Kids Who Die, by Langston Hughes

We need these words. We need empathy. We need vigils. We need speeches and poems and singers of songs. We need an end to apathy.

Infinitefreetime.com

This is for the kids who die,
Black and white,
For kids will die certainly.
The old and rich will live on awhile,
As always,
Eating blood and gold,
Letting kids die.

Kids will die in the swamps of Mississippi
Organizing sharecroppers
Kids will die in the streets of Chicago
Organizing workers
Kids will die in the orange groves of California
Telling others to get together
Whites and Filipinos,
Negroes and Mexicans,
All kinds of kids will die
Who don’t believe in lies, and bribes, and contentment
And a lousy peace.

Of course, the wise and the learned
Who pen editorials in the papers,
And the gentlemen with Dr. in front of their names
White and black,
Who make surveys and write books
Will live on weaving words to smother the kids who die,
And the sleazy courts,
And the bribe-reaching police,
And the blood-loving generals,
And the money-loving preachers

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SB 2681, again. Discrimination back on the table. (With only 13 minutes to spare).

Sometimes I feel like Conrad got “Heart of Darkness” so terribly wrong…

Sourcerer

NOSB

Remember that Mississippi Senate Bill I spent a whole week stirring up outrage against? The one that so many people opposed, the MS House of Representatives was afraid to just go ahead and pass it on the floor? The one they amended to create a study committee? Well, I have no idea what the status of the study committee is in the bill that was filed at 7:47 tonight (the deadline was 8 p.m.). But look at what’s going back to both chambers for an up-or-down vote, and thanks to our friends at Deep South Progressive for telling us something the local news might not mention at all.

Section 1 of the bill says, “Government shall not substantially burden a person’s exercise of religion even if the burden results from a rule of general applicability, except as provided in paragraph (b) of this subsection.”

In practical terms, for example…

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Loki Fights Like a Girl, and That’s a Good Thing

Fairy tales, Loki, and a pretty cool argument about equality–what more could you want?

Hannah Reads Books

Minor spoilers if you haven’t seen Thor: The Dark World.

The first Thor movie is absolutely my favorite Marvel movie, and I was happy with the sequel, too. A few weeks ago, I saw this on Pinterest:

Loki and Frigga pin

Basically, it’s an observation that Loki’s Asgardian mother Frigga fights the same way Loki does: with trickery. Loki’s signature move is to create an illusion of himself and get his attacker to lunge at it, thus trapping him, luring him off a cliff, or providing an opportunity to attack him from behind. I had noticed Frigga doing it too in The Dark World, so I pinned the picture happily and went on about my business.

However, I’ve recently realized this is more important than I thought. I don’t care if Loki was adopted, and Frigga doesn’t either — she raised him, and it’s clear in TDW that they were close. (Tom Hiddleston has…

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Katy Gillan: This post needs a better title, but I don’t have one

katy gillan

Amber asked me if I still had this memorial for Katy. I thought that I would post it in case anyone else wanted to bookmark it or, I don’t know, something. I hadn’t read through it in years, maybe six or so. Most of the entries are riddled with grammatical errors (worse than usual; that’s saying something).

I want to keep them.

Changing them would change the substance. That voice that is speaking to you in my writing, it’s me, but it’s not-me. It’s little Jolene, or Jolene when she was littler. I don’t have the same beliefs anymore. It’s me; it’s not-me. Strange.

I was thinking about the grammar one moment, the words, the voice, about how it’s me-not-me. And then I was thinking about Katy and all the words she never… If it’s not-me writing, is it a not-Katy too? Am I remembering a not-Katy? I bet I am. I bet that she is different than the Katy that you remember. Memory is funny like that. I know that now, or I think I know that. That’s what 9 years of school tells me about memory, anyways.

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