“I once saw a group of little girls on a Mississippi sidewalk, all dolled up in their mothers’ and sisters’ cast-off finery, old raggedy ball gowns and plumed hats and high-heeled slippers, enacting a meeting of ladies in a parlour with a perfect mimicry of polite Southern gush and simper. But one child was not satisfied with the attention paid her enraptured performance by the others, they were too involved in their own performances to suit her, so she stretched out her skinny arms and threw back her skinny neck and shrieked to the deaf heavens and her equally oblivious playmates, “Look at me, look at me, look at me!”
And then her mother’s high-heeled slippers threw her off balance and she fell to the sidewalk in a great howling tangle of soiled white satin and torn pink net, and still nobody looked at her.
I wonder if she is not, now, a Southern writer.”—Tennessee Williams (via sebastianbrilliance)
I used to be better at blogging and writing about myself. I’ve since aged and become self-conscious, worried that I’m just over-sharing and contributing to a virtual compost of twenty-something egos on the internet.
Even with the promise of privacy offered in a locked notebook or settings online, the act of recording feels weird. Lately, my thoughts seem to pass through me and then continue on their way. Some circle back, but they don’t feel “worthy” of being articulated. This attitude is self-defeating. Some things may or may not be worthy, but why should I care, or anyone else for that matter? I need to start writing things down for myself first, not for the approval of others. This isn’t a debutante ball!
When you talk about guns you always hear a lot about the Second Amendment and the Founding Fathers, and what they would say if they were here. Well, I for one think that if the Founding Fathers were here today, they would be super freaked out by cars. You can talk to them all you want about the Second Amendment, and they would just yell, ‘What are all these metal beasts doing rolling down the thoroughfare?’ And you’d tell them, ‘Those are cars’. And then you’d try to talk to them about militias and they would scream, ‘How can you speak of militias when steel dragons fly through the sky?’ And you’d say, ‘Those are airplanes.’ But even if they could wrap their heads around that they would eventually ask, ‘Why are all the slaves out?’ And they would think that. You can groan all you want, but they would think that.
And yes, the Founding Fathers wanted you to have the right to bear arms, but the guys who wrote that would pee through all eight layers of their pants if they saw what guns are now. In 1787 shooting a bullet was slightly faster than throwing one. If you wanted to be bulletproof in 1787 you put on a heavy coat. So with that in mind, I’m all about Americans having guns as long as they’re the muskets from 1787 that take forever to load.