Source: instagram.com
“I love borders. August is the border between summer and autumn; it is the most beautiful month I know. Twilight is the border between day and night, and the shore is the border between sea and land. The border is longing; when both have fallen in love but still haven’t said anything. The border is to be on the way. It is the way that is the most important thing.”— Tove Jansson, “Moominvalley in November”
Source: misswallflower
Instant film photos from Providence Canyon State Park. Such a bizarre landform that seemed completely out of place from the surrounding terrain. The canyon walls consist of loose red clay that’s rapidly eroding into creeks that trailed off into the surrounding forests (at Providence Canyon State Park)
March for Our Lives. Glad to march with the Atlanta DSA folks who were yelling “disarm the cops” at the police, much to the discomfort of many around us. It was great to see so many people passionate about gun control but bizarre and upsetting to see the march surrounded by police armed with assault rifles and military equipment. #disarmthenra #disarmwhitesupremacy #disarmthepolice (at Georgia March For Life)
The sky last night
I understand that just to #deletefacebook is insufficient and neoliberalism has conned us into thinking social change comes from a series of individual lifestyle choices. But doesn’t collective action against surveilance capitalism have to go beyond just lobbying for government regulation? All the major platform’s objective is to extract every piece of data we actively or passively share for profit. You would have to regulate away their entire business model. New institutions and platforms that are democratically owned and where we have control over our own data need to built.
I’ve been sitting with a wonderful book of poems “Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude” by Ross Gay this afternoon. The book has this loose overarching theme of observing everyday moments of joy, gratitude and wonder. These moments often come in the face of the injustice, racism, grief and pain that are so common in life in the United States. In some sense, gratitude and joy are used as a way to subvert this pain and injustice.
What leaves me stunned is how often these moments of gratitude are connected by unexpected threads of memory (unexpected connections are one of my favorite things about a great poem) prompted by an everyday observation he made while cooking or gardening or teaching a class. His poems bounce around through time like thoughts and memories so often do in a daydream.
Ross Gay gardens and is a member of a community orchard so imagery of the natural world abound in this book. Mulberry and fig trees. Birds, seeds, soil and compost. It makes me want to get out there and garden and enjoy the fresh arrival of spring.
Amazon is the fucking evil megacorporation from every near-future cyberpunk story they have warehouses full of wage slaves that can’t even take a piss or fall behind their ridiculous expectations without getting fired on the spot while their CEO is nearing trillionare status day by day while quite literally making local governments pay them to determine which city they install their next slave warehouse in and now their wiretap HAL 9000 bots that are in millions of houses all over the country are doing evil laughs and reading off names of cemeteries and funeral homes completely unprompted I know anger at amazon in general is very outrage-of-the-day basic entry level american leftist reaction but Jesus fucking Christ people
edit since nobody knows how to use google.com on this site: https://pacificrim.tumblr.com/post/171649999323/hey-im-not-doubting-your-post-about-amazon-but-i
Giant crowd out marching to #DefendDACA in front of the Atlanta immigration court and the Atlanta detention center #not1more #dismantleice #nohumanisillegal #sanctuaryeverywhere (at Atlanta Detention Center)
Catching a perfect sunset a Linville Gorge #campvibes #wnc #ashevilletrails #gorgeous (at Linville Gorge Wilderness)
Song on the Subway
Rush-hour on the A train. A blind man
staggers forth, his cane tapping lightly
down the aisle. He leans against the door,
raises a violin to chin, and says I’m sorry
to bother you, folks. But please. Just listen.
And it kills me, the word sorry. As if something like music
should be forgiven. He nuzzles into the wood like a lover,
inhales, and at the first slow stroke, the crescendo
seeps through our skin like warm water, we
who have nothing but destinations, who dream of light
but descend into the mouths of tunnels, searching.
Beads of sweat fall from his brow, making dark roses
on the instrument. His head swooning to each chord
exhaled through the hollow torso. The woman beside me
has put down her book, closed her eyes, the baby
has stopped crying, the cop has sat down, and I know
this train is too fast for dreaming, that these iron jaws
will always open to swallow a smile already lost.
How insufficient the memory, to fail before death.
Who will hear these notes when the train slides
into the yard, the lights turned out, and the song
lingers with breaths rising from empty seats?
I know I am too human to praise what is fading.
But for now, I just want to listen as the train fills
completely with warm water, and we are all
swimming slowly toward the man with Mozart
flowing from his hands. I want nothing
but to put my fingers inside his mouth,
let that prayer hum through my veins.
I want to crawl into the hole in his violin.
I want to sleep there
until my flesh
becomes music.Ocean Vuong
Source: Bandcamp
(via indiesolace)
Source: SoundCloud / CASCINE
Out on Freedom Parkway protesting Friday night #notmypresident #atlisready #atlantaprotest #blacklivesmatter #immigrantswelcome #refugeeswelcome #nodapl
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