Last week my mom casually dropped that she went to a restaurant with other people and was scared.
She should be okay, as it’s been over ten days now. I guess? I don’t know. I’m not certain about it.
What I do know is that if you know my mom, you know how she is NOT about that YOLO life, at all. Never was, never has been.
The fact that she’s willing to take the risk of dying for a goddamn lunch doesn’t sit well with me.
It’s challenging to understand how things work this year.
Rendering paragraphs of text in Google Chrome and Microsoft Edge can give different results.
Text.
Two giant companies who’ve been making web browsers for a combined 2.6 million years.
They both use the same freaking rendering engine.
Text, in 2020.
HOW THE FFFF
I will never get over the fact that money is created out of thin air for corporations, but we have to fight each other to get said money.
Yes, the feds create bonds for banks who exchange them to companies for dollars. Yes, it’s supposed to be paid back with interests by 2089 or some stupid date like this. They make us believe that this holds up.
If as an individual I was going to the bank, ask for $1M and let them know that please, I will pay it back within the next 60 years, they’d call the police. They’d understand that I’m robbing them.
This is what corporations do legally all the time.
They got trillions this year. Trillions are not even a range that our brains can parse. We can’t even process a billion.
It blows my mind how this system still hasn’t exploded. Yet.
My friend: “Come with me on the road, we’ll be two brothers making that documentary!”
Me: “I’m with it but you know, ‘rona and what about the South in this social climate? You see us rolling through small towns and not being bothered?”
My friend, dissociating: “I mean I can pass for a tanned white man, so”
Me:
“Focussing mainly on medieval Europe, he was one of the first academics to quantify how populations beset by social change and economic inequality are uniquely susceptible to end-of-times conspiracy theories. Powerlessness begets rage; rage seeks a scapegoat; and, when facts prove too inconvenient or the situation too complicated to parse, fantasy bridges the gap between what is real and what is imaginary.”
We. Are. So. Right. Here. It’s just worldwide and intense now.
Good morning,
It’s the 1st of October before 8am and I’m stretching and applying lotion to my body except for that part in the picture. It will be 40°C/104°F today and it will be an OK day. The car will act up a bit, but it will be alright.
The pandemic will still be going. Time will not exist, as usual. The emotional rollercoaster will rival the hardest SixFlags rides, which is expected. It will be a lot of prolonged nose breathing, absolutely essential.
The grind is here. It’s on. Don’t forget to be kind to yourself.
Her: Hey Harold Imma need your help.
Me: Sure, with?
Her: The mirror. It needs to be put back on the wall correctly.
Me: Sure does. How do y
Her: I put it up there by myself!
Me: *hehehehehehehehehe* so what do you need me for? You can put it back by yourself, that’s great!
Her: I mean you’re here so no, I don’t have to.
Me:
Lil miss Flint, a teenager, loves skateboarding and anime.
This weekend someone in his 50s (my man said in a LA Times interview that he’s 37… My bad bro!) went viral riding his skateboarding while drinking juice and singing.
I’m the same and I consume skateboarding and anime too, tf?
I think it’s fabulous how culture kind of stopped moving in the past 40 years. Things just stabilized. Skateboarding, anime, video games or vibin’ to music are just as good, as wholesome, as liberating in 1981 as they are in 2020. Your age doesn’t mean what it used to. You simply enjoy activities, and smile!
It might be the first time in human history that multiple generations embrace the same hobbies on a global scale, for decades on in.
I’m in the middle of that quiet revolution and lovin’ it.
Keep being unbothered, y’all.
I do a lot of things on my own.
I make my espressos through the day, pressing them by hand.
I make my lunch and dinner and of course the dishes that go with them.
I drive/ride a device myself everywhere.
I clean around and take the trash out. I do my laundry myself.
I fix most stuff myself, from computer to house to car.
I cut my hair and groom everything myself.
I do all my web stuff myself from managing the servers to hacking a div, plugging a PHP function or designing a logo.
I do all my audio stuff myself from performing to recording, mixing to processing to producing the entire thing.
I obviously write my own posts.
I teach myself, pushing myself to do homework and consistent study.
I help others as much as I can.
And then I go the fuck to sleep, what do you mean bro.
Los Angeles is different. In any other city when a black person dies in the hands of police, there are protests online and offline. Thousands of voices rising. Hundreds of thousands, sometimes.
Dijon Kizzee died shot 15+ times by police after being caught riding his bicycle on the wrong side of the street in late August this year in south LA. He was 29.
Other than my dude Bobby at the basketball court the next morning, I haven’t heard a soul talk about it. Not a text message, not a neighbor, a friend or nothing. We are completely and absolutely numb about black death over here. Some people protested. Probably low double digits in front of tanks and officers in gear.
But then I visit the homepage of the biggest news website in France. Sometimes I do to know what’s up there:
I’m not surprised that it makes the French headlines (which says that the sheriff is being scrutinized, which is not really the case, at all). It’s the right amount of macabre voyeurism. But you have to understand how WILD it feels like to me when we locally don’t even acknowledge this man’s right to live. Same story as Ezell Ford. And many more.
We’re traumatized to no end. We have to survive first. We know the police’s budget is completely obscene and dwarfs anything else. This year, city councils and citizens fought to get that budget shaved and it barely went down. Police departments in LA still have a budget of almost $2 billion. Annually. Yeah. And our libraries are scraping funds to serve communities around. We’re beyond shame. We’re in a police state.
We’re traumatized. As I type this, I’m reading about Breonna Taylor not receiving justice. Despite months of demanding it and millions of messages.
There are no words.