-
PS - How's that cut-by-50-percent-on-Day-One electric bill treating you?
GJERTRUD SCHNACKENBERG
“Signs”
Threading the palm, a web of little lines
Spells out the lost money, the heart, the head,
The wagging tongues, the sudden deaths, in signs
We would smooth out, like imprints on a bed,
In signs that can’t be helped, geese heading south,
In signs read anxiously, like breath that clouds
A mirror held to a barely open mouth,
Like telegrams, the gathering of crowds—
The plane’s X in the sky, spelling disaster:
Before the whistle and hit, a tracer flare;
Before rubble, a hairline crack in plaster
And a housefly’s panicked scribbling on the air.
WILFRED OWEN
"I Saw His Round Mouth's Crimson"
I saw his round mouth's crimson deepen as it fell,
Like a Sun, in his last deep hour;
Watched the magnificent recession of farewell,
Clouding, half gleam, half glower,
And a last splendour burn the heavens of his cheek.
And in his eyes
The cold stars lighting, very old and bleak,
In different skies.
IVOR GURNEY
"Ballad of the Three Spectres"
As I went up by Ovillers
In mud and water cold to the knee,
There went three jeering, fleering spectres,
That walked abreast and talked of me.
The first said, ‘Here’s a right brave soldier
That walks the dark unfearingly;
Soon he’ll come back on a fine stretcher,
And laughing for a nice Blighty.’
The second, ‘Read his face, old comrade,
No kind of lucky chance I see;
One day he’ll freeze in mud to the marrow,
Then look his last on Picardie.’
Though bitter the word of these first twain
Curses the third spat venomously;
‘He’ll stay untouched till the war’s last dawning
Then live one hour of agony.’
Liars the first two were. Behold me
At sloping arms by one – two – three;
Waiting the time I shall discover
Whether the third spake verity.
VERA BRITTAIN
Testament of Youth
It is quite impossible to understand,’ I commented afterwards, ‘how we can be such strong individualists, so insistent on the rights and claims of every human soul, and yet at the same time countenance (even take quite calmly) this wholesale murder, which if it were applied to animals or birds or indeed anything except men would fill us with a sickness and repulsion greater than we could endure.
VERA BRITTAIN
Testament of Youth
To my amazement, taut and tearless as I was, I saw him hastily mop his eyes with his handkerchief, and in that moment, when it was too late to respond or to show that I understood, I realised how much more he cared for me than I had supposed or he had ever shown. I felt, too, so bitterly sorry for him because he had to fight against his tears while I had no wish to cry at all, and the intolerable longing to comfort him when there was no more time in which to do it made me furious with the frantic pain of impotent desire.
And then, all at once, the whistle sounded again and the train started. As the noisy group moved away from the door he sprang on to the footboard, clung to my hand and, drawing my face down to his, kissed my lips in a sudden vehemence of despair. And I kissed his, and just managed to whisper 'Good-bye!' The next moment he was walking rapidly down the platform, with his head bent and his face very pale. Although I had said that I would not, I stood by the door as the train left the station and watched him moving through the crowd. But he never turned again.
VERA BRITTAIN
Testament of Youth
There is still, I think, not enough recognition by teachers of the fact that the desire to think - which is fundamentally a moral problem - must be induced before the power is developed. Most people, whether men or women, wish above all else to be comfortable, and thought is a pre-eminently uncomfortable process.