I woke up.
I do not think that strikes you as massively as it does me. To know that I am awake, that my blood still vehemently pulses from the tiniest toe on my feet to the epicenter of my body. To know that I am alive, it’s something else.
Poets talk about how amazing it is, how depressing it is, how mundane and worthless it is, how fundamental and sound it is. Life itself, sure, I can see being all those and more. Life can be pretty exciting, and it can be pretty mirthful. Don’t you ever feel like that, happy, joyous, cheery, with sparkles in your eyes? Don’t you feel like prancing from one room to the next as if you were a ballerina knowing full-well that you are not despite all the times you have tried to stand on your tip-toes like all the experienced ballerinas?
Now, could you believe that there are people in this world who find that exact feeling devilish, fruitless? As if endless happiness was not the end-goal but a relentless obstacle!
On the other end, life can also be boring, uneventful. I am quite sure the lot of us have felt that way, maybe once or twice in our childhoods when we could not go outside and were forced to stay inside by the dictum of our overlords or even into our later years where we lose touch with the people we were once close with. We become alone. One might call such a life solitary, but another might call it a prison. The masses might call it every-day occurrences, and an interest group (or two) might call it sign of mass obedience to a flawed ideology.
What have you, reader, life is nothing. They say you make it into what you will, but I do not think that; you do not make it. No one makes life. You do not intentionally lose friends, become alone or happy. You are to simply be awake, conscious of your surroundings, and you are to build upon it, like a road across a void-like plain. Brick by brick, you set it, you make it known to you, and bit by bit, that void becomes less of an abyss and more of what you know as your own experiences.
With that said, I say it once again:
I woke up, and holy fuck does it feel fantastic.
The National Security Agency has acknowledged in a new classified briefing that it does not need court authorization to listen to domestic phone calls. Rep. Jerrold Nadler, a New York Democrat, disclosed this week that during a secret briefing to members of Congress, he was told that the contents of a phone call could be accessed “simply based on an analyst deciding that.”
If the NSA wants “to listen to the phone,” an analyst’s decision is sufficient, without any other legal authorization required, Nadler said he learned. “I was rather startled,” said Nadler, an attorney who serves on the House Judiciary committee.
If this is true, then it was—help me out here, is there any way to characterize it more charitably than calling it a “lie”—okay, a lie, when President Obama said, “No one is listening to your telephone conversations.” So let’s hope Nadler got it wrong, because I don’t want to believe that what he’s saying is accurate, and I don’t want to believe that the President would so directly lie to the public about an issue of this significance.(via jeffmiller)
I’ve never met a man who has felt confident and sexy in his body. The media tells women that they are divine and beautiful and works of art. It tells them that they need to be this way, and makes them diet and obsess about it.
The media tells men that we are big and hairy and smelly, that women are out of our league, that it’s ridiculous they find us attractive, that we should to grateful to them if they have sex with us, that we need to repay them for that chore. It tells us that we are this way, and no amount of dieting will change that. It tells us to give up.