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le 30 juillet 2019

* - galaxy

For want of a world.

Posted on 2019.07.30 at 03:26
I had a central brain-ache up until I woke up at around 1:am, awakened by my dog constantly shaking his hair. (Maybe he himself was awakened by the guy downstairs doing a BANG, idk). As often is the case, it felt that the middle of my brain had died of anoxia. Since it is a central area of the brain, probably the HPA and pineal, this affects my attention, thought, memory - but also my heart, digestion, and everything else. A little more sleep tonight, hopefully, and I will be out of it.

However, when I took my dog out, at 2:am, after all his shaking, and as I opened his door of our bedroom, I shooshed him but he shook even more as he walked out. This has been going on for days or weeks, and I just had had it. So I pushed into him with my foot - a careful kick, enough to get the point through to him to knock this off. The reason it needs to stop is mostly because it makes the crazy man downstairs BANG in the middle of the night in revenge, which really harms my health. It is literally physical assault, (see the case where a TV show was successfully charged with assault after causing viewers to go into epileptic seizures).

Well, as I rushed after the dog, my hand, still on the doorknob, slammed the door shut, creating a noticeable BANG. Not severe. But it is certain that the jerk downstairs will come back at me in full force. All of this is like living as a pathetic nervous little slave to some evil space alien - but at least it is not as much, as constant as it was a year ago. For the most part, I have ridden this out after about three years. And I have mostly ridden out the neighbourhood harassment after almost 7 years. But it all still sits there, dormant, covetous, waiting to pounce. How tragic it has been that both my dog and I have been so damaged by these forces of retardation. It has been really terrible and sad. But, since I am a male, I am expected to prove my balls and my hate and all that, before anyone thinks I am worth respecting or even listening to.

The assumption, in Northern Illinois, is to first assume that everyone else is bad, and proceed to be an asshole towards them in every way. Sneaking and taking and taking and sneaking, until they fight back, and then you cower into your own depravity. Because. That's where it all begins. Moral, spiritual, human depravity. Acting as animals before entertaining any sort of humanity. As if the latter is so distant a concept from imagination, like something gleamed from an old textbook, or something proved so wrong by so many Hollywood movies, depraved politicians, or greedy capitalist ticks. The only way they evolve is by steeling away what glory they envy, shining from those souls who slip through their meanness like sunlight through the poisoned rain.


Carl Sandburg, 'Hoodlums'

Posted by duathir on 2019.07.30 at 12:24
Originally posted by duathir in greatpoets. Reposted by madman101 at 2019-07-30 12:24:00.

Cross-post from war_poetry:


I am a hoodlum, you are a hoodlum, we and all of us are a world of hoodlums—maybe so.
I hate and kill better men than I am, so do you, so do all of us—maybe—maybe so.
In the ends of my fingers the itch for another man’s neck, I want to see him hanging, one of dusk’s cartoons against the sunset.
This is the hate my father gave me, this was in my mother’s milk, this is you and me and all of us in a world of hoodlums—maybe so.
Let us go on, brother hoodlums, let us kill and kill, it has always been so, it will always be so, there is nothing more to it.
Let us go on, sister hoodlums, kill, kill, and kill, the torsoes of the world’s mother’s are tireless and the loins of the world’s fathers are strong—so go on—kill, kill, kill.
Lay them deep in the dirt, the stiffs we fixed, the cadavers bumped off, lay them deep and let the night winds of winter blizzards howl their burial service.
The night winds and the winter, the great white sheets of northern blizzards, who can sing better for the lost hoodlums the old requiem, “Kill him! kill him!…”
Today my son, to-morrow yours, the day after your next door neighbor’s—it is all in the wrists of the gods who shoot craps—it is anybody’s guess whose eyes shut next.
Being a hoodlum now, you and I, being all of us a world of hoodlums, let us take up the cry when the mob sluffs by on a thousand shoe soles, let us too yammer, “Kill him! kill him!…”
Let us do this now … for our mothers … for our sisters and wives … let us kill, kill, kill—for the torsoes of the women are tireless and the loins of the men are strong.

By Carl Sandburg
Chicago, July 29, 1919.

(The Murder of Eugene Williams and the 1919 Chicago Race Riot, July 27, 1919)

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