throw rocks yell and steal

by howaretheyfor

On a long drive home last night, hills and streets in dark but for headlights, we passed a broken car that faced the road on the right. Broken I knew it for its shredded metals and pushing out springs and sprockets the sky a gas that touched the world at the horizon sticky. In shattered plastics and dark blues and dark browns, I saw two late teenager boys leaning on each other and I could barely make them out for their bodies that looked like the remains of old car but I saw the sparkle slit of two of their eyes: in the darkness in a broken car they lean on each other and watch the road and see each other only by occasion by passing headlight and I wanted so badly for them to be in love. How the lines blend here, when it’s not gay and straight but a hopeless love, “one night we’ll come out here and we’ll get stuck. the car will take us in and we will become as broken glass,” “then I am glad that I choose not to come alone.” It’s somehow different to touch a person than to touch a stone or to feel the wind, to be allowed into somebody, onto somebody our coveted skins and our coveted eyes the ways we jerk to protect ourselves head retreating into shoulder blades and hands as shields but to allow yourself to be touched

A long conversation about belief and unbelief. I am filled with hypocrisies, saying one thing and then saying completely the opposite yet I somehow believe them both, I am disattached from myself. Yet I think I believe to be as constants: that there must be hate, evil, oppression, profit, and that we are all of us filled with a capacity to love and a capacity to hate and the qualities of our lives, though seeming different, are yet somehow exactly the same.

But to add: I think also that there must be love, good, courage, hope and where perhaps I might have said, “the world is somehow ruled by evil,” I think I would also as willingly say now: that the world is ruled by good [ but that it is somehow our nature to focus on the bad ]. For every ounce, inch, pound, ray of bad there must be its exact opposite in good. That, I think I do, at my core, believe. As in a kind of god, moreso than I believe perhaps in gravity or the sun’s rising, I believe that we are all made of, though varying, similar amounts of good and bad, and that the overall qualities of our lives are, though varying, similarly pleasurable and painful.

But, confronted with these ideas, I realize how childish they are. To say, “oh, well we’re fucked anyway,” leads to nonproductivity, to mire in subjectivities leads to melting walls and stationary motions, becoming as washing machines mulling and dripping and filling with soap to limited ends. To say, “that he has less is but an illusion fabricated by the misplacement of our values and a detachment from what we Really Are” shames the starving and the dying.

It is neither right nor wrong, it only is. We do good and we do bad and we balance and we feel unjustice and we fight it. I do not think it is wrong to protect the weak, to feed the starving because doing so is somehow “not really doing anything.” I think that we do as we are necessarily meant to do, and it is our nature to fight, our being to fight, our heart to fight, our human to fight. So: this conflict. Yanoun was a small village surrounded by mountains at the top of which were israeli settlers. They drove through the village in armored cars and burned olive trees every once in a while. I didn’t see any in person while I was there, but I was told that some villagers who had begun to pick trees closer to the settlements had been asked by the IDF to please leave. There is a clear injustice here. A clear childishness. A clear what the fuck are you doing how can you be so entitled to anything… There is something wrong here in this country, something sick and maligned and a question over and over: if the world knew, would it change anything?

–I contend: nothing has ever changed. That there is oppression and hurt and pain as there was oppression and hurt and pain, that there is love and hope as there was love and hope. That we fight symptoms, we try to make things better because that is our nature as people, but that it is somehow, “necessarily,” impossible to make anything better. Things are in a perfect equilibrium and will always be. We do away with slavery here but replace it with a deep imbalance in global economic powers and a worldly hate of the black man and slaves in other countries, hidden away from the prying eyes of “justice,” problems do not disappear, they only disappear from sight, stains that aren’t washed but turned upside down so people stop complaining because we don’t want the prblems to go away, we just don’t want to see them —

The news is fads, and we see what we want to see, short bits of violence elsewhere, but not too much detail, then onto the next story. Does the news make us complacent or is the news a mirror of our complacency, catering to what we want, iPhone 5 and xbox 4? Are these things given to us because they are what the Powers That Be want us to have or because they are what we want. The answer is like all answers gray: we are given what we want but what we want has been shaped and influenced by the people who give, such that they are always in a position to give. We, as people, do not really want to End World Hunger or Stop The Occupation, we want to be distracted… But I am slipping into subjectivities maybe.

Can things be reduced to human scale, can human scale be extended to things? Can you think about israel and palestine as two people fighting? Can–

Too many questions and too many thoughts. How do people hate, what does it mean to “hate israel.” to hate the prime minister, to hate all its peoples, to hate its policies, to hate what it’s doing. Again somehow this unending broken bit : that it makes sense to say “I hate israel,” yet in taking the idea apart, it begins to mean nothing. There is a thing called israel and there is a feeling called hate. Hating causes, hating effects, hating forces, hating things that do not exist.

Things that exst vs. things that do not exist. How can this conversation ever take form? Yet somehow it is easy to say, “you think about things that do not exist, I choose to think about things that are. It seems a waste of time to do otherwise.”

In thinking back on the things I think I believe about averaged goodnesses and evils and loves perpetual, the conversation turns to apathy. I am not apathetic. My inability to attribute any truth to anything, my inability to believe anything, fight for anything does not make me want to be still, it drives me to keep trying harder and harder. Because I know that things are beyond definition and that there are no solutions because words like “definition” and “solution” are illusions, it becomes about the search. I know: that I am. I know that I am a surface and that I pleasure and pain… and I’ve said this before. So I go from that. I speak and climb and work and learn, “but you’re not helping anybody, you’re not changing anything,” I don’t know how to answer that. I believe, fundamentally, that things cannot be changed, but I also believe that that doesn’t matter: that we live life in human terms and human terms means doing. How to change then.

There is an evil here, there must be. People packed behind walls and choked with smoke, being profited upon, a war that is not for an ends but for a means: a war that makes money that continues because israel benefits not because, perhaps, that israel wants to win. People are dying and being bombed and being ignored. How can this be anything but evil, and how can I say, “yes but if we were to pick up each person and turn him on his side and pour into a great glass his good and his bad, his pleasure and his pain and compare it to anybody elses’ glasses filled with goods and bads, pleasures and pains, it would all really come out the same.” It’s inhuman and childish and breeds… What. How can I believe something but also believe that it ought to have no consequence in life. What IS this thing: these seeming truths global and huge, consequences of too much knowledge and too much information, confidence in things so big they bear upon nothing.

And then I begin to lash out, we must fight yet it is hopeless to fight yet the world is filled with an equal amount of hope? I said last night that every novel and work of music or painting is a failed attempt at finding answers, that life is in the pursuit of the answers we know we cannot achieve that– What? Scissors in hand I cut at myself to reveal my organs to light pulsing my face a pool of liquids tears and salivas and her with her perfect tiny hands, “can you feel this?,” are we a surface of feeling only or can the lungs be actually touched, the intestines unbelievable surfaces of pleasure, our body hiding on the inside Perfect Spots so good we shit ourselves covered in goosebumps, “that’s it right there,” What is this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9efHwnFAkuA and how does it factor into hate and love and bus stops for israelis and busstops for palestinians, people with guns asking you please to leave, but those are my trees no of course not please leave and shepherds with their daughters who fill you with honey thick standing beneath the olive tree used and comfortable with the feeling of olives falling on her head but looking up to smile and blink away the dust. A man and his flock, his wife and her children and their trees, “not she is mine and I am hers, but we are ours,” iPhone 5. How can there be good in the world when there is also iPhone 5?

The world is filled with equal parts good and evil, hope and hopelessness, etc., and no human problem can be solved because it is necessary for us to hurt in order to feel good, though things might change, it is only the illusion of change accidented by our inability to see things in a scope larger than our eyes, but we should still wake up everyday and learn and teach and do art and love because that is what it means to be human.

“Go fuck yourself, raghav.”

A catalogue of good things, pictures and favorite things and maybe that’s–

Answers, trying so hard but still doing not wanting to get rooted living beneath a cloud of mush and impossible questions, a thin rope around my neck. Money money money… worthless yet worthed. FUCK .

And then there’s love, something so good. Right. But it goes and comes and it’s smoke, fills you and makes you see only so far then clears and the air is sweeter for it but– Biologies and psychologies, how we move in space sticking to the sides of rooms, putting food in our mouths swallowing and emptying and love as a smoke eating the skin off of a peach and pressing up against strangers, feeling his hardon through his jeans, blushing hand in hand eye in eye broken car parts or broken dust and finding joy and love in a valley surrounded by watchers with guns with money: “it needs to change,” but does it but doesn’t it what’s wrong with you you spoiled shit, of course it needs to change but what about seeing the good which is just as quantiful, that’s there in blue eyes and eyelashes so long they tangle and she can’t open here eyes again until she undoes the strands with her hands, smiling up into falling dust and olives, “listen you fucking idiot, just stop it, hardons through jeans and eyes in eye in loving passing headlights and sleepy choosing to forget, napping through the pain and the occupation right after dark when the world is still a little warm freshly dark and waking up finding places to hide

Then it all comes back to: ok so we’re fucked either way but we fight, so what’s the answer. How does this end, how do we make peace here how do we stop the fighting. And the rules are fucked–What’s happening here is a violation of every law the world has ever made, is evidence that humanity goes in cycles, that our attempts at fixing things are bandages that if israel can occupy palestine the way that israel is currently occupying palestine, that there is a deep and unbelieving hate, that the earth is made not of earth and ores, precious and sparkling in darkness but filled with a gas like a great balloon waiting to pop and fart through space but i keep getting distracted by nothing.

Do we break the walls? Do we take up arms? Do we kill do we love? Do we make sense or do we try to elimate ourselves from the dialogue and language that the world currently speaks in, a tongue of broken labels. Do the people of the world boycott together, express distate, vote? Government does things yet it does nothing– Or, it does exactly as it is meant to do, regardless of who sits on top. It fixes problems that need fixing, but leaves the rest.

Do we break the walls do we take up arms who do I kill give me his picture. Who do I love tell me where he lives. People need to hate in order to love. People need to hate in order to love. There can only be peace in war, hope in unhope, love and hate and love as a smoke that holds you so thick and passes the air stale and eyes wet for it wanting for it a body of biologies that are tied to things greater and heaviest and ideas and knowledges and spaces needings and eatings and drippings from the sky that wet everything and precum hardon jeans waiting fuck who do I kill, a desire to change to make better an anger at injustice where are these things sitting, like parrots on my shoulders or like dissolving vinegar in my bloodstream, where in my body is my anger, where does it pulse, I want to see it look at it and pick at it with tweezers streets filled with people that walk and know each other and can’t know each other and men covered and women covered and corners filled with orange light that fights night and hate, and love. And what we focus on and how can I know what to do–but it’s easy, you choose a thing to fight and fight it but even in choosing a thing it’s impossible impossible, “you’re heavy for me.” “Yeah,” “do you think they’ll see us they’ll find us?” “the lights are on, they know we’re here, that won’t change,” “but won’t they leave, why do they carry guns,” “olive rain and dust caked and we subsist through time. I am the same thing that I was, and yet we are somehow physically completely different we are what we eat but something is, ‘and all the other boys try to chase me

I agree and disagree with all things
I agree and disagree with all things
I agree and disagree with all things

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