Free Salvia Test

I keep hearing and reading about how the CEO of Abercrombie & Fitch made some douchebaggy comments about not wanting to have unattractive and/or fat people wear his clothing. According to my Facebook feed, and my corner of the vast internet, some people are getting a touch outraged about this. Frankly, I think there are more important things to focus on.

I’ve never cared for Abercrombie & Fitch, and I don’t know why it’s suddenly a news flash that their clothes are made for an exclusive (and sometimes douchebaggy) demographic. Wear their clothes? Great. Wear what you want. Don’t wear their clothes? Great. Wear what you want. But are we going to, next, complain about BabiesRUs because they are catering to a specific demographic? Honestly, I don’t think it is the biggest problem in the clothing industry. Did everyone already forget about this:

Bangledesh fire kills 8; collapse toll tops 900

And an update, from two days ago, 

Bangledesh building collapse search for bodies ends; final death toll over 1200

Instead of going batshit about some douchy comments one dude made, why don’t we consider the dangerous and unjust manufacturing practices of the clothing industry at large? (including, yes, A&F).

Nobody is dying because of A&F’s discrimination against “fat” and “ugly” people (both of which are subjective terms to a point). But people suffer and die because of the manner in which the clothing is produced, regardless of the size or style. The above mentioned story is not one isolated incident. Another fire in November killed over 100 people. 

I can’t say I know exactly what to do about it, but for the moment, I’m trying to vote with my dollars by shopping mostly reuse (thrift and vintage) and US made. 

And no, I didn’t buy a bunch of A&F secondhand clothes to throw at homeless folk.

I always knew I could go either way;
by age 19, I was sure of it;
I knew that what ailed me
could kill me
if I let it,
But only if I let it.

Time and time again,
I was reassured
that I could go either way,
And sometimes, I wasn’t sure which way to go.
Though my mind ached,
And my body deteriorated,
My heart had to beat, for it knew the answer
was life.

Pleasure machine,
pleasure me,
with every interaction.
Your sweet *ping* sound
makes my happy hormones flow,
and mmm
neurotransmitters,
and that sweet light hit my eye.
It’s Information
lost in a web of waste and lies,
but I don’t want to see it
unless it’s juicy.
Who’s breakin’ up,
makin’ up,
dissing his baby mama,
in the loneliness of a room
in public.
And she be crying at a bar
staring at the screen,
while her friends don’t even notice
‘cause they too busy textin’
their boys across town.
Boy says, “wtf u bitch!”
Girl says “I can’t believe he said that!”
Friend says,”Tell him to fuck himself! We gonna drink, girl.”
And girl says, “Fuck u.”

Can I just be where I am?

Do I need to know when my inbox
acquires another bit of spam?
That abstract mail be fuckin
with my system.
We sit on our asses as time passes
and play games then get up and go out
and do the same,
staring at that shiny machine
whenever it calls.
Our luxury—
our vice—
—our undoing.

But what are we doing anyway?

Oh, excuse me,

I gotta take this call.

It is desire
that steals away
all energy
from the body
of the angelic ghost
incarnate.
It is desire,
that,
even nicknamed
“Love”
still smells of semen.
It is desire that fills my heart,
and desire at the center of the
black hole in my heart that follows.
And shall I do what I must do,
Or shall I do what I desire?

I do not desire.

It desires me.
It wastes me to nothing,
until I finally shout “No!”

It takes me to heaven and hell and back again,
until I chain my feet to the ground
to labor at the desk of sanity,
which, too, is never satisfied.

When I die I will have lived a “Good life,”
and it may be “Too bad.”
But will my vice be spoken of
with such love?

Will they fondly recall what I truly burned for,
but never achieved?
Or will they lament that I departed
under such circumstances,
Vice to live by,
Vice to die by,
Enemy, desire,
Never reconciled
‘til it was
too
late.

…complete with sound track.

There was a song in my dream that I’m trying to write, but of my two top choices of female names to use, I realize that both refer to drugs. Given the surreal quality of the rest of lyrics, I am considering whether to omit such accidental references.