my new blog is sbspen
Anonymous asked: WAS abraham lincoln gay?
Ok, so imagine you’re at a party and you get to talking to a black man. It turns out that this guy’s from the interior of Australia and is descended from the group of people who were the pre-European inhabitants of that continent. You are totally ignorant of Australian aborigine culture, and you listen eagerly as he describes what it’s like to be Anagu. He talks about how the concepts of ‘left’ and ‘right’ are different for people who speak Guugu Yimithirr, how all objects are always either north, south, east or west of the speaker. He talks about how the immortal part of his existence resides in a primordial creation-space called Dreamtime. He talks about how Ayers Rock is properly called Uluru and is the result of the Earth itself rising up to participate in an ancient battle. But by this time you’ve heard enough and you shout,Okay, I hate to break it to you but you’re just like me, man. You have left and right hands. “Uluru” is just a big rock that just happens to be the last hill standing after erosion wiped out its neighbors. The Dreamtime is a total fantasy. You don’t have an immortal part; when you die your brain will rot just like mine and we will both cease to perceive the world, forever.
But of course you don’t say this. Mainly because you aren’t a total cunt, but also because you believe in something like the idea that this is a big world, with more than enough room for two ways of looking at the same thing. Moreover, those different ways of seeing are to be met on terms of equality, and even respect. This is the loose bundle of ideas you’re sposed to call multiculturalism.
Ok. Now imagine you’re at the same party and before you know what’s happening to you, a blue light surrounds your body and sucks it thru a navel in time. You appear in Lincoln’s White House. You’re standing before the President and everything smells like old sweat and fresh woodsmoke. You don’t even have time to stutter hello before Lincoln walks over to you in the slow stride which still covers a lot of ground that tall people use. He towers over you, looks right into your eyes and says in his incongruously light and high-pitched voice,Indeed, I have had the members of several men in my mouth. They labored to completion in it. And I enjoyed each experience beyond the power of any tongue to tell. Good afternoon.
Precisely what you don’t say is something like ‘Aaaaabe! Come on back with me! We got gay motherfuckers by the million where I’m from, and you! you’re a perfect ten on the Kinsey scale! You gay as shit, suck maaaad dicks!’
This isn’t what you say, not because Lincoln would respond with confusion about the term ‘gay’ (‘In actual fact, my friend, I have been more often called melancholic than gay…’); rather, you don’t say it because
the past is a foreign country.
And it deserves every drop of multicultural respect and reserved judgment that you’d extend to the blackest, dustiest, most elsewhere shaman that ever chanted a prayer round an Australian campfire. The most intimate relationship with the past that you’re ever going to attain is the same one an ex-pat has with their adopted home. You can acquire a certain cultural fluency with the past, and even the right to judge it on its own terms, but you’ll never escape your status as an outsider.
In exactly the same sense that you insult the Anagu man by assuming the way you’ve dealt with the problem of being alive is superior to his, you insult Lincoln, the past and the concept of subtlety itself when you presume that our method of unfolding the material fact of having had dicks in your mouth (‘You a gay!’) overrides any Lincoln might have come up with on his own.
Anonymous asked: what is your method of luxuriation?
- rent a circular car wash for the afternoon
- recline driver’s seat
- tray of lox and whitefish and bagels and herring on the passenger’s seat
- two gay diamond merchants in the back seat, softly haggling in lispy Yiddish
- six hour Lomax playlist
- no shoes or socks
- around and around
getting to know yourself and acknowledging an identity that you associate yourself with are not the same thing.
I’m a new college kid, raised in the generation of instant gratification and cell phones and selfies. Yesterday I either lost my phone in the pit at a concert or I was pick pocketed. Either way, I may not have another one for a week
No big deal right?
It’s not, but I catch myself finding it a bigger deal than it is. It’s my alarm clock, it’s every contact I have, shit I even have a “note” on there with my favorite quotes from you. I can’t take pictures, I can’t listen to music in public, I can’t text people (which is this inconveniently relieving feeling, if that makes sense). Can you explain why I feel like this and if it’s something I should change? I mean I have my social networks, but I also read books and listen to good music, I’m educated on current events, and go out when I can afford it. I guess I’m too complacent for my own good because I’ve never thought that I was as attached to my phone as everyone else, but clearly I am, and I feel like that’s indicative of either a weak personality or a boring personality or fuck, idk. I guess I want you to kick my ass for being just like everyone else, but I feel like I just shouldn’t give as much of a shit as I do about not having my phone for a week.
But at the same time, it’s like this weird breath of fresh air. I don’t make any fucking sense, even to myself. I apologize.
Instead of kicking your ass, I’m going to fuck with your head by giving you some homework.
Go back and rewrite every sentence in this question without using the words “I,” “me,” or “my.” You may write in second or third person, but you may not use the passive voice.
Replace every mention of your cell phone with the concept of ego identity. You may use the terms “ego,” “identity,” or “ego-identity.”
Send it to me so I can check your work. If you do this correctly, you should come to realize that even minor existential angst can reveal the underlying absurdity of the human condition.
Gaze into the abyss, and let the abyss gaze back into you, because if you can let go of your fear while maintaining eye contact with nothingness, the singular importance of love will crystalize right in front of you. It will be an unavoidable revelation.
its funny to me that people follow me because my blog is a mix between
- occasional hyper-contextualized personal shit
- gifs of people getting hurt and cute animals
- naked bodies
this city amplifies every emotion tenfold.
I don’t pose. I imagine other people watching me pose…and then I live.
pompous lovers, curious tourists fading in and out of my life, gaining and losing interest… while the moments where their path becomes entangled in my own and when their path becomes untangled and diverts in another direction are particularly intense, the emotions from them fade away faster than they were before. our time together existed in an isolated vacuum, soundless and immerse in itself, but with time the relevance of it is really insignificant isn’t it
once you aestheticize, romanticize and seap every aspect of your life in nostalgia, you’re no longer living life but a shade of your life. but sometimes the shade is more real and intense than you remember real life being..
nonetheless, when you break free of your shade and take that first breath of fresh air, the tourists who were just curious about what you had inside you really don’t matter anymore.
but in retrospect, this one particular tourist has spent too long being a tourist. no use staying in my shade for her, i’m not a shadow and there is no use pretending i am to make a stranger mildly amused