merrily merrily merrily merrily

DO YOU BELIEVE IN [REVOLT]

DO YOU BELIEVE IN [REVOLT]

there’s a typecase of buttons.
i think every compartmented drawer
is a typecase. my biases. 
bath body abstracted not sexualized.
what’s the deal w/ mom.
oh she had an emotional breakdown
when a death happened okay oops.
do you believe in [compromise].
do you believe in [spectacle]. 
do you believe in [broadcast].
i didn’t cry until district 11 started fucking shit up.
what does that mean about me.
an individual death is inevitable.
individuals programming the death
of other individuals is an abomination.
a time-spanning one. every minute. 
i felt genuinely overwhelmed. 
i was crying, struggling to keep still, 
confessing to my sleepy parents, 
“i don’t know if i can watch this.
i’ve been studying REAL revolutions.
these things happened to people”
feeling the worst is to know the hell
you were already immersed in. what i mean is
the character wants to have chosen escape
a few months ago when instead she did
what she must have done. the longing, now that
it is clear there was never escape.
i know people who say, “we’ll get away,
live on a farm where we have everything
we need, be apart, be safe” and i understand
that desire. i understand that longing
while i execute my duty to tell them what i’ve
learned about all that from Teachings:
“when people need to eat, they
will find your farm. there is no being apart.”
again i’m thinking “it is meet. it is right.”
it is up to us to begin sharing before martial law
or lawlessness. i know it’s scary. imagine anyway.
volunteerism is as grave in this movie as
people act like it is in real life.
when you start to know history, and you have
begun to develop your ability to feel the pain you see,
movies are horrifying. i am entering a new part
of my life where more movies are horrifying,
including mundane ones about personal happiness.
it would be different, im sure, if worse things
happened to me. if bad things happened to me.
i don’t know what happens in the last third of
The Hunger Games. but i do know that
700 years ago, the church burned Margharita
slowly in front of her partner while she
refused to abjure, and he was publicly
shredded over the course of several miles
through mountain towns. 
when i have needed to SAY, i have
welcomed into my mouth a voice i don’t have. 
it exists. believe it now.