In the silence of consciousness I asked myself:
why did I reject my life? And I answer
Die Erde überwältigt mich:
the earth defeats me.
I have tried to be accurate in this description
in case someone else should follow me. I can verify
that when the sun sets in winter it is
incomparably beautiful and the memory of it
lasts a long time. I think this means
“Even as many schools financially sputter, some districts are buying often-expensive football toys. In Texas, the El Paso Independent School District dipped nearly $10 million into its reserve fund and cut 172 teaching positions in June. This fall, that district is paying $10,000 for an online, video-compilation subscription called Hudl, allowing coaches and players at 10 local high schools to film, edit and add music to replays of scoring runs and catches — and to view opponents’ Hudl highlights. “It was determined that this is valuable and necessary product for our programs,” district spokesperson Vanessa Monsisvais wrote in an email to NBC News.”—High School Football Tech Binge Is Adored, Scorned - and Growing - NBC News.com (via infoneer-pulse)
“If you should find yourself in a place that is indifferent to you and there is someone there that your spirit stretches to, then that person is kin.”—Helen Oyeyemi, The Opposite House (via vintageanchorbooks)
We had a lot of trouble with western mental health workers who came here immediately after the genocide and we had to ask some of them to leave.
They came and their practice did not involve being outside in the sun where you begin to feel better. There was no music or drumming to get your blood flowing again. There was no sense that everyone had taken the day off so that the entire community could come together to try to lift you up and bring you back to joy. There was no acknowledgement of the depression as something invasive and external that could actually be cast out again.
Instead they would take people one at a time into these dingy little rooms and have them sit around for an hour or so and talk about bad things that had happened to them. We had to ask them to leave.
~A Rwandan talking to a western writer, Andrew Solomon, about his experience with western mental health and depression.
“You’re born with a ton of fucks to give, so you spend them like a kid with a credit card. You give fucks about your friends, about your grades, about your fashion sense, about strangers’ opinions. You give way too many fucks about way too many things. You have so many. Then, as you get older, you have maybe 10 fucks per month, so you learn to budget them. You allocate fucks to family and career, but there aren’t enough fucks to give to the newest fads. Oh, someone at work has something they need my help with that’s outside my job title? I’ll do my best to allocate some fucks, but this month is pretty tight. Then, as you get even older, you’re down to 1-2 fucks per month, and those fucks are pretty damn precious. You give them to your family and your hobbies and your job, and that’s kinda it. It’s not your fault – fucks expire too quickly. I would’ve liked to save my fucks from when I was younger but I can’t. Then, you hit fuck insolvency. You’re getting like 1 fuck a year, and you have to make it last. So you go without, and even previously fuck-worthy things, you just can’t give a fuck. Some people run out really quickly, Some people have a fuck trust fund that pays out a decent amount even into old age. But at some point, the fuck faucet runs completely dry and you’re out of fucks to give. It’s just basic Fuckonomics.”—Unknown English Teacher (via memewhore)
“If a man walks in the woods for love of them half of each day, he is in danger of being regarded as a loafer. But if he spends his days as a speculator, shearing off those woods and making the earth bald before her time, he is deemed an industrious and enterprising citizen.”—
"You’ll go far", the dad says to his son. The son, never having heard this expression, imagines traveling across a vague grey landscape, and gaining many shiny things. Years really do pass, and the boy has moved his body around to a lot of places in that time. Finally, he wonders if he is far enough from where he started. He decides no. The boy keeps walking, and eventually breaks his ankle. He sits down on the side of the grey road, and asks, "Have I gone far enough, dad?" His dad has been dead now for 12 years, and the boy knows this, but he asks anyway. There is no response. The boy likes to imagine that the leaf that blew into his face at that moment was some kind of sign.
"There is a great phobia about the mind: the Western mind is very queasy when first principles are questioned. Rarer than corpses in this society are the untreated mad, because we can’t come to terms with that. A shaman is someone who swims in the same ocean as the schizophrenic, but the shaman has thousands and thousands of years of sanctioned technique and tradition to draw upon. In a traditional society, if you exhibited “schizophrenic” tendencies, you are immediately drawn out of the pack and put under the care and tutelage of master shamans. You are told: “You are special. Your abilities are very central to the health of our society. You will cure. You will prophesy. You will guide our society in its most fundamental decisions.” Contrast this with what a person exhibiting schizophrenic activity in our society is told. They’re told: “You don’t fit in. You are becoming a problem. You don’t pull your own weight. You are not of equal worth to the rest of us. You are sick. You have to go to the hospital. You have to be locked up.” – You are on a par with prisoners and lost dogs in our society. So that treatment of schizophrenia makes it incurable."
My first day in Brooklyn, 21 years ago, I took the subway from my Brooklyn Heights neighborhood to its terminus at the tip of Coney Island. I walked the ten miles back, slowly weaving my way through a contiguous collection of extraordinary neighborhoods, each remarkably different, some…
Sonia never judged. Everyone in Hunts Point, the families going to church, the men running from something, the guys across the street selling car parts and whatever else, the addicts, the broken, the homeless, the cops, were treated the same. With a smile, with a “hello sweetie” or…