No Room For Squares

Japanese legend: you have the face of who you loved most in a past life

THE NEXT AVATAR ABOUT TO LOOK FINE AFFFFFF

Structural violence creates lopsided structures of the imagination. Those on the bottom of the heap have to spend a great deal of imaginative energy trying to understand the social dynamics that surround them—including having to imagine perspectives of those on the top—while the latter wander about largely oblivious to much of what is going on around them. That is, the powerless not only end up doing most of the actual, physical labor that is required to keep society running, they also do most the interpretive labor as well.

“‘The tree alone resisted our eternal flux. For I changed and changed; was Hamlet, was Shelley, was the hero, whose name I now forget, of a novel by Dostoevsky; was for a whole term, incredibly, Napoleon; but was Byron chiefly. For many weeks at a time it was my part to stride into rooms and fling gloves and coat on the back of chairs, scowling slightly. I was always going to the bookcase for another sip of the divine specific. Therefore, I let fly my tremendous battery of phrases upon somebody quite inappropriate – a girl now married; now buried; every book, every window-seat was littered with the sheets of my unfinished letters to the woman who made me Byron. For it is difficult to finish a letter in somebody else’s style. I arrived all in a lather at her house; exchanged tokens but did not marry her, being no doubt unripe for that intensity.”

if you read in a frog paper “specimen was released in the field immediately after capture” chances are very good that what it actually means is

sometimes when i am sad i go read through the tags on this post, because they are 70% other biologists saying things like “AND ALSO FUCK FIELD MICE” and “THAT CRAB ALMOST BROKE MY FINGER” and I am reassured that I am not the only one who has bobbled a wood frog right into their cleavage.

Expanding this, NASA has a few gems from their report language: