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A kid at my school -- a likable freshman, a bit of a goofball, but a good kid -- was shot yesterday. He was selling CDs on 145th street. The kid who shot him was 13.
The NY Times did a writeup, as did the Daily News, but it will hardly make news for longer than 15 seconds, because urban kids are expected to shoot each other.
My colleagues and I grieved over this, but the prevailing attitude was, "it's been a few years since one of our kids was killed. We're lucky it's been this long."
The NY Times did a writeup, as did the Daily News, but it will hardly make news for longer than 15 seconds, because urban kids are expected to shoot each other.
My colleagues and I grieved over this, but the prevailing attitude was, "it's been a few years since one of our kids was killed. We're lucky it's been this long."
Counterproductive
Jun. 18th, 2005 12:40 pmNotes to oneself: when one is stressed out and curling up all the time, a good solution is to do something to fix the problem. Do not stay angry at one's friends for happening to be inconveniently located or otherwise occupied; it's not their job to be there all the time.
Oh, hell. I am angry.
I'm fucked up, and I don't know what to do.
Oh, hell. I am angry.
I'm fucked up, and I don't know what to do.
Blank walls
Jun. 13th, 2005 09:36 pmOn my building's outside wall today, I saw a scrawled, familiar hand: "slum lord." There, I think, goes someone who doesn't suffer from lack of ability to express themselves. That's not someone waiting to either get off their private cross or die. That's anger, expressed at the uncaring sky.
It's kind of funny. You'd think graffiti would be dissatisfying -- something to show the ugliness of life, the messiness of a community.
Intellectuals do that and we call it art. Common folk do it and we wipe it clean.
"Folks like us," says George, through Steinbeck. "We're not like others." But you know, Lennie's dead, and with him the hope of salvation, and the idea of being different.
It's kind of funny. You'd think graffiti would be dissatisfying -- something to show the ugliness of life, the messiness of a community.
Intellectuals do that and we call it art. Common folk do it and we wipe it clean.
"Folks like us," says George, through Steinbeck. "We're not like others." But you know, Lennie's dead, and with him the hope of salvation, and the idea of being different.
Looking for salvation
Jun. 13th, 2005 09:23 pmYou looked like you might save me, once. I walked around searching for You. And when I realized You couldn't, and that maybe there wasn't a salvation after all, only survival, only stretching out of the tiny magic moments in being happy over the little things -- I don't know.
Have you ever had the feeling that you're not quite real? That all your goals are shallow, and you are simply not worth worrying yourself about? That's where I am right now, for no particular reason that I can pin down. I know that this will pass, but it feels very hollow right now.
(no subject)
Jun. 6th, 2004 10:00 pmThe class of '04 graduated from Williams today; I spent a portion of today packing and making up my finals and trying to pretend I wasn't still twinging over Evan. I did get productive stuff done -- and so, as a "reward," I went to look at apartments, hoping for a good run today.
Unfortunately, Kim-mojo was not in effect today, and I was told by the God of These Things that I should probably try again tomorrow.
My own pain and loneliness bores me; I should bake some cookies instead. Unless you have anything else to suggest, of course.
Unfortunately, Kim-mojo was not in effect today, and I was told by the God of These Things that I should probably try again tomorrow.
My own pain and loneliness bores me; I should bake some cookies instead. Unless you have anything else to suggest, of course.
cold feeling
Feb. 4th, 2004 06:11 amI never like feeling as if I were an insecure person. It shouldn't matter so much to me when a sweetheart isn't really chatty; but although this weekend was wonderful, we haven't actually talked in a week. I have a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach.
