Arab Spring, Started not by the Egyptians, but it's a cool thing.

The Arab Spring is an overzealous term for a wave of change that is spreading across the Middle East. Before a major one that you've probably heard a little about, that of the Egyptian liberation, Sudan was the only Arabic country to throw over their dictator, once in the sixties and again in the eighties. BEFORE EGYPT, Arab Spring began in Tunisia, which no one seems to care about.

The civil war in Libya, the one most people are yipping and hoping for in our country, might not lead to the best of outcomes because of the Libya rebels. They are not much better than Gaddafi. In February, the rebels stormed the streets of Libya, angry about economic favoritism and Gaddafi's power over the distribution of oil money. There has thus been a divide in the country, Eastern and Western. Western rebels are ignoring the fact that Eastern Libyans are still worse of financially. That, and the rebels have tapped into the bank of an unstable economy. Gaddafi freaking sucks, but the rebels still are angry guys with guns.

All that being said, لشعب يريد إسقاط النظام‎

Morocco, Algeria, Syria, Iran, Yemen, Bahrain, Egypt, Tunisia, and Libya. Does anyone know if this has happened before, let me now, I'm curious.

This has been a very exciting chapter in our history. We won't know how much of it is really for the better until the tides have settled, but we know that it is specifically the use of social media that has been tell-tale of OUR time. If Holocaust victims (having snuck in their cell phones or blackberrys in odd places.) had tweeted about what those dicks were doing to them, maybe teenagers across the globe would've called for action. Journalists would've known and tried to go to concentration camps to get the scoop. If the Japanese Americans who were forced into internment camps during the same time period had Facebooked about it, maybe America would've received some choice feedback from their homeland and other countries.

Yes, it's true, our country is just as fucked as everyone else.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WAyZ90XIJgE

But we can watch videos like the ones above to learn more about what changed the world, and what is in the process of changing.

>^^< (This wasn't about food. Sorry. )

We cut the legs off of our pants.

"Let me begin feels good 'cause it's early
Ease open my eyes and let light in
Some ideas are brewing (growing?)
The radio abides with flying string
Old ideas worth doing
Are taking their time

Fine let's not hurry
It's our morning
(Spread out)
Let's not worry, it's our morning
(Spread out)."

Josane, my best friend, once told me that "Graze" by Animal Collective was "our" song, and by "our" she means the writers of Pratt, those who are, as Kesey would phrase it, "On the bus." Merry Pranksters. Anyway.

I finally (*finally.*) got the courage to do something that I've been meaning to do since day one of my fall semester, and I could barely sleep last night because of it. I've said "yes" to life. It's mind-expanding. 

I spent all day reading this short story called "My Father's Suitcase", in which a man breaks down the lifestyle of a working writer, and essentially states that to be a writer, one must actually turn their back on the world for half of their life. Half of the time, he said, we need to explore the external world and how it makes us who we are. The other half of the time, we need to lock ourselves away to explore the hidden person inside of us. (he started the story [essay] by claiming that all writers have an "other", someone that we need to spend a good deal of our time on earth getting to know.) 

So today, I'm waxing eternal. I'm content and even vaguely proud of the person inside of me. (dirty.) My "other" finally got through to the external. Let light in. 

I couldn't sleep last night after what happened. I woke up and ruffled my newly-cut hair several times over, sent some meaningless tweets, and watched the sun rise over Pantas hall. Hello, Brooklyn. God, it's good to be home. 

I don't want to ever feel as crummy as I was feeling yesterday, before my set of testicles finally grew. Maybe that's all sadness is; fear. That's probably too simplistic, but it's making a lot of sense to my overjoyed mind. And in a way, I'm glad I took my time. It'll be better, after having waited so long. And even if this doesn't "snap" into place, if somehow my boldness was simply an unexpected turn of events, it's still not a mistake. 

Would it be cliche to end with the new heart symbol I have learned? Probably. All the same, I'll not worry, it's my morning. Time to touch God's little hand. :-D

The Centre of the Pray-ree Lands

January 12th 2009

Part of me wonders why I'm even starting up a blog. I'm a writing major who keeps a journal religiously, why is a blog even necessary? I can only think of my sister, who is heading off to Africa, and all of the legitimate stories she will be able to write down. I thought I would get the official title of "Adventurer" in my family after I forsook my arctic tundra for the centre of the universe, New York City. Yet Renee is already off to change the world at the tender old age of 20. 

The picture is taken from my bedroom window. It never ceases to amaze me how depressing the Minnesotan landscape can be. Minneapolis has culture, class, inside jokes...but it still is one of the most uncomfortable cities to live in.

Four days, and my winter break is over. My favorite playwright, Tony Kushner, once wrote a scene in which a husband and wife make love after having been seperated for several months. After this act of "passion", all the wife, Harper, has to say is "Oh, oh, whatdoya know...back in Brooklyn...back with Joe..." 

Back in Brooklyn would be a really cool band name.