mecolema

mecolema

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A rumbling from the jungle emerged and Barbara and Patricia stepped out of their tents. Only the smell of exhaust and the hazy fog that they had come to expect were anywhere in sight; but then, what was the source of the noise? The two of them ran around their tents and even clambered up trees trying to get a better view, feeling silly and self-conscious but knowing that this was the only way they could ensure their survival.

To downgrade is to lower in status, which is intriguing because of the way in which "downgrading" is associated with depression, not only among humans but also among chimpanzees and perhaps other primates. I wonder whether "downgrading" is a possibility even among creatures such as eusocial insects, like bees, or whether that isn't a possibility because the kind of individualism of position isn't possible in those societies.

Her plan was to go to the movies, but that didn't happen. Instead, she found herself tumbling down outside the café where her mother used to take her. She fell hard against the concrete, still wait from the rain, and her red umbrella tumbled down with her. It was nearly evening, but the sky was still a murky grey.

It was a pretty severe wound, but I wasn't one to complain in public, especially with the girls watching and judging me with their severe glances and their beady little eyes. No, I feigned composure even as I felt quite uncomposed, and I believe I was largely successful in the endeavor.

tank

The tank barreled through the street, and there was no one there to see it. There was silence and stars, silence and stars all around, and the heat of the night, but there was no one there to feel it.

neon

Neon were the lights on the street signs as she made her way into the night. Neon was the fire pulsing within her, attempting to break away. And she struggled against it, but the light was overwhelming, and she could not help but feel the zap and pulse that challenged the everyday, that held the quotidian at gunpoint and demanded more. Never was she more terrified, nor more thrilled.

rise

When I rise in the morning I don't usually look outside, except perhaps to check the weather, which is a shame because there are so many wonderful things to notice in the morning, even if it's not a sunrise. For example, you can look at the pattern of wispy clouds, or perhaps a bright white sky that reminds you of an overexposed photograph, or any number of things, and the connections you make can be very useful.

under

For some reason the awkward phrase "under my skin" crops up, as if to signal some kind of discomfort with intimacy. I know sometimes I've thought about issues of intimacy, and whether I fear it, but the reality is that I don't think that's the case. There are things that I fear, but sharing myself with someone is not one of them. And yet the word "under" implies a feeling of being submerged, and that I do sometimes feel.

I suppose when you discuss what is dominant you have to think of what is submissive, and not necessarily in a sexual sense but in the sense of power dynamics. Foucault talks about power relations as not top-down or bottom-up but passing through all beings (not held by any of them). However, there are individuals that are more dominant than others, by virtue of historical (and other?) factors. For example, white men are much more dominant than most other members of society.

radio

I haven't really listened to the radio in a while; it's partially because the radio isn't nearly as popular as it once was. Which is not to say that the radio now serves no purpose; on the contrary, I think it serves a distinct purpose. But most people assume it's sort of a cheapened or insignificant form of television, which it isn't. There are a lot of advantages to having a simpler form of communication, as I'm sure Neil Postman would probably agree. It seems that radio has become co-opted, however, by the music industry, because what plays on the radio is rarely "good" music but popular music. And of course, we know that what is popular is rarely ever good, not by nature of its popularity but because people don't always choose what is best in the end, sad as it may seem . . .

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Max wrote about blast
“The cool blast of air battered her as she walked out the door and into the night. She had been expecting the comfort of a warm and gentle evening breeze; it was, after all, July. But she was not expe…”

the words Max reaches for

whetherwordgodradiosometimesmeanmorninglovewonderexampleethanolfeelingfriendsinsteadnownight