Wrinkles

September 12, 2016

wrinkles

A dear friend of mine once remarked how I have a “resting dick face,” a clever, gender-correct incarnation of the infamous “resting bitch face.” Well-intended though she undoubtedly was in pointing this out, I have never been able to shrug off her shrewdness. Not infrequently do I notice the latent tension in my face, the expression I’m making, and it’s overall effect on my mood.

I’d like to say that I’m not a “dick,” though some may rightly dispute it, but the expression I commonly wear is somewhere between seriousness, intensity, concern, frustration. I’ve been working on noticing my face, and trying to bring a smile to it more often. Once I notice my “resting dick face,” I relax my face, smile a bit, and feel the world widen.

I spend a lot of time studying the faces and expressions of the elderly. The more I age, the more human they become. I notice their posture, their gesticulations, their demeanor, but above all–and this is not intended as derogatory–I notice their wrinkles.

Wrinkles are an inevitable part of ageing, a source of consternation for many. And I’m starting to notice a few wrinkles carving themselves out on my own face. Certain wrinkles pronounce themselves more readily than others. Raising my eyebrows, for instance, reveals about fifteen distinct stripes across my forehead–a dermatoid reminder of what people have called my “Jim Halpert face.” I’m also developing slight crows feet around my eyes, a welcoming mnemonic of uncontrolled mirth.

The wrinkles that inspire existential dread, for me, is when I narrow my brow. The two vertical lines between my eyebrows have been carved out by thousands of hours reading, trying to push myself harder at the gym, trying to take another person’s position seriously. In short, my resting dick face is the result of habit.

I ask myself what kind of wrinkles I’d like to pursue, what kind of habits are necessary to sculpt the kind of old-person face I’d like to end up with.  The obvious answer is to smile more. Build the crows feet and the dimples! I do my best to notice when I’m taking myself or others too seriously, and laugh at those moments of conceit.

And so I vacillate between these two extremes: wanting to engage the world seriously and critically, changing it for the better, and at the same time enjoying little moments, deliberately trying to curate gaiety more often. I’m not sure either path is entirely without fault, but I do want my wrinkles to be well-chosen.

Advertisements

Throwing Darts at the Map

September 12, 2016

The secret to escaping strait-jackets: blindfold yourself and determinedly not know where you are, really. They say the brain begins to hallucinate from lack of stimuli; this is precisely what you are trying to accomplish. (Or, if you’re a bit claustrophobic by nature, then simply travel. That’s what I did.)

If you think you need a break from life, take one. Maybe that break is two months down the road, but you can’t hide from feelings of despair forever. Repression is a hydra. Home starts to feel oppressive, your guerilla mind plots against itself, and destructive habits soon plant their flags of victory.

Alcoholism is my reason, why I so desperately needed to flee from the inviting clutches of the comfort zone. I stopped drinking two weeks prior to the greatest week of my life, what I have endearingly titled, the #AlkaSeltzerGreatAmericanRoadTrip.

throwingdarts1

Itinerary: find a place to sleep, drive there, park, begin to wander until fatigue sets in. Repeat.


Instructions: do no research, do not google suggestions, and especially do not get comfortable. (I would even recommend taking my approach of not estimating travel time in advance. Get in the car before you plug in the address of your destination. Let the duration shock you.)

The world isn’t that big of a place. I won’t tell you specifically where I travelled, but let it suffice to say that my time was well spent.

Goals: see some nature, try some local cuisine, steep myself in culture, and feel so uncomfortable by my lack of security that I have no choice but to neurotically journal out my experiences before bed each night.

A road trip is supposed to suck a little bit. Endless hours looking at a hundred thousand incarnations of the same shit. Tree after tree after tree after tree. Hopefully some good music to break the monotony. The information your brain is imbibing starts to condense. The memory of what is  concretizing births nostalgic satisfaction, the feeling that bubbles out your ears, whispering, “Let’s go again, let’s go again!”

Am I stupid? Yes. But less stupid after deepthroating a week of different cities and cultures. I didn’t even give myself time to chew. Museums, microbreweries, marketplaces. Nature, nature, nature.

throwingdarts2

Day two of my trip, somebody on the street asked me what the time was. What a stupid question, I remember thinking. Time’s oppressive weight had been lifted from my back and I hadn’t even realized it.

Each morning I’d exchange goodbyes with the roof over my head, return to my car-prison, and endure the endless hours with no one more interesting than myself. Each day, right as the penultimate half-hour of my travels approached, the mental geyser of epiphany would belch its way into gaseous existence. And just before language could bottle up the airiform ideas–There! My parking spot awaits! The moment of relief so strong as to be legitimately mistaken as an orgasm. Everything is forgotten.

The car is parked, my bed is secured, thus the timeless adventure resumed. Tick, tick, tick, remember, tick, tick, tick. But I wasn’t even dimly aware of clocks. The most striking feature of the #AlkaSeltzerGreatAmericanRoadTrip was that everything was new, everything in motion.

[We’ve been taking road trips long before cars plagued our world. I distinctly remember, back in 1789, riding a horse along the East Coast…]

Errant. Errant. Errant.
Flâneur and Anti-Flâneur.

Get lost, I wanted to tell the guy without the time. I stood on this street corner, having been violated from my incognito. I stressed to this time-ignorant blessed soul: it’s not that I’m mean, I mean it! Go, get lost, wander, intentionally lose your way, that’s the only way.

clocktower

Clocktime is the most oppressive force in the western world. Smash the patriarchy all you’d like, but the most despotic social construction from which all the oppressive manifestations of human repugnance arise is our cultist belief in the 24 hour day. Some useless sociologist once taught me something extremely useful: Thomas’ Theorem, the idea that, if an idea is real in its consequence, then it is real in the world. I hate clocks.

Clocks have actually convinced people that there’s a fourth dimension living in the sky who watches everything you do, every minute of every day.

Rewind a few rotations around the sun, and we arrive in my bedroom. I had just met god, who was presented to me in the form of myself. The psilocybin was in full effect. The ceiling was melting into the wall at an alarming rate. But pure ecstasy resulting. And I proceed into a world that makes me scoff at Dante’s: I couldn’t read clocks.

I looked at my phone, saw the numbers, but couldn’t read them. I looked up at my wall–which thankfully had stopped melting–and that clock was unreadable too! I looked out at the sun, who wasn’t giving any answers. Time paused.

snapchat-347842208057379753

God fearing folk warned me not to look god in the face, that god’s image will blind you, etc. That might be true. Maybe this time-resistant world wasn’t going to let me go, forever. Maybe hell isn’t an “after” life, maybe it’s a tax on your “now.” The privilege of seeing god incurs an existential tariff. Thus, I sat on the mountain of shame for the next 10,000 years, alone, sweating. Time resumed.

And so, with all of this in mind, we return to the street corner. I still haven’t answered the guy’s question. Unlike you, I chose not to burden him with my web of temporal associations. So I lied. I don’t have the time, I said.

Garnering Insight from the Garden: Environmental Food Justice

May 6, 2016

Most of my time gardening has been spent with ornamentals, but this year I decided to finally start a garden of proper food-growing plants. Food growth appears deceptively simple: buy a tomato plant, dig a hole, water it in, harvest. But, of course, that mental image is far from the truth. Mid-April, as I’m currently learning, brings the night moths, the snails, the aphids, the leaf borers. If you want your tomatoes to stay vegetarian, some kind of insecticide is to be called upon. Thus, in a flustered attempt to debug my tomato plants, I learned a lot about the relationship between food-bearing plants and the environment which they are embedded in. I also realized how ill-equipped Florida’s soil is for the naive gardener. But the more I learned, the more I realized that I, and others like me, didn’t know about the broader implications regarding our food choices and their impact on the macro-environment.

Everything we do as humans is implicated in the broader context of the planet. We build, we create, we destroy. This is true of food as it is of any human endeavor. But food is a unique issue, in terms of our ability to ignore it as something potentially problematic and pernicious on the globe itself. With fewer than 2% of our population currently employed in the agricultural industry, and most of them cordoned off in large scale operations far from any urban eye, it’s no wonder how oblivious most of us can be. For the vast majority of the American population don’t see the topsoil runoff, we don’t see the aquifers being polluted by pesticides, we don’t have to endure negative health consequences (neurophysiological and respiratory damage, predominantly) from being downwind of a slaughterhouse. The simple reality is that we have our backs turned on the very mechanism which brings food to our fridge.

An Agricultural Actuality

The issue of food justice and its concern with environmental justice are not particularly sexy, certainly not “BREAKING NEWS” in CNN’s liberal use of the term, but these issues are in fact worth caring about and, whether we realize it or not, will become defining issues of the future (my) generation. The United Nations, for instance, projects a world population of roughly 9.8 billion by 2050–that’s a rather large bump from our current 7 billion: roughly 3 billion more mouths to feed. Compile this reality with the State of the World’s observation in 2001 that between 1950 and 1990, “world grain yield per hectare rose 2.1 percent a year,” but “between 1990 and 2000, however, the annual gain was only 1.2 percent.” Effectively, this figure suggests an unpalatable truth: crop yield is decreasing simultaneously with an increasing at the rate of population rise, meaning that some people are going to go hungry. Many already are going hungry.

This trend of mutually reinforcing factors contributing to hunger are only worsened when we zoom out and ask how we can meet the needs of the projected future population. Not only are we running out of arable land, but we are running out of water. Our agricultural system uses approximately 50 billion gallons of water per day, 60% of which is directly draining from our groundwater aquifers. These figures exclude the other uses (often misuses) of water in other areas of our society (i.e. drinking, cooking, showering, watering your lawn, etc.). The scary reality of groundwater depletion is heightened by the reality of a growing global population, which will only metastasize through the havoc of climate change. And, of course, we could always desalinate water, or cut down hectares of forest to grow food, but the common environmentalist is already disquieted by such prospects. If there is a more agreeable alternative to our unsustainable food system, then we should seek out that path.

Climate Cataclysm

Pivoting to the broader impacts on the food system by climate change, the scientific consensus currently projects hundred of millions of people being forcibly relocated due to unlivable conditions. This is relevant to the question of food justice precisely because so many agricultural hubs in the tropics are projected to be forcibly relocated within the coming century. My home state of Florida is one such locale of climate change’s ability to turn a billionaire into a refugee, almost overnight. Florida, funnily enough, is an agricultural hotbed: 62% of the United States’ grapefruits are grown here, for a start. If my state sinks due to rising sea levels, as predicted, then we’ve got a lot more than grapefruits to worry about. For instance, as sea levels rise, they eventually overflow into our freshwater reserves–largely underground–thereby contaminating wells and poisoning farmlands (literally salting the earth). Not only will people have to relocate, but we will have to relocate our resources anew. And this is a double-effect: people lose their financial security at the same time that they lose their croplands. Climate change, as predicted, robs us of our homes, of large swaths of farmland, of our water, and thus, our very lives.

Beyond the isolated concerns regarding Florida, it’s important to understand how environmental refugees are spawned by more than sea level rise alone, and how this exacerbates the strain on our already unsustainable food system. Frederik A Kaufman, in his book, Foundations of Environmental Philosophy, writes of environmental refugees as “people who can no longer live in their traditional homelands because of environmental degradation.” This broad definition encompasses those victims of repeated/prolonged droughts, storms, floods, and rising oceans. So, in other words, any climatic region is vulnerable to climate impacts. Norman Myers, staunch defender of environmental justice, writes of how climate change will affect areas like southern Canada, southern Europe, mid-western United States, Australia, etc. which are all crucial regions to food production. Climate change threatens the food system from every front, forcing farmers off their lands and eliminating the supply chain for over 100 of the words developing countries. We are very likely facing famine on a scale we have never seen, dwarfing that of Mao’s China. A prolonged drought in these areas would cause an estimated 50 to 400 million people to die due to lack of food access; this estimate excludes impaired growth, cognitive function, physical ability, and all the residual effects on those who survive the famine, but only just so. And, in terms of worldly concerns, the amount of lost revenue and, thus, increased unemployment will be staggering. In this grim future, starvation would almost become normal.

* * *

Solving mass starvation, climate change, and a world population on the trajectory to double, is no easy task. From the literature I have steeped myself in, I don’t think any one person could say with a straight face that they have a solution. But we are bound by duty to feed our fellow neighbors, to protect our planet, to harbor the climate refugees when they come, to restructure society in a sustainable way, to curb population growth, etc. Though I am of the belief that there is no panacea for this problem, I will attempt to sell you on what I perceive to be the closest things to it. And making those changes, in terms of practicality of reinventing our food system, requires an antecedent ideological restructuring of our food values (aesthetically, ethically, and environmentally).

Japan: A Lesson in Innovation

Traditional agriculture relies on expansive farmland which to some extent restructures the physical landscape such that it is optimal for maximum yield. Obviously, given the interconnectedness of environmental concerns and concerns of food justice, we have to change the way we are growing food. And, as we’ve seen, this comes at all levels: water management, topsoil conservation, biochemical sensitivity, etc. Japan has taken up this challenge mightily, but it has yet to expand its scope beyond a few prototypical factories. Their idea is to grow more food in less amounts of space by building vertically: Japanese scientists repurposed an old Sony factory, beginning in 2004, and progressively onward, which has become arguably one of the most agriculturally efficient food production facilities in the world.

This Japanese operation consists of a mere 25,000 square feet, yet yields over 10,000 heads of lettuce per day. This vertical interpretation of farming is over one hundred times more efficient, inch for inch, than traditional agricultural methods (horizontal and outdoors). Not to mention, they have fewer insect problems, less fungal issues, a decrease in power usage by 40%, a decrease in food waste by 80%, and a decrease in water usage by an astounding 99%.

An unexpected benefit to this new form of vertical farming is disease resistance: if one greenhouse breaks out with a plague (akin to the great potato famine, only one crop yield suffers). They are physically isolated in the way that open-air, outdoor farming is not.

Following the disastrous earthquakes and tsunamis to wreck Japan over the last few decades, notably the recent 2011 travesty, scientist Shingeharu Shimimura determined this new method of vertical farming to be the future. Much cropland in Japan was lost in the recent tsunami event, and this seemed like an obvious solution. The factory, repurposed, not only reclaimed old urban space, but offered somewhat of a food sovereignty to the locals of Japan. Rows of LED lighting line the vertical racks of lettuce and, in conjunction with temperature and humidity controls, artificial days and nights, water retention and soil preservation, this previously abandoned space has transformed into one of the most promising beacons of the future.

Prototypes of this vertical farming have expanded to Russia, Hong Kong, Mongolia, and beyond. If the United States, one of the most prolific food wasters, inefficient agriculturalists, and most neglecting environmentalists in the world, adopted this program, there are untold benefits to such an endeavor.

Importing Agricultural Ideology

If we accept this new Japanese method of vertical farming as a potential solution to the multifaceted problems we’ve so grimly outlined above, then we must take this application and integration into American society very seriously. The first question arising is a logistical one: Where would we build these factories? An obvious answer would be to repurpose our own buildings in America, akin to the Sony factory in Japan. It is no secret that America is not only home to the free and the brave, but the deforested and abandoned strip mall. These large spaces, impractical for retail restructuring, serve as ideal floor plans for a similar grow-op in nearly every urban city in America. As these buildings are climate controlled to an almost unrealistic degree, they can be located anywhere: north, south, east, and west.

Though Shimimura’s prototype factory has not experimented with a gamut of popular crops, one could easily envision a crop like Quinoa–which requires high elevation to maintain its consistency of firmness, taste, nutrients, and yield–being grown through controlled air conditions. One could, in theory, harvest winter crops like kale in the dead heat of a Floridian summer. Not only does is this farming more efficient, it is expandable, it has diverse purposes, and it serves to reinvigorate American jobs directly in their native communities. Thus, in terms of food justice, vertical farming in urban spaces attacks all facets of modern food justice: food deserts, grocery gaps, food insovereignty, gender and racial inequity, socio-economic barriers, environmental degradation, worker exploitation, and the list goes on.

Questions? Comments? Concerns?

As rosy as the picture I have painted sounds, we have to take into account some immediate concerns, worries, and potential objections to the proposal I have just outlined. The first and most obvious concern is the question of startup cost: who is going to pay to renovate these abandoned properties and repurpose them with expensive equipment, American wages, distribution costs, etc. There is, in other words, a large up-front cost which may not be met: the demand might just not be there on the consumer end. While this is indeed a viable concern, it is a very narrow and short sighted approach to the problem. At best, this concern is cynical, because it assumes a parsimonious society, placing primacy on the pecuniary and not the longevity of the planet. This has some merit, but I would simply reply to the cynic here by pointing out how, as with solar power, the immediate costs are practically paid off overnight: lower energy requirements, more efficiency of crop yield, lower water usage, less square footage required, less chemical to protect crops, etc. are all immediate gains by method alone. If we take Shimimura’s 100% increased efficiency at its word, then one would, in theory, make 100% more profits per harvest. In all but the immediate, this vertical farming approach pays for itself before the first investment check has been cashed.

Another objection to my proposal is what I’ve alluded to somewhat already: the concern regarding crop biodiversity. If we take food justice concerns to heart, including culturally significant foods as worthy of concern, then it is important that we don’t look to vertical farming as a panacea. For watermelons, for example, require an abundance of horizontal space to produce sizable fruits. How could this be alleviated by vertical farming? In a sense, this objection has some veracity; but even on its worst day, vertical farming still outperforms horizontal farming in aggregate. A watermelon-producing vertical farm would, in every case, produce more than a horizontal one, but it may not be the touted “100%” more efficiency of lettuce. But what about fruit trees? In some cases, fruit trees can peak out at fifty feet tall; wouldn’t this eliminate the benefits of going vertical? Yes and no, for not many fruit trees peak at such height, and none of them–to my knowledge–cannot produce fruit at a more petite size. So, in a sense, this objection has merit, but only if we are being pedantic about the specific percentage of increased efficiency of this farming method. In all cases, we are being wiser–both economically and environmentally–to move indoors, to move vertical.

Eating Animals

In Jonathan Safran Foer’s book, Eating Animals, he puts to bed the question concerning the relationship between one’s diet and one’s environmental impact: “Omnivores contribute seven times the volume of greenhouse gases that vegans do.” His analysis of environmentalism draws on research from the University of Chicago, which reveals how our food choices contribute at least as much to climate change as do our transportative choices. And, according to his research, drawing on Pew and the United Nations, farmed animals contribute more globally to climate change than transport. He cites 18 percent of greenhouse gas emissions–“around 40 percent more than the entire transport sector”–as due to eating animals at the factory farming, industrial scale. Somehow, in our political discourse, all we hear about regarding climate change is fossil fuels. Yet, according to the UN, factory farming is “one of the top two or three most significant contributors to the most serious environmental problems” especially “land degradation, climate change and air pollution, water shortage and water pollution and loss of biodiversity.” As Safran Foer so damningly puts it, “someone who regularly eats factory-farmed animal products cannot call [oneself] an environmentalist without divorcing that word from its meaning.”

The case presented by Safran Foer is exactly why I was so hesitant, at the top of this essay, to call vertical farming a “solution.” Yes, it solves the problems of plant raising. But we cannot realistically expect to eliminate meat eating if we are to properly feed the projected 9.8 billion population by 2050. We need a stable protein source, we need the extremely calorie-dense meats to adequately serve the nutritional needs of the many–right?

A Creepy Crawly Solution

Most people find the thought of insects disgusting. We pay people hundreds of dollars a year to eliminate them from our homes, from our yards, from our lives, and yes, from our food. But, as evidenced across many cultures, insects are extremely nutrient dense foods. Unlike livestock, they are ubiquitous, affordable, and rapidly procreating. Compare 100 grams of insect protein with that of chicken, pork or beef: the protein content is much the same, but crickets (for instance) report higher levels of essential vitamins and minerals (i.e. calcium, zinc, and iron), gram for gram, than that of traditional livestock. Not only is this a more nutrient-dense solution to the question of increasing global hunger, but it is also a spatially considerate solution, akin to my proposal to vertical farming. The 1.53 billion hectares of cropland, and 3.38 billion hectares of pastures, accounts for a resulting 38% of land you’ll see on a map being used for agriculture and farming. But, whereas one pound of beef requires 200 square meters of land to produce, insect protein requires just 15 square meters for the same production of crickets. Again, fixing one factor of our agricultural system, the inefficiency of growth space, affects many other aspects of our problems concerning food justice.

Another way insect protein solves our issues of food justice and environmentalism is the question we have raised above concerning water. By 2025, an estimated 1.8 billion people will live without regular access to drinking water. Returning to the inefficiencies of our water use in agriculture, this could be reduced dramatically. One kilogram of beef requires no less than 22,000 liters of water to produce; one kilogram of crickets requires no more than one liter of water. Farming insects instead of livestock is, simply, twenty-two thousand times more water efficient, kilo for kilo. There is no question that transitioning to insects is a better environmental alternative to current livestock farming. And, as though this were not enough, insects as food are demonstrably more efficient in terms of digestive capability: roughly 80% of a cricket is edible and digestible, whereas just 40% of cattle is edible.

A final consideration regarding eating insects is the obvious one: the gross factor. Most westerners like myself are repulsed at the idea of snacking on a cricket for breakfast. But, despite such resistances, it’s not as though you and I are strangers to eating insects. That’s right, for every 100 grams of lettuce consumed, an average of 50 insects have made it into our mouths as well (i.e. aphids, mites). This is true not only of lettuce, but of foods like peanut butter, and drinks like beer. We may not care to admit it to ourselves, but bugs are extremely common to the human diet.

Synthesizing our Supper

Throughout the previous pages, I have tried to approach some multifaceted concerns regarding food justice (population increase, climate change, starvation, etc.) and propose practical, immediate solutions to those concerns (vertical farming, shifting our diets from animals to insects, etc.). None of these strategies on their own will cause a volte face in our food system. There is too much entrenched corruption, bureaucracy, greed, and tradition at stake to see such an overnight change. But these shifts in agricultural practice, location, dietary makeup, and environmental relationships, can be taken up in any location, by anyone, at any time. The science has yielded quite an abundant harvest of innovation and technology to move forward, it is up to us to ensure we don’t let that harvest rot and go to waste.

Rejoicing in my Incognito

April 13, 2016

“To be away from home and yet to feel oneself everywhere at home; to see the world, to be at the centre of the world, and yet to remain hidden from the world—impartial natures which the tongue can but clumsily define. The spectator is a prince who everywhere rejoices in his incognito.”

– Charles Baudelaire, The Painter of Modern Life and Other Essays

 

Chamblin’s Bookmine, to the public, lives in two incarnations: Uptown Jacksonville, and Roosevelt Ave. on the westside of Jacksonville, Florida. It is known, nationally, for its ubiquity of selection, reasonability of pricing, timeless atmosphere, etc. In fact, I remember once remarking how I wished that, if heaven exists, let it be here, in Chamblin’s. I am intimately familiar with the space and, yet, in an uncanny way, the very contents of its vast array of texts is functionally alien–background, beneath my perception–to me. This is to say that I, with my own biases and interests, don’t notice the majority of the bookstore; I go where my mind wanders.

In my recent haunts of Chamblin’s, with the Flaneur in mind, I have tried to forcibly alter my limited perception, in order to problematize and complicate my experience of what has been, for me, a heavenly, specifically-tailored-to-me, kind of space. I wanted to follow people around the store, taking inspiration from Vito Acconci’s following piece. I would track people’s movement throughout the bookstore, peer into the books that they perused, and see what I could find.

My bookstore wanderings began on a Monday morning. I arrived at 7:56AM, four minutes before they open, and I nervously checked through my phone, trying to distract myself from the anxiety of following others around a bookstore for (potentially) three hours at a time. Given my schedule between full-time work, full-time school, family, friends, and other personal complications, my anxiety metastasized under the pressure of the fact that I only had two shots to get this project right. Luckily, three other customers gathered around me, like a flock of bookish pigeons, to enter the glass door as the iron bars slid open for business.

***

I enter this hallowed space with a profane motive; to follow the first person who wanders off into an unfamiliar book aisle. A thirty-something in flannel paces by. I take a swig from my energy drink and begin surreptitiously trailing him. With a stiff posture, he paces up the stairs displaying an urgency of one who is rushing to beat a red light, only to stop abruptly atop the landing. He is in conquest of a specific manga, of which series I have no inkling, and I plop down beside him, in the Economics section of the endcap. He soon leaves. I pick up the book he had perused without purchase, flip to a random page, and it reads, “Law school, of course, required even more reading.” I am perplexed, but I write the phrase down.

Some twenty minutes later, the perfect specimen comes along: an indecisive twenty-something woman, who all but fondles one book per row. I follow her through no fewer than thirteen aisles which I haven’t heretofore explored: mathematics, music theory, aviation, sports, autobiography, islamic theology, romantic fiction, etc. I feel as though I am learning the story of this young woman better than I could have by my own conversational devices. Inevitably, romantic thoughts leak their way in, despite her lack of physical appeal; I am magnetized towards the mystery of this woman’s solitude. And, true to my vocational inspiror, Vito Acconci, I remain silent. She moves on, and I collect nearly a dozen of lines for my notes.

At this point, the people I follow begin to bear less individuality. One pepper-bearded man lingers in the opening section containing books about Florida. One old man wanders into books regarding Death and Dying. A little boy finds his way into the aisle of Literary Criticism, which, when I collect the book he had been perusing, I find–to my immense ignorance and astonishment–a secondary text on Derrida, and I lose my mind. (In retrospect, this one might be notable.) Many others pass, and my time ceases. I must leave for the day.

 

I return a week later, under the same pretense, but now under the direction to turn these fragmented collections of people (books) I’d been following into material for a poem. I, in other words, am looking for lines for a poem which I will orchestrate for my Flaneur presentation in April. Again, I arrive just a few ticks away from their opening time of 8:00AM. A beautiful–and I cannot stress just how beautiful–young woman is my companion, entering the doors as the staff does.

I follow my infatuating companion into the general fiction aisle, upstairs, where I find it increasingly hard not to stare. I catch eye-contact with her twice in one aisle–a new record for me–so I determine to not let my eyes waver from the copy of DJ MacHale’s Pendragon I am pretending to read. She leaves, and I get up, in my routine, to fetch the book she had just returned to the shelf. I wonder to myself, with earnest, what profundities she may have just ignored–what romantic profundity I may have just ignored–and she jolts back around the corner, nearly knocking into me.

“Sorry,” she says. And then her apologetic eyebrows sharpen into familiar, almost accusatory, ones. She notices my book: her book. Her eyes return to meet mine, and I feel my throat tense, like sore muscles after a workout. She doesn’t know what to say, and I can read into her face that she has recognized that I am following her–and from what I can tell, this isn’t the first time she’s been followed by a man–so I try to explain, in the most reasonable demeanor possible, “Sorry, I was waiting to pick up the book your were just looking at. I’m doing this project for my ‘Flaneur’ class at UNF, where I have to ‘wander’ and, in the case of my project, ‘follow’ people. I’m trying to let people lead me into unfamiliar corners of Chamblin’s and see what kind of books and instances of prose I find.” (This account of my reaction has been sterilized of the “umms,” “uhs,” “it’s kinda hard to explains” etc. of this encounter.) As I’m explaining, I can tell that she isn’t buying it, so I pull out my list of fragmented excerpts from the books I’d arrived at. She seems skeptical, but waves it off, and she is pretty cool about it. I apologize again and assure her that I will cease following her. Funnily enough, she walks in on me in the philosophy aisle not three minutes later.

***

In collecting these lines from unfamiliar books, I realized how they could be material for a poem. Upon this realization, I assembled a both a formal version, and an experimental version, of the poem. The formal version stripped these lines from context, separating individual lines from the larger books in which they were contained. The experimental version further alienates these out-of-context lines from context by individually cutting them out, shuffling them in a top hat, and passing them around the room to be picked out at random by my classmates. It was a one-time poem which would be inauthentic to reproduce here. However, the randomness of the experimental poem became compressed, so much so, that, by the end of the in-class live “poem,” the final line, “These claims should not be misunderstood,” is, in some ways, self-referential such that the incomprehensible contents of my project provides for, in some way, a comprehensible endeavor. Order is created amidst the chaos.

My project had a large potential to fall on its face–an empty bookshop, being noticed, not gaining any insight, having the poem-experiment in class fail, etc.–but it didn’t. I learned about how the Flaneur’s way of seeing is not always moderated by how the body wanders, but also how the mind wanders. The Flaneur is able to discern, not just where the mind wanders to, but, more importantly, what causes the mind to stop wandering. The kinds of books that jumped out at the people I was following jumped out at them, caused them to stop, to take it into consideration. But until my Flaneur project, they didn’t jump out at me. Until these visits to Chamblin’s, the aisles I didn’t wander into served as Sartre’s nothingness, as static noise in the background, as not-being-there. And, in a sense, this project transformed my own perception of Chamblin’s. I now wander through the aisles with stories to tell, I can recognize how being in the crowd of books is, in some ways, like being in the crowd of people.

Following Piece (Chamblin’s Poem)

April 11, 2016

Law school, of course, required even more reading.

They yelled for more.
Florida is the nation’s most popular retirement state.
Not that Tomas needed motivation.
“No,” said he, proudly, “their Majesties letters commanded me to submit.”
For a great propagandist of the Union’s cause.
Like satisfaction at the condition of the Scutari hospitals.
Presumably to simulate my memory.

Marriage was clearly on Harry’s mind.
Clinton & sexuality.
By 1952, science writer Bob Cowan at the Christian Science Monitor could flatly predict the end of vacuum tube relationships.
Physical management for the quadriplegic patient.
Forgery in Christianity.
Jesus went unto the Mount of olives.
Life is only real when “I am.”
No one of these things can be wholly explained by either association or utility.
It was a sordid scene.

Warhol disappeared himself by “repeating” others, like Mao Zedong and Marilyn Monroe, over and over.
These claims should not be misunderstood.
Quaestio mini cactus sum.

Old wine, new bottles.

The adoption of a replacement behavior appears to play a major role,
“The German people is no warlike nation.”
Emphasize God’s amazing limitlessness within your own life.
Tomatoes, green, whole, raw.

Finally, the name possesses the place.
Unfortunately, Einstein’s idea of representing an electron as a black hole failed.

Floridian Failure: Repairing a Diminished Democracy

April 1, 2016

Voting in America is a rather ambiguous affair, even considering the fact that voting is considered to be a right of citizenship. And, in being the bastion of democracy, one does not often consider America to be a place of voter suppression, but voter disenfranchisement is widespread in this country.

Be it forcible suppression, gerrymandering, arbitrary state-level obstacles to register (i.e. closed primaries, lack of absentee ballots, etc.), or just plain apathy, there is much to criticize about the American democratic process. These multifaceted problems are deeply entrenched in American culture, unfortunately, and are metastasized by the media echo chamber of sensationalism. What no one ever bothers to report on, however, is the problem of voter disenfranchisement on behalf of ex-offenders.

As things stand, a felon loses their right to vote. This, on its own, makes no sense. But Florida, our home state, is one of the three states which revokes an ex-offender’s right to vote for life. One mistake could cost you the central pride of American citizenship: your democratic voice. In America, roughly 2.5% of citizens, due to their criminal history, are ineligible to vote. And, courtesy of  Rick Scott’s benevolence, it’s looking like the path towards voter restoration is even more tangled than before.

A widespread entrenched feeling amongst the American people, regarding the voting rights of ex-offenders, is largely in favor of restoration. Admittedly, only one-third approve of allowing the currently convicted to vote. But roughly 60% of Americans favor restoring voting rights to ex-offenders who “served the time” or were on parole. Furthermore, two-thirds endorse voting rights restorations for those on probation. These numbers are both statistically significant, and culturally turbulent such that we cannot make a firm determination on the rightness/wrongness of the state of modern ex-offenders’ voting rights. Maybe there is some veracity to the hesitance to disallowing the currently convicted to vote–though we fail to find warrant for such a parsimonious view. It is our position, and motive in co-authoring this editorial, that one should at least not be devoid of rights after serving time in what is purportedly a “correctional” facility.

We are motivated by viewing ex-offenders not in terms of the crimes they have committed, or the sentence they have served, but the views they now express, the hopes and values they wish to bring about into the world. This is what is known as basic human decency, extending one’s sense of worth to another person, especially someone as powerless as an ex-offender. If America is truly a “democracy,” then we will not be motivated by fear of former law-breakers to guide our moral concerns regarding political rights.

Florida’s current legal position on the restoration of voting rights for the recently-released is rather straightforward. Ex-convicts are allowed to petition for restoration of rights (non-violent offenders are also automatically considered), however, this process is lengthy and yields low results. Despite legal strides toward progress, the system remains ineffective. The levels of offense and their legal access to restoration are paltry, as a result. And nearly every examination on the issue of voter disenfranchisement has yielded akin results: voter laws which restrict offenders’ voting rights are disproportionately affecting racial minorities and, thus, we should reexamine the conclusions of the federal courts regarding this matter. Gov. Scott’s overturning of former Gov. Charlie Crist’s automatic restoration policy, for instance, is one case in which African-Americans are directly targeted as an unwanted voting population. In our view, that needs to change.

The legislative decisions Governor Scott has made regarding voting rights deserve far closer scrutiny than they have heretofore received. Something broadly progressive and democratizing, such as the Voting Rights Act of 1965, is antipodal to the decisions our Governor has made (allegedly on our behalf). A brief Googling of “Gov Scott Voter Purge” will paint a bloody picture of the kind of ruthlessness which Scott has become known for, regarding voting rights.

Before the lack of renewal of the act by Congress in 2014, Scott’s unsavory positions would have never taken clot. Despite his demonstrable cynicism towards the democratic process, there is some hope in one thing: the federal legality of Florida’s laws in comparison to federal statutes are questionable. One could use the information to make a case for the ultimate unconstitutionality of some parts of Florida’s current legal system, and we hope to undermine his (mistaken) decisions in the near future.

Given these briefly sketched concerns, we ask you to take the briefest of moments to sign our Change.org petition to Governor Scott to reconsider his actions and views on voting rights. Too many ex-offenders are being unfairly discriminated against after their release–ranging from job applications to bank accounts–and the least we can do to facilitate their reintegration into society is to restore their voice: allow them to be heard once more. Let them vote.

Love at Last Sight

March 10, 2016

Love-at-Last-Sight-Sermon-Series-Idea

The Flaneur is he who wanders, observes, and turns those observations into works of art; but perhaps the most crucial detail specific to the Flaneur’s activities is his seeing in motion, seeing in time. That is, the Flaneur pays primacy to the fleeting, fugitive aspects of life. William Carlos Williams’ works most clearly exemplify this constant characteristic of change. His poetry, both literally and metaphorically, moves through spaces, through time. Reading Williams as a Flaneur, in addition to his being a doctor and a poet, reveals the ways in which Flaneurs have captured something in their works, something reflecting a deep-seated wisdom about the present moment, namely, the Modern.

William Carlos Williams was a man who spent much of his life in motion. As a doctor, he was incessantly immigrating from house call to house call; he was seeing the world in motion. Constantly faced with the births of many newborn babies, Williams invariably was forced to see the world in time. One could go on about Williams’ biography, but this motion and time with which Williams navigated his everyday life moves into his poetry as well. For example, in “Aux Imagistes,” he wrote of the motion of blossoms: “I think I have never been so exalted, / As I am now by you, / O frost bitten blossoms, / That are unfolding your wings / From out the envious black branches.” In this opening stanza, Williams gives the flower blossoms agency of a kind; the “unfolding” of “your” wings is juxtaposed with the “envious” branches. This agency suggests not only the literal movement of unfolding wings, but that the plant itself will soon follow with spring’s insistence.

The poem continues, “Bloom quickly and make much of the sunshine. / The twigs conspire against you! / Hear them! / They hold you from behind!” The easy target of this second stanza is the word “quickly,” as the reminder of temporality is interpolated by the poem’s narrator. There are, however, several more subtle suggestions of movement and time within this stanza. The invocation to “make much of the sunshine” implicitly acknowledges the fleetingness of daylight, how night will return, how the seasons change. The anthropomorphic, conspiratory “twigs” of this stanza also implicate how the changing of the seasons will soon rid the plant of blooms, and restore it with leaves. Even the image Williams’ poem provides, “They hold you from behind,” suggests a literal, physical movement of the twigs–militantly, as though fighting to take back territory–to retake the branches from which the blossoms now dwell. Both elements of the Flaneur’s seeing in motion, and seeing in time, surreptitiously dominate the background of this poem, in the form of a plant, thus far.

This poem’s final stanza, however, pulls together these threads of motion and time nicely: “You shall not take wing / Except wing by wing, brokenly, / And yet– / Even they / Shall not endure for ever.” The image of a wing is one which conjures the image of some bird or butterfly, some animal capable to freely move, unfettered, through the air. To characterize this poem’s plant as one bearing wings is peculiar, but not in the analogical realm. That is, the wings of this plant may be as literal as its leaves, but the following line, “wing by wing, brokenly,” can be read as each leaf falling, wing by wing (one by one), brokenly (leaving the plant bare). In other words, the plant will try to fill itself out in vain. It struggles against the weather, the elements, the seasons, and does what it can. But it will lose leaf by leaf, inexorably, in the end: “And yet– / Even they / Shall not endure for ever.” This poem’s closing stanza acknowledges the physical changes in the plant over time–capturing both of the Flaneur’s fluid fascinations of motion and time. On the surface, one might not be inclined to attribute movement to plants, or think of them as anything remotely exciting to watch in time. However, as evidenced by William Carlos Williams’ many plant images throughout his poems, plants were something he saw as very much in motion. This poem is an example of the very thing Williams read into the world itself: Motion and Time.

A less abstract instance of Williams’ seeing in the Flaneur’s fashion is seen in his poem, “The Young Housewife.” This poem begins “At ten A.M.” where this young housewife “moves about” from the narrator’s perspective, behind the walls of “her husband’s house.”. Initially, time has already been accounted for in the very first line; motion has been observed in the housewife, motion contrasted against the still backdrop of her husband’s house. The narrator, himself, is also in motion, as he passes, “solitary in [his] car.” Not only is the housewife in motion, but so is the narrator. The poem continues, “Then again she comes to the curb,” suggesting both the further movement of the housewife “to the curb,” but “again,” as though the narrator has watched her make this movement repeatedly. As the narrator continues on, he witnesses her “shy, uncorseted, tucking in / stray ends of hair, and I compare her / to a fallen leaf.” The narrator’s noticing of her lack of corset reveals the movement of his eyes, and her tucking in of hair provides the reader with a fluid motion of delicate fingers securing loose locks of hair into proper place. But why compare her to a fallen leaf? Given the value Williams gives to the motion and time of plants, this image suggests that this woman does not belong on the metaphorical tree from which she came: her husband’s “wooden walls.” One wonders if this woman as unhappy in her marriage, sexually inviting in a “shy” way, perhaps even as adulterous, as she comes out to meet the “ice-man” and “fish-man” in an “uncorseted” manner. Returning to the narrator’s emphasis on seeing her make these motions “again,” it could be that the narrator has indeed concluded that this young housewife is indeed unhappy in her marriage. All of these possibilities branch out into realms of speculation, all containing within them the transformative movement and time with which the Flaneur sees the world.

The poem concludes: “The noiseless wheels of my car / rush with a crackling sound over / dried leaves as I bow and pass smiling.” This final stanza captures further the themes of motion and time, and even harks back to the speculative connection between the “fallen leaf” and “wooden walls,” given the sound of “dried leaves” as the narrator passes by. That is, Williams used the image of leaves twice in this poem: once “dried,” and once “fallen.” Like with “Aux Imagistes,” these leaves could be literal, but a connection between the “dried” and “fallen” leaves is begging to be made. For example, the plurality to the leaves at the end of the poem leaves open the possibility of being in a crowd, rather than literally in a car. If this woman is a leaf, and he is driving amongst the leaves, then perhaps he is in a crowd, not as isolated as the poem insists. In any case, this poem serves as an illustration of the brief encounters of modern life, the fleeting nature of motion and time, in Williams’ poetry.

These two poems, “Aux Imagistes,” and “The Young Housewife,” are but a sliver of the kind of vision which Williams’ poetry offers. It is as though Williams saw the movements of life and love and lust in every realm of his life. As banal as a plant, or as seductive as an uncorseted young woman, Williams’ penetrating clarity of observation reveals the effects of modernity on the Flaneur. It is as though, borrowing from Walter Benjamin’s writings on the Flaneur, Williams’ delight was not “love at first sight,” but, rather, “love at last sight.”The plant evoked a motion and moniker of temporality to Williams because he was seeing these blossoms about to be “conspired against” by the twigs. He was seeing the blossoms “at last sight” when he stumbled upon them. Also, with the housewife, Williams saw the young housewife, who may not love her husband, who has a story ongoing in time with his own. But he passed her by. He saw her love “at last sight,” as though it may as well be over before it had begun. These kinds of seeing, Benjamin calls the “never” of the poet’s encounter with this notion of “love at last sight.” The “never” Benjamin describes is “the high point of the encounter, when the poet’s passion seems to be frustrated but in reality bursts out of him like a flame.” That is, the poet’s “passion” which “bursts” forth is, in Williams’ case, his poetry; Williams was intent on documenting these “nevers.” There is a sensuous delight in the involvement we have–only once!–with the blossom, with the plant, with the housewife, and from which life then continues. Seeing the world as fleeting, fugitive, and full of wonder to be had–including the “nevers”–seems to be the philosophy with which Williams navigated his everyday life. Taking the moment to recognize and transcribe these “nevers” into poetry was, to Williams, more the point than the passing itself.

Baudelaire’s Clock

March 10, 2016

image1
All of Charles Baudelaire’s writings stand on their own, but many of them bear nearly identical, overlapping titles (i.e. “Cats,” “Cat,” and “The Cat”). Though I am at the mercy of translation from French to English, I’d argue that these overlapping titles are conscious, calculated moves on Baudelaire’s behalf. On the surface, many of these instances of title duplication reveal little, if any, patterns across the source material of Baudelaire’s writings. But, in the following paragraphs, I wish to turn to Baudelaire’s poem, “The Clock,” and use a reading of it to then scrutinize his prose-poem “The Clock.” These pieces appear quite different, yet many identical themes are evoked, which yield interesting insight into the mental machinations of Baudelaire. For the purposes of this essay, I will henceforth refer to “The Clock,” from Baudelaire’s Poems, as the “Midnight” version, and “The Clock,” from Paris Spleen, as the “Noon” version.

Before turning to comparisons, it would be wise to briefly unpack each poem individually, beginning with the Midnight version. This poem explores the obvious existential implications of “Time” in human life, and begins by characterizing the clock as an “Impassive god! whose minatory hands / repeat their sinister and single charge: / Remember!” Here, the movement of clock hands represent the passage of time; the clock serves as a mnemonic device of one’s ever-aging life. But Baudelaire characterizes this reminder as “sinister” which suggests something beyond the mundane: mortality. Or, in other words, “Remember!” your time is limited, and you are on your way to the grave. The poem continues with images of theatre and, implicitly, performance on a stage being the metaphor for one’s brief life: “One pirouette, the theatre goes dark.” And as this theatre goes dark–as time marches on, and death approaches–the poem’s narrator remarks how “each instant snatches from you what you had, / the crumb of happiness within your grasp.” No happy messages here. The clock is a mnemonic token of death to the narrator, moreso than the literal ticking away of one’s own life.

Perhaps the most profound stanza present in this Midnight version of “The Clock” is the third: “Thirty-six hundred times in every hour / the Second whispers: Remember! and Now replies /in its maddening mosquito hum: I am Past, / who passing lit and sucked your life and left!” The mosquito incarnation of the present moment–”Now”–is both hilarious and shudder-inducing; for time, as Baudelaire is presenting it, is always out of our “grasp,” it is beyond our control: “Remember! Time, that tireless gambler, wins / on every turn of the wheel: that is the law.” The narrator is frantically pointing to the Clock, impelling the reader to “Remember!” how fugitive each passing moment truly is. And there is some irony embedded in this Midnight version, given how, regardless of this apprehension of mortality-remembrance, “Time” defeats us in the end.

The “Noon” version of Baudelaire’s “The Clock” is, on the surface, a much more lighthearted departure from the menacing “Impassive god” of the Midnight version. This version, as a prose-poem, contains cats, a little boy, and notably takes place in broad daylight. It begins, “The Chinese can tell the time in the eyes of cats,” which is a very provocative and unscientific assertion. For who in the West has ever heard such nonsense? But the narrator, passively and credulously, observes a “missionary, strolling through a suburb [who] had forgotten his watch.” This missionary asks a little boy the time, and the “ragamuffin” (boy) darts off to catch a “very fat cat,” which correctly yields the time: “he declared without hesitation: ‘It’s not quite noon.’ Which was correct.” A surprising and accurate clock is revealed to the narrator in the form of a cat. This leads the narrator to reflect upon his own cat which, when he gazes into the “depths of her adorable eyes,” he always sees the hour “distinctly, always the same hour, an hour vast, solemn, and grand as space, without divisions into minutes and seconds–a motionless hour unmarked by the clocks, but light as a sigh, rapid as the blink of an eye.” This “hour” the narrator describes has an uncanny quality about it, especially given our unpacking of the Midnight version of “The Clock.” That is, one can’t help assign this “motionless,” “solemn,” “unmarked,” time as something akin to death.

If Baudelaire’s intention is to divorce the Midnight version from the Noon version by setting up a bright sunny day with a children and cats, then he did an awful job. But Baudelaire was no fool; the prose-poem continues with a question to the narrator: “‘What are you looking at there so attentively? What are you seeking in the eyes of this creature? Do you see the hour there, you idle, wasteful mortal?’–I would reply without hesitation: ‘Yes, I see the hour; it is Eternity!’” The words “idle” and “wasteful mortal” suggest the connection between time and death as explored in the Midnight version. This hour, “Eternity,” may in fact be everything outside of “Now” (borrowing from the Midnight version).

The form of the Midnight version is that of linear quatrains, whereas the form of the Noon version is that of paragraphs. The Midnight version is constrained moreso to the realm of conceptual analysis and reflection, images and ideas, rather than narrative or plot. The Noon version, as a prose-poem, reads almost like a story, with time passing within the prose-poem itself. Baudelaire may have intended to embed the link between time and death, from the Midnight version, into the Noon version’s light-hearted imagery of the Orient. The “pretentious gallantry” found within the Noon version serves to mask these ideas within the setting and story of the prose-poem itself, whereas the Midnight version does not feign to do so; the Midnight version is explicit in its message, whereas the Noon version requires a more scrupulous reading.

The parallels, however, between the Noon and Midnight versions of “The Clock,” provide some synthetic reading regarding the ways in which Baudelaire’s poetry, his prose, and even his conceptual positions, are implicated by, and are found within, each of his poems. By name, by time, or by theme, Baudelaire’s inner turbulence, regarding his own antagonistic relationship with death and time, spills onto all the pages he penned.

No Preamble: Eating Animals

February 29, 2016

Eating-Animals

I have struggled with the ethical dimensions of eating animals for most of my life. It first came to my attention when my high school crush, Katie Loughran, shared PETA’s “Meet Your Meat” video. I was appalled, like most who see the short (horror) film. Thus followed nine months of capricious veganism, and then many years of relapse. Even yesterday, my boss cooked up turkey chili in the breakroom and brought me a bowl: I ate it with relish, as he is a fantastic chef. But in the back of my mind lurks the ever-growing concern: The question of what kind a person I am in eating animals.

I write this brief reflective essay regarding a book I just finished, Jonathan Safran Foer’s Eating Animals. Speechless, or rather, so full of words I can’t contain them, I write this rambling account of the ways in which his book moved me; personally, socially, ethically, etc. the depth of Safran Foer’s argument cuts right through me. Personally, I’ve acted via the “conscientious inconsistency” Foer evokes regarding vegetarianism. Socially, I’ve found myself accepting meat from my manager/coworkers because they’re proud of their cooking and want me to share in their delight. As Safran Foer notes, it’s often more rude to turn away the meat than it is to stick to my principles. Ethically, I vacillate between thinking (1) it’s wrong to kill animals, and (2) it’s not inherently wrong to kill animals for consumption, but it is obviously wrong to kill animals in the manner of the factory farming system; this book does wonders to complicate that picture even further, as the author repeatedly suggests that there is indeed genuine ambiguity about killing for necessity. The list goes on ad nauseum, but Foer’s mantra that “Stories about food are stories about us” rings true for my own life.

The brief section titled “Battery Cage,” early on in the book, startled me to my core. Until reading that meager little page, I surprisingly hadn’t performed the thought experiment of being, myself, an animal confined to a cage for slaughter. The horror had gripped me in the studium (intellectual life), but never heretofore in the punctum (emotional life). The way Safran Foer turns the second person into a reinvisioning of the hierarchy between humans and animals is unnerving, to say the least. This is the first motivator for my now vegetarian/vegan-leaning ethical stance (if not yet in practice).

The section titled “Environmentalism” also shook my foundations, in the sense that my higher education is aimed towards Applied Environmental Ethics. In the light of his analysis, I must conclude that being a “casual omnivore,” as Foer puts it, is environmentally inexcusable (again, that difference between the studium and the punctum). It’s one thing to read about the environmental degradation resulting from our agricultural practices and, implicitly, my food choices. It’s another thing to see it phrased so bluntly: “omnivores contribute seven times the volume of greenhouse gases that vegans do.” I don’t want to say something cheesy and (temporally) insincere but, in reading this book, my turbulence about the question of eating animals was absolutely slaughtered (pardon the pun). I can intellectually commit to reducing my meat intake–perhaps to zero–but habitually retraining myself and, in some cases, going out of my way and others’ to behaviorally commit, is another matter.

And, though Safran Foer doesn’t outright name it, his provocation for a “democratic” farm system reminds me much of what I’ve explored this semester regarding Food Sovereignty. I hadn’t heretofore transmogrified that movement into political terms (surprising considering how often I bloviate about American politics). To do so would require replacing “corporate” concerns with “civic” ones and, thus, extremely effort exerting. But, as with the work of John Dewey regarding the philosophy of education, redirecting the means and aim of any system towards democracy seems–to me at least–a noble, fruitful, optimistic endeavour.

I only maintain one worry regarding Safran Foer’s compelling narrative/argument: I find it interesting–if not frustrating–that Safran Foer neglects to mention artificially grown meat. For those unfamiliar, we are now on the cusp of scaling up meat tissue, grown without any animal to raise or kill. If our concern is, as Safran Foer writes, “all of the time […] between cruelty and ecological destruction, and ceasing to eat animals,” then I wonder how our concern would change regarding this “animal-less” (for lack of a better term) meat. That is, if we eliminate the suffering and killing of animals, but still eat “meat,” do we still have an ethical travesty on our hands? The only foreseeable objection to this innovation would be akin to arguments against homosexuality, one of squeamishness: “That makes me feel uncomfortable/That is unnatural, thus, wrong.” If this harmless new method of growing meat becomes scaled in the way the innovating company wants it to be, then how does Safran Foer’s argument shift?

(Link to a podcast in which “Meat Without Misery” is discussed at length: https://www.samharris.org/podcast/item/meat-without-murder)

In any case, I highly recommend this book, Eating Animals, to all. It’s the kind of book I had to read in one sitting, the kind of book that is a perfect storm of the personal, social, and the ethical. Give it a read, and see where you stand in regards to the question of eating animals.

I’ll tempt you with this brief excerpt: “We can’t plead ignorance, only indifference. Those alive today are the generations that came to know better. We have the burden and the opportunity of living in the moment when the critique of factory farming broke into the popular consciousness. We are the ones of whom it will be fairly asked, What did you do when you learned the truth about eating animals?

Kurzgesagt: Why Bernie Sanders has my Vote

January 14, 2016

berniecover(My friend solicited my opinion on Bernie Sanders as a political candidate. Without editing, here is my reply.)


K—–, thank you for taking my position seriously, as I know these conversations are too often just self-satire of people talking past eachother.

Firstly, I should say that my general political views are culturally libertarian, and economically socialist (not the “socialism” of Bernie). If not for Florida’s closed primaries, I would be still be a registered Independent. I voted libertarian in 2012, and I’ll probably vote Green Party this year if Bernie isn’t the Dem nominee–just because I’m stubborn.

In truth, I didn’t like Sanders at first. His charisma just rubbed me the wrong way. However, I took the “I Side With” quiz online and was stunned by my 97% alignment with Bernie. That puzzled me, so I went to FeeltheBern.com and looked into his positions. I think the 97% figure is a *little* inflated, but it’s something like 85%.

I watch many rallies, speeches, and every debate. I am on the treadmill for an hour every morning watching CNN and Fox next to eachother. I just have an armchair understanding of politics, but I’m actively trying to figure out what to think and what’s true–even if that truth is bitter. From these efforts, I’ve concluded that Bernie is the only candidate who relentlessly brings the political conversation back to things which matter most to me, personally: Getting money out of politics, addressing climate change, rebuilding infrastructure, keeping jobs in America, deinflating our ridiculous criminal justice system, making college more accessible, etc. I’ll expand on these one by one:

  1. Money in politics is the biggest issue, and Bernie has been preaching the same message for decades. Martin Luther King Jr, Pope Francis, etc. have said the same thing. I drink the Bernie kool-aid that we’re living in an oligarchy. I firmly believe that we can’t truly “fix” our government without fixing this first.
  2. Climate Change is the issue I’m most sensitive to. Idk how much of a science geek you are, but it’s pretty clear that Earth is an extremely vulnerable, fragile place for us. A meteor could strike us, a massive earthquake could sink California, Yellowstone could blow up North America, etc. but Climate Change (investing in both the technology, and the research) seems fixable and is a *must* if we’re gonna survive as a species. You think we have a refugee crisis now? Wait until Florida floods (projected 3-6 foot sea rise by 2100).
  3. Turning to his economic issues, it’s easy to blame people at the bottom for their being there, that’s the implicit premise in a meritocratic system (i.e. the American Dream). I agree with a lot of my republican friends who think it’s a drag on our system to have people on welfare (we can get into what I think in terms of solutions, but this is already a novel reply). But I don’t think we’re wise to abandon anyone in our country.
    Infrastructure is such a non-sexy political topic. But most of our infrastructure is far underfunded, as Bernie says, “crumbling,” and fixing it provides decent paying jobs to tons of people. Seems like a great idea to me (even Trump espouses this idea).
  4. Prison, as you saw my post, is something that really bothers me. Particularly the prison-binge we’ve seen over the last thirty years. I think we need to get rid of private prisons. We need to stop looking at prison as “punishment” in every case (though I can understand exceptions), and instead focus on their role as “correctional facilities.” Our recidivism rates are insane. We have more than 1% of our population incarcerated. Nonviolent drug offenses are ridiculously over-punished. And they cost so freaking much; one prisoner for a year costs as much as three kids’ K-12 public education. etc. etc. You get the point. Bernie is the only candidate making any real effort to fix it, in my opinion.
  5. Making college affordable is important to me. I’ll admit, I’m biased, being someone going after his Ph.D. But I think that education is never a bad thing. It’s not expensive (when bureaucracy and neoliberal administration doesn’t inflate, as it has). And there is no world in which having a better educated population is a bad thing, to my mind. Seems like a no-brainer to me.
  6. Healthcare another big issue for me. Forget Obamacare, and transition to a single-payer system (again, odd that Trump also has this position). The fact that you can go bankrupt for being sick or injured in the hospital is insane, to me at least. Take Breaking Bad as an example, the dude cooks meth to pay his hospital bills. I consider healthcare a right, even though it costs a hell of a lot. But a single-payer system is far cheaper and provides for all. I think that’s important.
  7. The final major agreement I have with Bernie is regarding Social Security. In the Republican debates, almost all candidates (with the exception of Kasich, I think) say “raise the retirement age and cut social security.” Yes, social security is very expensive. But people need it precisely because of reasons like lack of affordable healthcare, and lack of education. If we fix those other issues, then social security becomes easier to attack. But I think they all kind of work together. I worked with a 70 year old who washes dishes to keep food on the table. Call me a “bleeding heart liberal,” but that stuff really gets to me.
  8. I also like his position on guns. He’s not all paranoid “BAN ALL GUNS ALWAYS EVERYWHERE” like most liberals tend to be.

The kind of conversation Bernie is having is starkly different than the right. Generally, the Republicans talk about cutting taxes and strengthening our military. I don’t believe in either of those values. I think taxing is necessary, whether we like it or not. And we spend far too much on our military as it is (ironically, hundreds of thousands of our veterans starve on the streets, are mentally ill, and/or are incarcerated). And what automatically turns me off from republican candidates is their outright denial of Climate Change. My argument is that *even if* 98% of scientists are wrong and Climate Change is not real, we are still ridiculously wasteful. We use far too many resources. If nothing else, get off fossil fuels to keep the air clean. I spent some time in Beijing last year, and there are days where it’s necessary to wear masks. That’s where we’re headed unless we get off fossil fuels (and cows, but that’s a whole other story regarding climate change). And there’s just the sheer buffoonery of what happens with accidents: Deepwater Horizon, and the recent incident in California, for example. Even if Climate Change isn’t real, we can and should do better. Doing so creates thousands and thousands of jobs in America. I’m stubborn on that one issue more than any other, perhaps unreasonably so. Thus, I can’t in good conscience support another candidate.

And Hillary… oh god. We don’t even need to get into that circlejerk of slaying her.

I don’t consider Bernie my ideological savior. I actually agree more with Jill Stein of the Green Party. I somewhat disagree with Bernie on the $15 minimum wage. That seems to be an issue where we’re just begging for inflation, and treating the symptom rather than the disease. (I will say that a “living wage” seems like a great idea, however. You shouldn’t be in poverty if you work full time, simple as that.) There are some other things like the “wage gap” that I’m skeptical of (as the 77 cents figure, specifically). His pro-Israel stance puzzles me (more than it should?), etc. But in general, he has my vote.

There’s all kinds of things I want to say, but that’s the short(?) version.

What do you think? What about him are you skeptical of?