Two months.
I made a fucking Pinterest of MLK and a quote. I really did. It's the utmost lifestylist shit on one level, but hey, hey! Forgive my bourgie-ness because I used the one where he calls the US government the biggest killer on the planet. That'll triangulate neatly to offend both the libs and the rightwing faux-bertarians I know.
And what of my own position of power? It seems like a big hypocrisy to some of my close friends; work has been kind to me and it only operates arbitrarily, right? It chose me, they chose me because of my talents, because they trusted in my abilities. But I still distrust the system, so where does that leave me? I say revolution and act servant-leader horseshit.
But it's made things better for some people. Within a context. It's made things better for people even as we live in a world soaked in crime and injustice. I throw water on people in burning buildings.
I write fiction and it seems to say what I can't or won't with my life's effort.
I play along to feed my kids.
Or so I say.
Why don't I say as much these days? I feel a sense of grim understanding, of settlement without conclusion. I feel wise? And so I say less? Or wise enough to feel ignorant, to feel profoundly unknowing, to not venture forth and say "this is so," "that is thus," all the crap.
I don't know what's missing. I do so much and something's missing.
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