toronto is an interesting city, i like it.
wes anderson and many other male “artists” are acclaimed for imagery and aesthetics long associated with femininity, meanwhile a woman wouldn’t get entrance let alone validity in artistic ventures had she emerged with the same cutesy pastel color palettes.
What winding, dead-end, narrow, impassable, far-straying roads have been chosen by humanity in its attempts to attain eternal truth, whereas before it the straight path lies open, like the path that leads to a magnificent temple appointed as a mansion for a tsar! Broader and more splendid it is than all other paths, bathed in sunlight and illuminated by lamps the whole night long; yet past it people have streamed in darkness obscure. And how many times already, guided by an intelligence that comes down from the heavens, have they, even so, managed to fall back and go astray, managed in broad daylight to blunder anew into impassable blackwaters, contrived once more to becloud each other’s eyes with a blinding fog and, plodding along in pursuit of some will-o’-the-wisps, managed at last to come to an abyss, only then to ask each other in horror: ‘Where is the way out, where is the road?’
my nine year old sister finished reading the last harry potter book and now she’s just sitting in her room staring at the wall.
And if Michael Brown was not angelic, I was practically demonic. I had my first drink when I was 11. I once brawled in the cafeteria after getting hit in the head with a steel trash can. In my junior year I failed five out of seven classes. By the time I graduated from high school, I had been arrested for assaulting a teacher and been kicked out of school (twice.) And yet no one who knew me thought I had the least bit of thug in me. That is because I also read a lot of books, loved my Commodore 64, and ghostwrote love notes for my friends. In other words, I was a human being. A large number of American teenagers live exactly like Michael Brown. Very few of them are shot in the head and left to bake on the pavement.
The “angelic” standard was not one created by the reporter. It was created by a society that cannot face itself, and thus must employ a dubious “morality” to hide its sins. It is reinforced by people who have embraced the notion of “twice as good” while avoiding the circumstances which gave that notion birth. Consider how easily living in a community “with rough patches” becomes part of a list of ostensible sins. Consider how easily “black-on-black crime” becomes not a marker of a shameful legacy of segregation but a moral failing.
That human life must be some kind of mistake is sufficiently proved by the simple observation that man is a compound of needs which are hard to satisfy; that their satisfaction achieves nothing but a painless condition in which he is only given over to boredom; and that boredom is a direct proof that existence is in itself valueless, for boredom is nothing other than the sensation of the emptiness of existence.
We complain of the darkness in which we live out our lives; we do not understand the nature of existence in general; we especially do not know the relation of our own self to the rest of existence. Not only is our life short, our knowledge is limited entirely to it, since we can see neither back before our birth nor out beyond our death, so that our consciousness is as it were a lightning-flash momentarily illuminated by the night….