March 28th, 1976 at 8:30 pm
by Rastaban (1976)
It's like I've lost a major battle in the war of my life, that Boyd is dead. It has made me feel so much angrier, and bitterer, and more determined. But it's taken all the appetite away from me.
It's like I'm dead up against a wall that I can't shake. I so desperately want to talk to Boyd about it. I want to reason it out with him. I need his support—to verify me.
I just need to talk to him to talk. Suddenly I am dangling in the world. I don't know how to reclaim my life alone—but now I am really alone.
I don't have the appetite anymore, that I would pick up from seeing Boyd. I don't have the string to dangle from anymore.
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March 20th, 1976 at 8:10 am
by Rastaban (1976)
It is often said that the roots exist for the tree, but maybe the tree exists for the roots.
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March 18th, 1976 at 11:00 am
by Rastaban (1976)
What man used to do for his life for work has been narrowed to the modern sense of work, and that part that has been squeezed out of it has manifested itself anew under the name of play. Once play and work were so intermingled they were one thing; now they are separated into two.
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March 17th, 1976 at 9:15 am
by Rastaban (1976)
There is also the obvious analogy between animals in laboratory conditions, the techniques of manipulation used against them,—and brainwashing, as occurs in P.O.W. camps and kidnappers' closets and slave plantations.
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March 17th, 1976 at 8:30 am
by Rastaban (1976)
The human body is so very strange-looking. But from the waist down it is beautiful—so animal-like. It is an education just to look at our body from the waist down—especially the powerful legs. Of course the shoulders and neck—they are beautiful too. And the forearms when they are strong—so animal-like. The breast, even the belly when it is not too big—they are beautiful, as are the strong hands. And the human face, too, has its good points. The eyes are animal-like and beautiful. And the nose, the ears, the cheeks, even the mouth. The human body is so animal like and beautiful above the waist. But so strange below it: the legs are like stilts. We walk like we're walking on stilts.
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March 12th, 1976 at 10:00 am
by Rastaban (1976)
It is only in a tragic world that death becomes such a tragedy.
Babies cry at everything violent, at the slightest tragic loss of love, and do not understand death; adults no longer are aware of most violence and tragedy short of injury or loss of life, and still, still they do not understand death.
We now have a world that to survive in, you have to be happy go free and care lucky about it.
You have to live every minute of your life as if you are in a state of war with civilization around you, as if every minute is a minute exposed in a combat zone, in danger for your life and your children's lives.
Because it's almost literally so.
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