Nothing would ever change; nothing new could ever be expected. It had to end, and it did. Now in the dark world where I dwell, ugly things, and surprising things, and sometimes little wondrous things, spill out in me constantly, and I can count on nothing.
The idea that truth can be hard, or brutal, “brutal”, brutal truths, hard truths, feels to me like a mistake, from one angle. By characterizing truth as having properties of force, we create a reality where people can be appalled by truths like a punch or a kick–truth as violence.
we create a world in which having to hear about the death, rape, torture of others is called violence–a world in which hearing about real violence, the kind that maims, permanently destroys parts of people who will have to endure this permanent state, is called violence
what is the weight of truth? what are the units of force for truth? does it have velocity? momentum? inertia?
if truth is acting at 20 truth units of force, perhaps, if we calibrate it to 18, or even 16, is that better
What kids with violent outbursts have is nothing like impunity; they’re not trying to hide anything, they’ve simply lost control after being tormented in the unseen nook. Who does have impunity are those kids who carry the social equipment to get away with these acts; the know-how, or the ability to gauge someone else’s blind spots and biases, or the apartment where it can happen or the friends to burnish the violence, or the grades that earn teacher’s love, or the class, race, gender, and sexuality privileges that keep them from suspicion. Even the throwing of a punch in front of an authority is an expression of failed social graces, and failed social graces are an expression of exclusion or incapacity, not power, not domination, not abusive control. – IlllllllllllllI