Finding, with increasing certainty, that I am approaching that edge (of acceptable/felicitous “human” behavior). I lack the ability to mime. To resign my one, infinitesimal and unrepeatable life to this: A structure set and kept by others. And yet there are no spaces for us few, nothing external to or outside this system.
More than 1,000 federal rights and securities are denied to couples in same-sex marriages not legally recognized by Section 3 of the Defense of Marriage Act, or DOMA, says Vickie Henry, senior staff attorney at Boston-based Gay & Lesbian Advocates & Defenders, or GLAD. GLAD is a leading advocacy group in the campaign to strike down DOMA.
This should be reblogged by everyone. Even if you’re straight, you should be a supporter.
Was there a church in prison?
There was… but I was only ever allowed visits by the chaplain.
Oh, you’d meet with him?
I would’ve met with the executioner had he stopped by.
What sort of things would you talk about? I mean, with the chaplain?
Flannery O’Connor, for one. He was a big fan.
Did you ever talk about where you think you’ll go when you die?
It was kind of expected in the setting.
Did you come to any conclusions?
That it wasn’t worth pondering.
But of course it is! It’s what makes us human.
I think what makes us human is the ability to choose to ponder, or not to ponder.
Yeah. I focused on preparing for the act itself, rather than the result of the act.
Of dying… of letting go.
Why can’t you do both?
But why can’t you, if it is a choice?
Finding peace in not knowing seems strangely more righteous than the peace that comes from knowing.
Everything is more complicated than you think. You only see a tenth of what is true. There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make; you can destroy your life every time you choose. But maybe you won’t know for twenty years. And you may never ever trace it to its source. And you only get one chance to play it out. And they say there is no fate, but there is: it’s what you create. And even though the world goes on for eons and eons, you are only here for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born. But while alive, you wait in vain, wasting years, for a phone call or a letter or a look from someone or something to make it all right. And it never comes, or it seems to, but it doesn’t really. And so you spend your time in vague regret or vaguer hope that something good will come along. Something to make you feel connected, something to make you feel whole, something to make you feel loved. And the truth is I feel so angry, and the truth is I feel so fucking sad, and the truth is I’ve felt so fucking hurt for so fucking long and for just as long I’ve been pretending I’m okay, just to get along, just for, I don’t know why, maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery, because they have their own. Well, fuck everybody. Amen.
Charlie Kaufman’s Synecdoche New York