1. Whaling
2. The Canadian Seal Slaughter
3. Ringling Bros. Circus
4. SeaWorld
5. Brookstone's Exploitation of Frogs
I'll get a tattoo for each, and have them marked off after each victory. Crazy? Damn right. As the wise Martin Lawrence said in Bad Boys II, shit just got real.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Sometimes We Should Listen
Note: This isn't all going to make sense. They're ... thoughts, and ... it's late.
Liberation is a constant theme in my life.
The most obvious example being my work for animal liberation; we hard-line activists aren't just dietary vegans, but abolitionists fighting for the freedom of all God's creatures great and small. More on that later.
Several people in my life know what's better for me than I do. And though I'm a difficult person to confront, whether it's a sudden lull in the rhythm of the conversation or a palpably tense sigh, those that love me the most give themselves away too easily. The trigger for this was the simple mention of a name. This particular name was associated with a great deal of heartache, and my lovely friends, seeing my vulnerability, instinctively grew fiercely protective ... claws out, guns drawn.
And ... rightly so.
And ... it didn't matter. I hurt myself today to see if I still feel ...
I've avoided Biblical references lately, given my own conflicted thoughts on what the scribes intended and what's actually in that New Kings James Version, and I'll get to my point now.
And a voice was heard in Ramah, Rachel weeping in the wilderness, refusing to be comforted, because her children were no more.
I love this passage because I can relate to it. I haven't lost any children, much less fathered any, but I've dealt with pain so profound that I didn't want to feel better. The worst thing you can say to a person in state like that is "Everything's gonna be OK."
Because that's just not true.
And I'm sorry, but I'm tired now, and a good sleep is my only comfort
The other part of that is the attachment to grief. Somehow we're comfortable with the discomfort. The idyllic arouses suspicion; the desert lets us hope. And it's not just grief, but all sorts of things we know are bad for us, but yet they provide an illusion of normalcy and routine ... it's as if a parasite thrives on our unhappiness and so tricks us into destructive patterns and we named the parasite Fluffy.
That's when we need our friends to rescue us. To sigh aloud with disdain when we mention Fluffy, and to stick with us until we see the light.
I should have listened to my friends all along. Maggie, David, Jess, Nicole, Jeanne ... because having finally taken their advice, I feel ... liberated. And this wasn't just a deleted number and a Remove From Friends. This was an intentional, calculated purge, freeing up my heart and mind of the baggage that's been weighing on them for years now.
Jeanne, writing in her most recent note about going vegetarian, wrote I can't go back.
Neither can I. It's better out here, free from what I thought I loved most. I understand that now.
Carnivores don't understand that once your body has rid itself of meat (also known as the bloody, chemical-laden flesh of dead, tortured animals, to put it mildly) for a certain amount of time and then given a chance to recover, the thought of consuming it becomes revolting. But even if it didn't, living clean, healthy, environmentally conscience (the meat industry contributes to the destruction of the earth more than all other industries combined), compassionate and cruelty-free is such a joyful, satisfying way of life ... and the more you embrace the culture, the happier you are to be a part of it.
The whole world looks different. More beautiful and more horrific all at once, but the freedom tastes so much better than the shit they'd been selling you.
This is dedicated to Melissa and Jeanne. The veil is removed, and you'll find that this is a strange, often uncomfortable new world. There will be adversaries at every step, along with challenges and inconveniences. Just be thankful you've got Gardein. What you don't yet realize is how important this choice is, and how much of an impact you're making. Do no let anyone tell you any different, and if they insist, you can always call me in for backup. And on a personal note, you leave me encouraged and inspired. You give me hope.
And hope is delicious. Organic, too!
Liberation is a constant theme in my life.
The most obvious example being my work for animal liberation; we hard-line activists aren't just dietary vegans, but abolitionists fighting for the freedom of all God's creatures great and small. More on that later.
Several people in my life know what's better for me than I do. And though I'm a difficult person to confront, whether it's a sudden lull in the rhythm of the conversation or a palpably tense sigh, those that love me the most give themselves away too easily. The trigger for this was the simple mention of a name. This particular name was associated with a great deal of heartache, and my lovely friends, seeing my vulnerability, instinctively grew fiercely protective ... claws out, guns drawn.
And ... rightly so.
And ... it didn't matter. I hurt myself today to see if I still feel ...
I've avoided Biblical references lately, given my own conflicted thoughts on what the scribes intended and what's actually in that New Kings James Version, and I'll get to my point now.
And a voice was heard in Ramah, Rachel weeping in the wilderness, refusing to be comforted, because her children were no more.
I love this passage because I can relate to it. I haven't lost any children, much less fathered any, but I've dealt with pain so profound that I didn't want to feel better. The worst thing you can say to a person in state like that is "Everything's gonna be OK."
Because that's just not true.
And I'm sorry, but I'm tired now, and a good sleep is my only comfort
The other part of that is the attachment to grief. Somehow we're comfortable with the discomfort. The idyllic arouses suspicion; the desert lets us hope. And it's not just grief, but all sorts of things we know are bad for us, but yet they provide an illusion of normalcy and routine ... it's as if a parasite thrives on our unhappiness and so tricks us into destructive patterns and we named the parasite Fluffy.
That's when we need our friends to rescue us. To sigh aloud with disdain when we mention Fluffy, and to stick with us until we see the light.
I should have listened to my friends all along. Maggie, David, Jess, Nicole, Jeanne ... because having finally taken their advice, I feel ... liberated. And this wasn't just a deleted number and a Remove From Friends. This was an intentional, calculated purge, freeing up my heart and mind of the baggage that's been weighing on them for years now.
Jeanne, writing in her most recent note about going vegetarian, wrote I can't go back.
Neither can I. It's better out here, free from what I thought I loved most. I understand that now.
Carnivores don't understand that once your body has rid itself of meat (also known as the bloody, chemical-laden flesh of dead, tortured animals, to put it mildly) for a certain amount of time and then given a chance to recover, the thought of consuming it becomes revolting. But even if it didn't, living clean, healthy, environmentally conscience (the meat industry contributes to the destruction of the earth more than all other industries combined), compassionate and cruelty-free is such a joyful, satisfying way of life ... and the more you embrace the culture, the happier you are to be a part of it.
The whole world looks different. More beautiful and more horrific all at once, but the freedom tastes so much better than the shit they'd been selling you.
This is dedicated to Melissa and Jeanne. The veil is removed, and you'll find that this is a strange, often uncomfortable new world. There will be adversaries at every step, along with challenges and inconveniences. Just be thankful you've got Gardein. What you don't yet realize is how important this choice is, and how much of an impact you're making. Do no let anyone tell you any different, and if they insist, you can always call me in for backup. And on a personal note, you leave me encouraged and inspired. You give me hope.
And hope is delicious. Organic, too!
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