Whatever movements accomplish or don't accomplish, whoever they offend and alienate, whatever reservations , social points and cynicism want to hold us back from participating...they should not deter us.
No one bats an eye about protesting big tech with clippy profile pics but when it comes to the rape and murder of women, it suddenly becomes a ground for debate.
Neon green profiles will not abolish the problem, they certainly won't bring back these women or heal the victims families. But if an onslaught of bold, glaring neon greens make the tiniest difference in the suffering of women, we should have it on our profiles and sign the petitions.
It's vibrant, it's visible, it's revealing and it will announce your presence to the deaf. Why should that stop you?
Oh, and if people call you feminist, that's not something to recoil from. If feminism means putting a spotlight on women's suffering and doing this tiny thing to fight it, then in Adichie's words, we should all be feminists!
No one bats an eye about protesting big tech with clippy profile pics but when it comes to the rape and murder of women, it suddenly becomes a ground for debate.
Neon green profiles will not abolish the problem, they certainly won't bring back these women or heal the victims families. But if an onslaught of bold, glaring neon greens make the tiniest difference in the suffering of women, we should have it on our profiles and sign the petitions.
It's vibrant, it's visible, it's revealing and it will announce your presence to the deaf. Why should that stop you?
Oh, and if people call you feminist, that's not something to recoil from. If feminism means putting a spotlight on women's suffering and doing this tiny thing to fight it, then in Adichie's words, we should all be feminists!
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Book Buff💪
I'm sure there's such a thing as social media psychosis.
YouTube is like psychedelics. Enlightening until you start hearing voices.
Not in the definitive, medical sense, of course. It's like what the Queen says to Alice, "Why, sometimes I believed in six impossible things before breakfast." And if you have a certain kind of temperament, you too can believe in six impossible things before breakfast, because there's a lot of voices and lots of them make sense. Although it's commendable to entertain numerous thoughts, at some point it becomes too much for your sanity.
If your sense of reality is malleable enough, you become susceptible to psychosis. Each voice appears as flesh and blood. And if you're mistrustful of your ability to interpret theories, statistics and evidences, you'll have to rely on some kind of a qualified mentor.
Your sensei tells you which voices are real. And just like that you start doubting your eyes and ears.
If you're lucky, you become disillusioned with them.
What if they're lying? What if they're all fathered by
the same source, money. Or they're honestly deceived?
Caution slowly grows into paranoia. And that's just the voices of politics, where nuance goes to die.
Then there are the voices of everyday people imparting their wisdom about the good life. Polyphonic voices booming through the other side like the voices of the damned, warning you against wasting your 20's. Long video essays about the "Percy Jackson and the X-ification of Y".
Worldview upon worldview. An overwhelming amount of good and bad and contradicting advice. Tasteless takes. Tasteful takes. Beautiful souls that might simply be results of your imaginings.
Eventually, you lose your ability to be sure. Why is everyone so sure in front of the unknowable? You mysticize until you're convinced that you are the other and the other is you.
That's how I came to hear voices and I can't distinguish real from fake. Or mine from others.
I don't know what knowing is or what can be known beyond reasonable doubt?
Just as in the case of classic psychosis it's the invasion of the conscious by the subconscious. That's because our online persona becomes
the place where our shadows go to be realized. Social media became a place where we can send our monsters to come out and play. In the process we feed Instagram's insatiable appetite for vile comments and YouTube's policy for burying deviant comments to protect the echo chamber.
Indiscriminate integration of these alien voices is fragmentation of spirit. Say no. We need to be whole.
And to be whole is to choose who to be. To show forgiveness to oneself in a digital age that has abolished forgetfulness and won't let anyone live down their mistakes.
Not in the definitive, medical sense, of course. It's like what the Queen says to Alice, "Why, sometimes I believed in six impossible things before breakfast." And if you have a certain kind of temperament, you too can believe in six impossible things before breakfast, because there's a lot of voices and lots of them make sense. Although it's commendable to entertain numerous thoughts, at some point it becomes too much for your sanity.
If your sense of reality is malleable enough, you become susceptible to psychosis. Each voice appears as flesh and blood. And if you're mistrustful of your ability to interpret theories, statistics and evidences, you'll have to rely on some kind of a qualified mentor.
Your sensei tells you which voices are real. And just like that you start doubting your eyes and ears.
If you're lucky, you become disillusioned with them.
What if they're lying? What if they're all fathered by
the same source, money. Or they're honestly deceived?
Caution slowly grows into paranoia. And that's just the voices of politics, where nuance goes to die.
Then there are the voices of everyday people imparting their wisdom about the good life. Polyphonic voices booming through the other side like the voices of the damned, warning you against wasting your 20's. Long video essays about the "Percy Jackson and the X-ification of Y".
Worldview upon worldview. An overwhelming amount of good and bad and contradicting advice. Tasteless takes. Tasteful takes. Beautiful souls that might simply be results of your imaginings.
Eventually, you lose your ability to be sure. Why is everyone so sure in front of the unknowable? You mysticize until you're convinced that you are the other and the other is you.
That's how I came to hear voices and I can't distinguish real from fake. Or mine from others.
I don't know what knowing is or what can be known beyond reasonable doubt?
Just as in the case of classic psychosis it's the invasion of the conscious by the subconscious. That's because our online persona becomes
the place where our shadows go to be realized. Social media became a place where we can send our monsters to come out and play. In the process we feed Instagram's insatiable appetite for vile comments and YouTube's policy for burying deviant comments to protect the echo chamber.
Indiscriminate integration of these alien voices is fragmentation of spirit. Say no. We need to be whole.
And to be whole is to choose who to be. To show forgiveness to oneself in a digital age that has abolished forgetfulness and won't let anyone live down their mistakes.
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It takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere else, you must run at least twice as fast as that!
- Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass
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Book Buff💪
Photo
May she be granted beauty and yet not Beauty to make a stranger’s eye distraught,
Or hers before a looking-glass, for such,
Being made beautiful overmuch,
Consider beauty a sufficient end,
Lose natural kindness and maybe
The heart-revealing intimacy That chooses right, and never find a friend.
I’d have her chiefly learned;
Hearts are not had as a gift but hearts are earned
By those that are not entirely beautiful;
My mind, because the minds that I have loved,
The sort of beauty that I have approved,
Prosper but little, has dried up of late,
Yet knows that to be choked with hate
May well be of all evil chances chief.
The more I read this poem the more I appreciate it. It's a good kind of prescriptive.
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THE MOODS
TIME drops in decay,
Like a candle burnt out,
And the mountains and woods Have their day, have their day;
What one in the rout
Of the fire-born moods
Has fallen away?
-Yeats, of course.
TIME drops in decay,
Like a candle burnt out,
And the mountains and woods Have their day, have their day;
What one in the rout
Of the fire-born moods
Has fallen away?
-Yeats, of course.
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