I Am Only So Beautiful As The

There Is A Language Older By Far And Deeper Than Words. It Is The Language Of Bodies, Of Body On Body, Wind On Snow, Rain On Trees, Wave On Stone. It Is The Language Of Dream, Gesture, Symbol, Memory. We Have Forgotten This Language. We Do Not Even Remember That It Exists.

I Wondered What It Does To Each Of Us To Spend The Majority Of Our Waking Hours Doings Things We'd Rather Not Do, Wishing We Were Outside Or Simply Elsewhere, Wishing We Were Reading, Thinking, Making Love, Fishing, Sleeping, Or Simply Having Time To Figure Out Who The Hell We Are And What The Hell We're Doing.

By Deafening Ourselves To The Emotional Consequences Of Violence We Have Become Confused By Its Relationship To Sex. We Have Come To Believe That Violence Equals Aggression, And We Have Come To Base Our Model Of Sexuality On Our Model Of Violence... Converting An Act Of Aggression Into An Act Of Consensual Sexuality.

I Thought That, Given The System Of Rewards Central To Our Economic System, In Which Profit Maximization Is Valued Above All Else And Specifically Above Life, It Is Probably Just As Irresistible To The Owners Of Capital (human Or Otherwise) To Exploit Workers (and The Land): "nothing Personal," They Say As They Load Their Property Onto The Ship Bound For The Middle Passage, "but A Man's Gotta Turn A Dime."

Yes, It's Vital To Make Lifestyle Choices To Mitigate Damage Caused By Being A Member Of Industrialized Civilization, But To Assign Primary Responsibility To Oneself, And To Focus Primarily On Making Oneself Better, Is An Immense Copout, An Abrogation Of Responsibility.