Lessons

Life lesson number 563562562757

A written contract in America is more important than a verbal contract. A man is not as good as his word; he's as good as the lawyers who wrote his contract.

Life lesson number 563562562758

Beurocracy hurts people.

Life lesson number 1

Life is unfair. Watch your back.

Night

She rolled across the world
she piled in the sky,
like thunderclouds or stars
writhing on the sea’s back,
she fell
the way flour falls into cookies,
stayed awhile,
was overcome,
and then came back again.

Somebody has to do it.

"One of the core messages in the book comes up perhaps three times during the adventures of the gang: Why are we doing this? Why are we risking prison, why are we risking being lynched or shot by construction site guards or other vigilantes? Why are we spending our time and our money in what we know is ultimately a futile effort to halt the destruction of our lovely and loved lands? The answer is given verbally once, but understood when later asked: "Somebody has to do it." In this Abbey is beseeching all who read his work to understand that the responsibility to safeguard and fight for our clean, wide open, unspoiled spaces is ultimately ours. The law-abiding among us can fight and struggle against The Machine, too. We can use our keyboards and telephones, and we can use our bank accounts to oppose The Machine instead of the monkey wrench. Futility be damned! It's our responsibility, he says, individually to fight and oppose the despoilment of our lands for the enrichment of the few - even when we ourselves are included in 'the few'.


-an exuberant wikipedia editor"
-Tsrhynamios away message Monday november 14th
thanks aleex. :)

Up and down

Today was kind of strange, when I was driving tonight I thought to myself that maybe some creative monster had inhabitated my body and nobody could tell the difference except for me. The day started off normally but at around 1 or 2 I started to feel a serious joy, the kind of joy that seems to mean business and doesn't go away. I was happy even though I couldn't tell why, and it affected the way I thought. Everything was poetry. I was just sitting there working. It wasn't anything special and yet everything seemed to be particularly interesting and fascinating. On my way back from work I thought that all human beings are fundamentally beautiful, magical, silly, childlike, pure creatures, but out of the necessity to survive and compete we have cruelty, frustration, discontentment, anger and sadness. All necessary but unpleasant emotions. Then, later in the evening, I seemed to come down from my self induced high (I have no idea where it came from) and I felt sad and empty. My thoughts turned to sad and empty things. My midafternoon self would have been so content with the same thoughts, it seems like emotions are the color for thoughts.