just another dead poet
Consider this a collection of scribblings cast from the margins of my mind.
tired of destructive metaphors
just as the sinking of the titanic was a violently obvious metaphor for the destructive nature of european empire and decadence, so too is the bp oil spill a disgusting, tangible, and deadly metaphorical representation of international corporate greed. It is also the slimy black result of our own inability—as lazy entitled ‘westerners’ afraid of altering our lifestyles drastically—to embrace clean energy that doesn’t cause fucking dolphins to wash up on the shores of a land mass that has already been figuratively raped by political oversight of impending natural disaster, and subsequent socio-political neglect.
it’s times like these i’m embarrassed to be a north american; reliant on oil; a human.
it’s times like these i need to be reminded that there is still beauty in the world that we haven’t, as a species, single-handedly destroyed.
“Little solace comes/to those who grieve/when thoughts keep drifting/as walls keep shifting/and this great blue world of ours/seems a house of leaves/moments before the wind”
let’s harness that fucking wind and fuck the oil. fuck.
