I seem to be able to do nothing but parrot other people’s much more eloquent thoughts lately, but for right now, that’s okay. If my tiny little no-readership blog can give a tiny little signal boost to something important, I’m going to be content with that.
The inimitable Rejectionist has a post up about anger and why it’s important. I’m posting an excerpt because I think she’s right, her prose is beautiful and cutting, and I think she’s put into words what we should all be feeling.
I have been getting pretty visceral lately with my anger and it comes up in strange ways, hot wide surges of fury as unthwartable as magma, and I don’t always like it either but what else do you do. The older I get the fewer fucks I give. These days I am an open wound, a walking gash–oh, do you see what I did there–a woman whose anger radiates outward like a heat haze. I am angry about a lot more than Jonathan Franzen–I am an ace at anger, a real multitasker of fury. I am large, I contain multitudes. I have energy to spare, believe me, I have energy to fire up a nuclear bomb. I can be angry about so many things at once, I can be angry about the big things and the little ones, the massive injustice of Trayvon Martin and the gnat that is Jonathan Franzen’s opinions, I can be angry about the abortion ban that just passed in Mississippi and the books that are being banned in Arizona, and I am not in any way saying that these things are the same things, that they are weighted equally, but we have to live with all of them, and here’s the thing. Nobody, but nobody, gets to tell me what to be angry about. What it is and is not okay to be angry about. I think you know how to be angry about a lot of things, too. I think you know anger is not a pie: there is always more to go around. Let us never be less inventive than the people who hate us, do you understand? Our thoughts be bloody or nothing fucking worth.