I’m tired, I feel sick and revolted by this society of individualism and contempt. Everyday I get up - not wanting to get up - with the feeling that today, once again, nothing will change. 8 hours work minimum every day to hardly afford a living.
Everywhere I see misery, indifference and tiredness.
We lose our time earning money to survive and feed the rich and the ploutocracy.
In my country, trade unions used to be strong but now they have become a part of that system I fight. We must take our lives back into our own hands.
Solidarity, mutual aid, union, collectivization, are the values that must become the common base of our society.
We are the 99%
I’m the 99%
(Belgium supports Occupy Wall Street)
I know you said this we must show our faces, but this is not mine personally. I found it in a newspaper with OWS as the cover story.
Who ever you are, I understand. We are hurting, too.
“Growing up, I constantly saw my mother overcome financially extreme adversities. My father abused my mother daily, but she was strong. She fought back. Once left with a house with no degree, no job, and myself at 8 years old. She became determined. In a span of 5 years, she in a job that was paying her 50,000 annually.
But over that time, she was constantly laid off. Multiple times of extreme stress, also on me. Dealing with an emotionally unavailable father, and financial problems burden a burden for me.
My mother lost plenty of times. So why, why if she gained alot as well, why doesn’t it seem enough? An honest, hardworking single mother with a house and two children. With financial burdens the banks seemed to make a mockery of. Why is it, that I cannot attend college because we can’t “afford” it?
I’m not trying to make a pity party for myself, but we need to WAKE UP. The more I look around at the biggest problems we face, the easier it is to think of an obvious solution. But people seem willfully ignorant. And that bothers me.
So much wrong doing in the world, while we settle for “just because.” What have people become? To put profit over the people? How addicting is money, and when is it enough for you? When an innocent Iranian child dies? When an honest, hardworking, middle class resident who can’t keep up with the bills anymore? When?
Because I have been looking for an answer. I am angry. Angry, AT US. For allowing this to be. Also upset because it hit me personally. I feel like the United States will completely disintegrate in my lifetime.
But why? Ask yourselves, why. Why does this have to be? If we didn’t know about this corruption, it’s one thing. But when it’s in our faces, why do we still choose to accept it?
As my mom is one missed check away from losing everything, I wonder why too.
A single mom of ONE child. I make a grand total of SIX DOLLARS over the max for food stamps, or ANY kind of gov’t assistance. I have to choose between food and rent/electricity most weeks. I have a court order for my child’s father to pay $200/month. He refuses… BUT the gov’t saw fit to allow HIM food stamps, medical care, and housing assistance. He works under the table.
I have NO health insurance, yet I am in constant pain and require spinal surgery. THIS SUCKS!!
I pay 100% out of my own pocket for my child’s daycare so I can work. My student loan of $14,000+k is growing because I cannot afford to pay it. I keep having to request a forbearance… I am thankful for the job that I do have. However, I am employed through a staffing agency, and I do not get paid holidays when the office is closed. Imagine how bad I felt when I could not afford presents for my only child.
I am thankful for a volunteer, non-profit organization called VIM that can see to my most basic health issues at no cost to me, because I am a hard-working, middle-class american. I have to pay for my anxiety/depression medicine out of my pocket.
I am also thankful that at least my child has health insurance paid for by the state. Thank you, state.
If it weren’t for my child I would honestly not be here anymore…
…Because I see where this country is going. I have never voted because I know it will not make a difference. The gov’t and wallstreet will do whatever they want anyways.
The “American Dream” has wasted away into a NIGHTMARE. I would rather go to another country that cares for its people.
I know there are others much less fortunate than I, so I am truly thankful for what I do have.
This madness has GOT TO STOP.
If I didn’t have to work to provide food for my child, I would be occupying outside of wallstreet right now.
Vincent James O’Sullivan (1868-1940) was an American-born writer of macabre stories and Decadent poetry. Oscar Wilde, after having read O’Sullivan’s poems, commented: “In what a midnight his soul seems to walk! and what maladies he draws from the moon!”, and such a remark aptly characterizes most of O’Sullivan’s oeuvre.
It was in Montague Summers’ The Supernatural Omnibus (pub. 1931) that I first noticed O’Sullivan’s artistry. His stories—even in a collection that includes such figures as J. Sheridan Le Fanu, Bram Stoker, Vernon Lee, and, one of Crowley’s cronies, William Seabrook—immediately stood out for their delivery, if not their content. O’Sullivan’s prose is vivid, flowing, and capable of deathly sudden twists. His most widely anthologized story, “When I Was Dead”, was described by Robert Aickman, who included it in The Fourth Fontana Book of Great Ghost Stories (pub. 1967), as a “spasm of guilt”, “sudden and shattering”. However, that story is quite mild in comparison to some of O’Sullivan’s others. A few of my favourites are “Hugo Raven’s Hand”, “My Enemy and Myself”, “The Bars of the Pit”, and the novella-length “Verschoyle’s House”.
For more about Vincent O’Sullivan, see:
- Jessica Amanda Salmonson’s essay, “A Fallen Master of the Macabre”; it is from the introduction to Master of Fallen Years: The Complete Supernatural Stories of Vincent O’Sullivan (London: The Ghost Story Press, 1995). (Note: the book is very hard to come by, only 400 were printed, has a creepy cover, and it contains his rarest story, “The Monkey & Basil Holderness”, which I am desperate to read.)
- “Vincent O’Sullivan: Unstrung Second Fiddle”, an essay that compares him to other Decadent poets, and discusses in detail his story collection A Dissertation Upon Second Fiddles, which is said to read like an English Léon Bloy.
- Archive.org has the story collection Human Affairs, and the Decadent “prosetry” of The Green Window. Unfortunately, their scan of Sentiment, his second of two novels, is the edition without the stories, and they don’t have his first novel, my favourite of the two, The Good Girl. (I hope to add some of his other works to Archive.org.)
- Horror Masters is a good resource for stories of the supernatural, of Vincent’s, it has: “Will”, “The Business of Madame Jahn”, “The Interval”, “Master of Fallen Years”, “When I Was Dead”, and “The Burned House”.
(Image: the frontispiece was done by the talented Aubrey Beardsley; the drawing does not look to be his most inspired work (see Stanley Weintraub’s Beardsley for why =]), but do take a look at this collection.)
Q: Do you see your work as fitting into the traditions of European fiction—or indeed any national or regional tradition?
A: There are many traditions of European fiction and I think my work has been influenced by some of them: above all a Central-European tradition of the oneiric grotesque (Kafka, Kubin); a tradition of French surrealism (Breton, Mandiargues, Gracq), pre-surrealism (Lautréamont, Jarry, Roussel) and para-surrealism (Michaux); a tradition of “phenomenological” fiction (Proust, Rilke, Larbaud); and also a tradition of generic adventure (Verne) and detective stories (Conan-Doyle, Souvestre & Allain)…
From a short interview with Michael Ajvaz at Dalkey Archive. He nicely summarizes the strands of literature I hope to cover on Writers No One Reads. Cram in some loonyness from Russia and the Americas and my entire reading life is revealed.writersnoonereads)
Death plays sweet for those who hear
Through the nostril - not the ear
“You can do all sorts of things though, like making love on a different part of the bed, speaking only in vacation-level Spanish, or giving each other’s body parts cute nicknames like “Li’l Gary” or “Flooferbubs” or “Horrible Cave of Nightmares.””
SOMA - San Francisco, CA
Cormac M. | Author | Lost in the chaparral, NM
See that false burrito. See it swaddled in tinfoil on the desk in the bowels of that great tower, a bundle of meat and sauce in a place long ago ceded to silicone and copper. The stooped man eating that peasant…
Tumblr at night. ^_^
I recently conducted an interview with Joan Didion. We spoke over the phone; she from her hotel in Washington. She was on tour for Blue Nights, a reminisence about the life and death of her daughter, Quintana, and Didion’s thoughts about her own mortality. Over the next few weeks, we will be posting highlights from this interview, then it will all be posted on The Believer website.
- Sheila Heti
THE BELIEVER: When you were a little girl you wanted to be an actress, not a writer?
JOAN DIDION: Right.
BLVR: But you said it’s okay, because writing is in some ways a performance. When you’re writing, are you performing a character?
JD: You’re not even a character. You’re doing a performance. Somehow writing has always seemed to me to have an element of performance.
BLVR: What is the nature of that performance? I mean, an actor performs a character—
JD: Sometimes an actor performs a character, but sometimes an actor just performs. With writing, I don’t think it’s performing a character, really, if the character you’re performing is yourself. I don’t see that as playing a role. It’s just appearing in public.
BLVR: Appearing in public and sort of saying lines—
JD: But not somebody else’s lines. Your lines. Look at me—this is me, is, I think, what you’re saying.
BLVR: And do you feel like that me is a pretty stable thing, or unstable? Is it consistent through one’s life as a writer?
JD: I think it develops into a fairly stable thing over time. I think it’s not at all stable at first. But then you kind of grow into the role you have made for yourself.
BLVR: How would you gauge the distance between the role you have made for yourself—
JD: —and the real person?
JD: Well, I don’t know. The real person becomes the role you have made for yourself.