A meme on Facebook, how <… the sole purpose of homework, is to condition children into accepting, that unpaid overtime and ridiculous hours, and even not being able to escape work at in your own home, are normal things to expect in the future>
So many variants of that. Like forcing people to conform to fixed hours when their brains and bodies do not and will not ever adjust to working fixed hours… and when these people try–in order to live, they are pushed to going manic, into disabling depression, or near suicidal panic attacks.
I was never able–over 60 years of trying to support myself, and a family, able to stay on one job much over a year. The one time I worked, as a radiographic transcriptionist, for two and a half years–it pushed to being “flordily manic” (my therapist’s words)… and a year of my life… lost
… or… on and on. And we are given pills to ‘fix’ us…and the Pharmaceuticals LOVE this, and get very very rich, and mental difference becomes a medical condition, a name in Big Book–that’s a lot like those books of Spells in films about witches and warlocks.
People are not sick, they… we… live in a sick system. What we see, in so much of mental and emotional illness– is not individual sickness, but individuals expressing the symptoms of this sick, capitalist hell.
That’s my whole fucking life. From 3rd grade till I retired and could live on Social Security.
- For a long time I looked for the specific source, or sources of what looked and felt like PTS”D” … I don’t think there was any specific source now. I think what I wrote above… explains it all.
I printed out 43 pages of posts from my old blog: Jacobrussellsbarkingdog.blogspot.com. And that only from July to Sep, 2007, and a few older journal entries. On art, poetry, book reviews, politics. They’ve held up well, and the writing is strong. I have another 200 pages, maybe more.
What does one do with this kind of thing? No one would be interested in publishing them–unless you’re an academic of note, or have a name from some other field. In 2007, the blogosphere was still alive. I corresponded with some interesting people. That was about the time when newspapers ditched their book reviews. For a while, the blogs made up for it. We exchanged recommendations for new books, wrote reviews. Across disciplines. Levi Paul Bryant, of Larval Subjects, is the only one I’m still in touch with. There were some great science blogs, too–like Cosmic Variance, until they got bought out and they magazined the life out of it.
People leave 3 word comments here now.. every once in awhile. But there’s no exchange of ideas. An intellectual wasteland.
Now we’ve got Facebook. Thankful for Neil Patrick Doherty’s Poetry Hedge School. Closest thing to what we had with blogs, but about all that’s left.
I’m going to keep up with this project… wherever it takes me.
....thousands of abandoned masks rise up from city streets on a pole tall as Willy Penn's phallic scroll they flail! sails signalling the ship of state in irons white flags their message of surrender gone viral
30×24″ Oil on Canvas
Time for sleep.
I’ve been gearing up to turning 80. A turning point… each year is fraught… how much longer? Not… how much longer before I die, but before I’m no longer able to function in a way that makes life worth the effort… and it does take effort. More each year. Just to do the shit need to do to stay alive… and functioning.I’m way ahead of the game, for the most part–to look at me now (if it’s not too cold)… I could be on track for 100 + .. but the warning signs are multiplying, in my body… in the world around me. I don’t think I want to see what it will look like in another 20 years.. or 10.Not just turning 80.. but this sense of being so close to the end of human life on this planet… or any other.The rest… is silence.
Destruction and Sorrow beneath the Heavens: Reportage
by László Krasznahorkai, Ottilie Mulzet (Translation)
Jacob Russell‘s reviewFeb 15, 2021 · edit
I have just come to the last page of Laszlo Krasznahorkai’s Destruction and sorrow beneath the Heavens. What does it mean, to say that This is a great book? It left me in tears, with the feeling that all books… poems… works of art, are the same… the same, by their very difference. This is a book to read as you set out to write a poem, or make a painting, at the end of the world… a poem no one will survive to read a painting, no one will survive to see.
This is not a report of traveling through Southeast China. This is not about searching for the lost classical culture of Imperial China. This is a fable. An extended fable. A journey through labyrinth of questions, that are all the same question–all leading to … bird songs, tea…emptyness, and back to the beginning.
“A way a one a last a loved along the riverrun.”
There is always a way out of Suzhou… and before us, in the thick fog, supposedly there is somewhere: Jinhuashan.