I still have hopes for this blog, and I hope to rekindle it with more poetry and world-building and writing articles. But I still am recovering from painful events of late.
Sitting in my drafts is a review of the movie Arrival, which I hope to one day finish, when I feel well enough to focus on nonfiction writing again. But in the meantime, I highly, highly recommend everyone go watch it as soon as they can. It’s worth every nanosecond of your time.
Today is my birthday, and this year it falls on Martin Luther King Jr. Day. Today our media portrays him as a Civil Rights Activist, who led the movement for the Civil Rights Act of 1964. We are taught about his non-violence campaigns for equality, but we were not taught about how he critiqued Capitalism. How he was anti-war, speaking up especially against the Vietnam War. How he fought against the growing economic disparity of Americans and strove for a fairer distribution of wealth. These lesser known views are rarely mentioned in history lessons, and he lost a lot of support during his latter years because of these views. It is of his views on anti-war and economic justice that I speak of today.
He wrote Coretta Scott in 1952, whom he was dating at the time, but who would soon become his wife:
I imagine you already know that I am much more socialistic in my economic theory than capitalistic. And yet I am not so opposed to capitalism that I have failed to see its relative merits. It started out with a noble and high motive, viz, to block the trade monopolies of nobles, but like most human system it fail victim to the very thing it was revolting against. So today capitalism has outlived its usefulness. It has brought about a system that takes necessities from the masses to give luxuries to the classes.
He goes on to say:
Our economic system is going through a radical change, and certainly this change is needed. I would certainly welcome the day to come when there will be a nationalization of industry. Let us continue to hope, work, and pray that in the future we will live to see a warless world, a better distribution of wealth, and a brotherhood that transcends race or color. This is the gospel that I will preach to the world.
King saw how Capitalism had turned down a dark road, one where the rich got richer and the poor poorer. He, in a way, predicted indirectly the loss of the middle class as he pointed out the problems with the wealth distribution, how it was failing. He even had plans to organize a 1960s version of the Occupy movement, but alas, he never saw these plans to fruition as he was murdered before the occupation happened.
He even advocated for a better system such as democratic socialism in a 1966 speech:
[W]e are saying that something is wrong … with capitalism…. There must be better distribution of wealth and maybe America must move toward a democratic socialism. Call it what you may, call it democracy, or call it democratic socialism, but there must be a better distribution of wealth within this country for all of God’s children.
Bernie Sanders today also advocates for Democratic Socialism. But what is this economic system? A lot of people misunderstand it because much of American Media casts socialism as evil and paints it all as the same as communism. That misunderstanding is causing us harm as it silences conversations on how to solve the problem of income inequality within our nation today. We need to have these discussions in order to understand the nature of the problem and create solutions that will benefit the vast majority of Americans and not just a privileged few. The video below explains in detail what Democratic Socialism actually is:
In his speech in 1967, King also spoke out against America’s militaristic powerhouse:
A nation that continues year after year to spend more money on military defense than on programs of social uplift is approaching spiritual death.
His critiques on America was solely needed even today, where America still spends more than any other nation on the world on military, where the income inequality is even worse today then it was in King’s time, where the rights of people of color are being trampled throughout our country.
In order to truly understand Martin Luther King Jr., we need to recognize not just his Civil Rights efforts, but also all of his views, especially those that people still try to silence today. He sought to push society toward a “warless world, a better distribution of wealth, and a brotherhood that transcends race or color.” We still have a long way to go, but the fight isn’t over yet.
The New Horizons spacecraft has reached pluto and is sending back data! Here are some articles that highlight some of the more interesting photos to be released as of today (7/15/2015):
NASA: https://www.nasa.gov/feature/new-horizons-spacecraft-displays-pluto-s-big-heart-0
http://www.nasa.gov/mission_pages/newhorizons/main/index.html
http://pluto.jhuapl.edu/
Missions Operator Manager (MOM): http://www.themarysue.com/alice-bowman-new-horizons/
Neil Degrasse Tyson and Stephen Colbert: http://www.themarysue.com/colbert-pluto-neil-degrasse-tyson/
Bad Astronomer: http://www.slate.com/blogs/bad_astronomy/2015/07/15/pluto_and_charon_the_first_close_up_images.html
This is pretty exciting news as this is the farthest object from earth that we have examined this closely! So kudos to the space mission! Great job!
Remember, a lot of the cool devices and technology we have today comes from the space program — due to the difficulties of space in keeping instruments working and keeping humans safe, NASA and its affiliates have to constantly engineer creative solutions to problems and invent new and better devices, shielding, and new materials. NASA is also at a critical low for funding, which is incredibly sad and troublesome as that lack of funding makes it harder to innovate and produce better and more robust materials, engineering solutions, and devices to better humanity everywhere. Future space exploration can not only help us better understand the worlds within our own space neighborhood, but also help us better understand ourselves and create better and more robust ideas and devices and materials for our future.
In closing, enjoy this montage of images that show Pluto over the years.
Pluto through the years.
When I was a child, I used to walk along the cracks in the pavement at recess. Carefully walking as if on a tightrope. Each step I took a vivid reminder of the fine line I walked at home and at school, where one false move and I might garner attention. Whether it was good or bad attention, I could never guess, and there were times when being invisible seemed the best option. I often dreamed of flying in space, of going to Mars, and it didn’t bother me that such an endeavor could take months if not years. I’d read those words and think, “I could be myself up there. And it’d be safe.” I may not have understood some of the more dangerous aspects of space, but I did understand it’s isolation. There in space I could be by myself, away from the scary and dangerous aspects of life on Earth, and look back on the beauty of the planet without fear.
It was sometime in second or third grade I decided I would seek out good attention by being everyone’s friend. I’d become Samwise Gamgee, who was loyal to a fault. When my friends started to falter, I’d channel my inner Samwise, pick them up, and carry them until they could walk again. I adored the verse in the New Testament that read, “No greater love has one than this, than to lay down one’s life for a friend.” I imagined the many ways I could die, saving the life of another. There in the streets of a large city, a gunman would start shooting at my friend, and I’d leap heroically into the line of fire. My friend would run to safety, and I’d kick the gun out of the attacker’s hands and somehow win the fight despite the multiple gunshot wounds.
If I was anything, I was ambitious. Heck, as a young child, I wanted to not only be the first person on Mars but also the first person to write a novel in space on the way to Mars. I always had lofty goals, even when it came to defending my friends against the terrors of the world.
But there are some terrors in which you cannot defend. How do I fight an oppressive system that views people of color as less than human? That strives to strip them of their humanity and often their lives, without warning? I have no defense against a system that de-values the lives of transgender people like myself, where it misgenders us, violently attacks us, and tries to strip away our humanity. No matter how hard I try, I can’t demolish a system that tries to rape, demolish, and exploit anyone who identifies as female. How do I stop a culture that treats rape as a joke, vilifying survivors, and sympathizing with rapists? How can I defend those I love against toxic forms of religion that seek to strip away our rights, steal our humanity, and leave us for dead on the side of the road?
I’m just one person, and a flawed one at that. I’ve been an outcast in every group I’ve tried to join. I have been that friendly person that people admit is nice but never stop to truly see me as me. I am just a wall decoration, a friendly atmosphere, a hopeful sentence or two that uplifts their spirits. I am nebulous and undefined, and when they turn to look at me, they force labels on me, often against my will, where I am confined to their version of me, their version of reality. There is no room to breathe, and if I speak up?
Speaking up is out of the question, for now, as I struggle with my gender and seek transition, I’ve lost that right. I am the one that fell between the cracks. The survivor that never really had a support system, not even when I presented as a woman. I am not a woman, but I’m not a man. How can I walk into these women-only spaces seeking safety and healing from the horrors of our rape culture? I can’t for I don’t belong. How can I enter into feminist discussions about sexism in society? I lost that right the moment I injected testosterone into my system. I had no voice to begin with, and now that I finally decided to be myself, I find that I still have no voice. Many demand I stay silent, but hasn’t my entire life been silent? Written in bits and pieces and scattered through a thousand journal pages, many of which will never see the light of day. Instead, I try hard to amplify the voice of others, but in the end, it is never enough.
I am not a woman, but I’m not a man. I lie somewhere inbetween, lurking in that grey area that lacks definition. My body is my own, and the alterations I seek aligns it more with my brain and my own self-image. But society and parts of my family would not see it that way. To them, people like me are the problem, the reason for the war.
People want black and white depictions of the world, where everything is neatly ordered and fits into simply defined categories. That’s not how reality is. Nothing is ever neatly defined, and there is a whole spectrum of color beyond these narrow two-sided definitions. Our culture scorns diversity, and those that dare to fight against its tyranny, hostility, and discriminatory transgressions — they are met with a war that seeks to destroy them through a mountain of misinformation, death threats, and loss of life. For people like me, we are the casualties in a fight society wages against anyone who doesn’t fit the narrow cisgender, white, straight ideal. We ask for equal rights with those who already have them, and we are shot down and painted as monsters and freaks.
When I stand up in those dreams and take those bullets, the bullets are the transphobic remarks, racist diatribes, homophobic slurs, sexist actions, harmful words that society hurls at us by the minute.
I stand here shattered into a million pieces. For years I kept trying to piece myself back together, to try to see the whole again, but now I stand here amongst this shattered glass, amongst the streams of blood, and raise my hands toward heaven. I can’t fight an oppressive, sick system that seeks to destroy the marginalized and anyone it deems ‘not good enough’ to live. I keep trying, and in the end, I have realized my own deception.
My death will not save anyone. No matter how much I love, how much I try, my death is not the greatest love of all. And what about my life? Will it mean anything in the end? Will my words, my actions, my dreams ever matter to anyone? Will the bullets I’ve taken, help others in their journey? Will the trauma I’ve experienced ever truly heal? Will I ever be able to feel safe in this world? Will those I love ever feel safe? Will they ever be heard and respected as they are? Will I?
I don’t know. I walk along the cracks, balancing precariously between hope and despair.
The box is a deep maroon, the texture somewhat akin to cardboard but stronger and thinner. Inside lays a wealth of memories, not forgotten, but held in the confines of four walls, protected from the elements and from my own grief. It is unknown exactly when I received this box in the mail, but it is years ago, the time it captures long gone and broken apart like the wind amongst the fallen autumn leaves. I do not expect I will ever see these two friends again, or even hear their voices. Those memories are faint now, but I hold onto them like a matter trapped in an endless stream around a black hole. Memories of a former life, lost in the dredges of time but never forgotten.
No, there are some events and people that will never be forgotten, for good or ill. These people have walked into my life and left footprints on my heart. Footprints that sink deep into my soul, leaving a fossil I can never dislodge. Most of these people I may never see again. Our paths have divulged in the woods, and the path I took was not the one they chose. I cannot call them back, nor wish for their return, for such a hope is foolish. When people walk out of life, the best you can do is let them go, for that is the only action love can do. If I forced them to stay, it only breeds resentment.
How often have I made that fatal mistake? To try to hold onto someone, to not let them walk out of my life, to try to pull them back and stay with me a little bit longer? In the end it always ended in resentment, in loss, in effectively destroying what relationship — romantic or not — I had with them. In the end, I am left with nothing but air and tears in my hands. I cannot take back what I’ve done but only apologize and hold onto these nuggets of memories — these tiny light-filled stones and drop them in the box.
When I close my eyes, I can visualize these memories as clear as the day I inscribed them into my mind, the day I walked that path with those friends and former loves. Continue Reading
Today is Martin Luther King Day, where service events abound. I chose to volunteer at a Poverty Simulation, where I was given the job of being the SuperFood Clerk. Those involved in the simulation had to buy their food, clothing, miscellaneous supplies, and prescriptions through me. Fifteen minutes represents a week, so an hour is a month in the life of the impoverished. There is three goals:
To do this, you needed income — the primary way to achieve that was through a job such as full time or part time work, which took up half the fifteen minutes. In the other half, your bills had to be paid, food had to be bought, kids taken care of, and other necessary tasks. However, to go anywhere in the room, you needed a transportation pass. This represented the amount of time it takes to walk there or the amount of gas or the amount of bus fare. If you don’t have transportation passes? Then you are out of luck and could not go anywhere.
Those play-acting the impoverished families were randomly given people to play– one could be the mother, one the father (if the family had one), a few were kids, or an elderly person. Some families had children, and a few were just a single person (often an elderly person). There was a lot of diversity in the simulated families. How each person managed their time was one of the biggest obstacles in the simulation, as many realized too late that time is a precious resource, possibly more so than money, as many families didn’t have enough time in the allotted “week” to do all the tasks necessary to accomplish their three goals. By the end of the simulation, those representing the families were stressed, frustrated, and frazzled. Many of them ran around trying to finish the goals, but unable to figure out how to do it. It was startlingly close to how it truly is in real life. After the simulation ending, we all had a discussion about what we learned. A common thread amongst those involved was they had no idea how much time it took to do things, and how hard they had to work to even do simple tasks such as getting food or paying bills.
One thing I realized is that I’m not the only person who tends to buy food last when it comes to paying all the bills. There was a good thirty people there, who played around sixteen families. Only three of the families bought food consistently each week. A few chose to buy clothing rather than food one week, and still others didn’t come to buy food hardly at all. They decided that rent and the other bills had to come first, and sadly enough, this is far more common than I initially realized.
I know when I had bills to pay and I was on the verge of homelessness, food wasn’t a priority even though it should have been. If it had been, I might have avoided some hospital visits. Worse, if you have food allergies or intolerances, obtaining food becomes ten times as hard. Often going to a food bank resulted in maybe a can of corn, but nothing else was edible for me. The poor and homeless are not immune to having their own food allergies or intolerances and this can affect what they are able to afford to buy.
When you’re impoverished, the decision becomes: “Do I pay rent? Or do I pay for food?” No one should ever have to ask those questions or make that decision, and yet millions of Americans are forced to make that decision on a regular basis.
How are we fighting poverty in our communities? By scaling back resources, by trying to de-fund EBT and other poverty assistance efforts, by banning (in some cities) giving food to the homeless, by putting up homeless spikes, by vilifying the poor and homeless, by calling the poor leaches on society, by giving the poor impossible standards — “pull yourself up by your bootstraps!” — by dehumanizing them.
Anyone can fall into poverty — a sudden illness or an accident or loss of job or a natural disaster or any sort of bad event could cause someone to fall into poverty. And those that have been in poverty for generations? It doesn’t matter how hard they work or fight as minimum wage isn’t enough to live on anymore. Going to college is often a dream that can’t be realized due to its rising costs. It’s hard to find the funds to stay in college, but for those that try anyway, they end up in huge amounts of debt that they struggle to pay off.
My own story mirrors the above, where I have never had a job that paid more than ten dollars an hour, much of my jobs paying much less. It took me years to get through my degree, where I often had to take breaks to work and save up again. In the end, I still had to take out a huge amount of loans, and my degree didn’t land me a living wage at all. I ended up almost homeless, struggling to survive. My story isn’t an outlier, and there’s thousands if not millions of people in similar situations. College degrees often are not the ticket out of poverty that many hope for.
A lot of people in our society try to avoid these terrible and painful truths. How do they avoid them? Doublespeak. Turn those in need into monsters, and then it’s okay to not care about them. It’s okay to destroy their safety net, to ignore their suffering, to cast them under the bus to die. Take away their humanity and then society can look away and breath a sigh of relief. It no longer has to look at the awfulness or acknowledge its truth; society can now pretend it doesn’t exist and get on with life. If those suffering protest, then they are made into comedic relief, painted as ungrateful for the scraps left for them.
Ironically, this same tactic is used on the majority of minority groups: people of color, LGBTQ people, and anyone who doesn’t fit into the privileged group within that society. If you turn those who don’t look like you into monsters, it’s easier to ignore the injustice they face, the horrors that mark their days, the discrimination they endure. It’s easier to view their lives as lesser. As not worth as much as your own.
Our society values some lives more than others. And that’s an evil truth many refuse to acknowledge, but until we do, poverty, discrimination, injustice — all of these problems will never go away.
It’s interesting to look and see the top posts for this past week. I’ve had a lot of people exploring my World-building posts, which is good. The template I created has also gotten a lot of interest, and I’m hoping I’ll get feedback on it soon so I can find ways to improve it. 
It’s also interesting to see from what locations people examine my site, and from what links do they come from. Most people seem to find my site through search engines, but others have found my site through Legendfire and some world-building forums.
Looking at the search terms is also interesting, mostly because they seem so random: “Animals elivera, glue and newspaper, earth, western hemisphere, gamergate, gender tropes in literature, future significant astronomical events, why is science uncertain, and paper mache planets.”
I find it amusing when people input in questions into searches. I know I do that sometimes just for the fun of it, so it’s interesting to see a question end up with my blog. I do actually answer why is science uncertain in my Uncertain Universe: How Science discovers its Truths blog entry from awhile back. I also explore how I created my own paper mache planet. There’s also a few posts about my universe of Elivera. I cover astronomy. I also cover gender tropes in other posts as well as diversity. I explore earth in my world-building series when I discuss geomorphology. So all the search terms I’ve covered to some extent, but that’s just the tip of the iceberg. I’ve written about poetry, my own personal story, and so many other things on this blog that I can’t even begin to link them all. This is a good reminder of what I have done here. It’s been good work.
Yes, I’ve covered a lot of diverse topics on my blog, but if there is one core aspect to this blog, it is that I explore the art of imagination, where we take that instilled essence and create works to showcase to the world at large. We are the creators of universes, the explorers, and we “will not go silently in the dark night. We will rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
So this is a bit of a review of my blog and some of what a reader may discover. I am planning on more content in the future when I have more time, and once I finish my move. So expect another update in a week or so. In the meantime, happy reading!
