Holy Shit I have wondered for years about this vague memory from my childhood of a creepy Purim CD ROM game and I finally found it. Its a Claymation Rock Opera about Megillat Esther……
When I read this John Berger excerpt
A woman is always accompanied, except when quite alone, and perhaps even then, by her own image of herself. While she is walking across a room or weeping at the death of her father, she cannot avoid envisioning herself walking or weeping. From earliest childhood she is taught and persuaded to survey herself continually. She has to survey everything she is and everything she does, because how she appears to others – and particularly how she appears to men – is of crucial importance for what is normally thought of as the success of her life.
Im like- Who told him??
more anne boyer
And yeah, social media lends certain structures the thoughts and feelings of everyone who uses it, but much of this book was written during periods of refusal—refusal of the blogs, times I’d turn off the internet, refusal of poetry’s available socialities and structures. I wanted to figure out some way to live as something more than information. I wanted to figure out some way to write what we need that wasn’t going to turn it into a pornography of particularization. That we are alienated, that we are unsure, that our next month is so regularly worse than our this one, are things common to many of us, are these hard and ordinary things of life as it is now which an algorithmic display of affect can’t soften. The feeds could weep all day long, and it wouldn’t mean they won’t also be crying harder tomorrow. So what are we supposed to do?
I Have Taken a Farm at This Hard Rent by Anne Boyer
After chemo was over, after Laura left, things got bad. I ended up in the hospital alone again in terrible shape (my heart): the care list went to hell, everyone was fighting, we all wanted cancer to be over, no one knew if the chemotherapy had worked, no one—even the doctors—knew if the chemotherapy was or wasn’t killing me. Cara said, then, of the poets, “I hope I never have to belong to a community.” My friends wanted to hire someone professional to take care of me. I read that intention as what I had feared—abandonment to institutional modes of care. I had very little life left in me and spent almost all of it fighting the people trying to help me. I had been hurt so much that I didn’t want another stranger near my body. I don’t know how we got through it.
How am i supposed to make new years resolutions when i struggle to complete short term goals literally for one day literally for one hour
In 2019 we get our add and ocd under control am i right ladies????
I COULD BARELY BREATHE FOR SEEING ALL THE SPLINTERED LIGHT THAT LEAKED
Fiddle Envy with guest appearance from Tsimbl Envy