This morning, I ate some of the cookies my housemates had baked. Not the cookies they’d decorated laboriously, of course, but the bastard plain ones, those misshaped and odd.
There’s more dough in the fridge that I intend to bake up into more cookies - to replace the ones I ate this morning. I’d bought the dough yesterday, you see, because someone had been reduced to tears after learning that the last of the first batch of cookies made a couple of days ago had disappeared down my gaping maw at breakfast time.
I’m trying something where I make an effort to fix the grief and heartbreak I cause in this world instead of ignoring it until it subsides. The dough for making sugar cookies sells for fewer than three dollars, which is more expensive than necessary considering one can buy a container of eight sugar cookies perfectly formed and professionally baked for only a single dollar. The extra dollar and a half, it seems, are the price one pays for adding an egg and a stick of butter and then forming and baking the dough oneself, waiting for it to rise, hovering near the oven, and being disappointed when the cookies don’t come out right.
Next time, maybe I’ll buy the cheaper cookies, microwave them for thirty-odd seconds, then announce that I baked cookies and does anyone want to help decorate them?
americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan
30 August 2017
28 August 2017
haiku 28 August 2017
The old wounds linger
Never fully healing well
There’s no cure for grief
americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan
Never fully healing well
There’s no cure for grief
americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan
25 August 2017
ode to memes
The page is slow to load
But I want so badly to see what’s next.
Will it be a moving meme
An addled prancing cat, perhaps,
Or a pop idol’s face pasted crudely onto pussy genitals
And a few hollow puns to link the two together?
There’s no way to tell what will come next,
Or if I’m even ready for what might come next,
Or if any worthwhile posts have filled my feed
Since the last time I refreshed it, mere moments ago.
If any meme-makers are listening, keep mining for memes.
No matter how many whining pup-seals you have to club
Or what priceless antique treasures you must deface,
Just make it happen:
Please find the memes that mankind needs.
Memes are life;
without them, I starve.
americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan
But I want so badly to see what’s next.
Will it be a moving meme
An addled prancing cat, perhaps,
Or a pop idol’s face pasted crudely onto pussy genitals
And a few hollow puns to link the two together?
There’s no way to tell what will come next,
Or if I’m even ready for what might come next,
Or if any worthwhile posts have filled my feed
Since the last time I refreshed it, mere moments ago.
If any meme-makers are listening, keep mining for memes.
No matter how many whining pup-seals you have to club
Or what priceless antique treasures you must deface,
Just make it happen:
Please find the memes that mankind needs.
Memes are life;
without them, I starve.
americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan
23 August 2017
giving zero fox
In the midst of all of the political hemming and hawing, with hateful words and bitter accusations filling the various media, please remember that the wind still blows.
Trees stand outside, soaking up the sun, giving zero fox. Giant squid plumb the ocean’s depths, in search of ‘parm and treasure, oblivious to angry humans shouting loudly. Birds chirp, their sharp eyes spying worms and crawling critters, their beaks and talons always working; the birds don’t care which factions calls which other faction terrorist, or how many groups claim the right to pieces of ground on patches of earth.
The birds and the wind and the trees and the squids do not care about anything. We humans call ourselves smart, worthy, and civilized, but we’re none of these things, and have no right to call ourselves these things, even though we kill each other to prove otherwise.
The wind don’t care about that, either.
americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan
Trees stand outside, soaking up the sun, giving zero fox. Giant squid plumb the ocean’s depths, in search of ‘parm and treasure, oblivious to angry humans shouting loudly. Birds chirp, their sharp eyes spying worms and crawling critters, their beaks and talons always working; the birds don’t care which factions calls which other faction terrorist, or how many groups claim the right to pieces of ground on patches of earth.
The birds and the wind and the trees and the squids do not care about anything. We humans call ourselves smart, worthy, and civilized, but we’re none of these things, and have no right to call ourselves these things, even though we kill each other to prove otherwise.
The wind don’t care about that, either.
americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan
21 August 2017
and rebirth beckons
Hopes fails, dreams shatter. Sadness emerges, and, with it, fear. Concern for one’s own future sharpens, fear blossoming into anger. And then anger mutates into self-righteous indignation at anything perceived to be the root cause of one’s problems. Even if the people or choices targeted actually have nothing to do with one’s problems, they become the focus of one’s hatred.
Within the morally vacuous, cacophonous self-pity factories that social media sites and other internet message boards often are, one’s indignation grows while at the same time, however, the size and origin of one’s problems stay the same. Soon, anger spills over into aggression, hot and sour words hurled unnecessarily at others in one’s web of contacts. The hurt doesn’t go away, prompting one to pile on the grief in an effort to smother it. Still, it lingers, now a sucking and festering wound wrapped tightly around the once-soothing tendrils of ever-loving heartspace.
Gradually, one’s web of social contacts shrinks, its individual strands broken, severed, neglected. More and more isolated does one then become, so isolated and lonely in fact that fear and anger appear more and more real. Suddenly, it’s all one can seem to think about, how stupid and foolish and misguided everyone else is, how simple the solutions to this nation’s and this city’s and this block’s problems are. ‘If only people would just listen to me,’ one thinks, an angry, lonely voice screaming into the yawning void. Pitiable, the soul struggling to withstand twin onslaughts of negativity and self-loathing, the world suddenly an evil and unwelcoming place, the last strands give out.
Yet there within the charred and blackened ruins of one’s real and online lives glimmer, diamond-like, the compressed jewels of love, hope, and compassion. And rebirth beckons.
americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan
Within the morally vacuous, cacophonous self-pity factories that social media sites and other internet message boards often are, one’s indignation grows while at the same time, however, the size and origin of one’s problems stay the same. Soon, anger spills over into aggression, hot and sour words hurled unnecessarily at others in one’s web of contacts. The hurt doesn’t go away, prompting one to pile on the grief in an effort to smother it. Still, it lingers, now a sucking and festering wound wrapped tightly around the once-soothing tendrils of ever-loving heartspace.
Gradually, one’s web of social contacts shrinks, its individual strands broken, severed, neglected. More and more isolated does one then become, so isolated and lonely in fact that fear and anger appear more and more real. Suddenly, it’s all one can seem to think about, how stupid and foolish and misguided everyone else is, how simple the solutions to this nation’s and this city’s and this block’s problems are. ‘If only people would just listen to me,’ one thinks, an angry, lonely voice screaming into the yawning void. Pitiable, the soul struggling to withstand twin onslaughts of negativity and self-loathing, the world suddenly an evil and unwelcoming place, the last strands give out.
Yet there within the charred and blackened ruins of one’s real and online lives glimmer, diamond-like, the compressed jewels of love, hope, and compassion. And rebirth beckons.
americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan
18 August 2017
a familiar troll
A troll haunts my feed, always lurking, always waiting. From behind a blind he pounces on pieces I post to my page, then lashes out at me with withering hatred designed to harm. He is family, you see, and has given himself leave to flense and dig and root and tear, shredding at my social postings publicly.
There are anger and frustration behind his words, volumes of simmering rage that have cleared finally the cresting dams of reason, and of rhyme. Upset he seems at the state of things in this here land of plenty, blinded by a steady blast of racist white-pride bloggers. Perhaps something inside him is wounded at the thought that privileges are ending.
To respond to injury with injury goes against the ancient teachings, but failing to respond in defense of myself leaves mine own heartstrings wounded. Obscurity, then, is my only redoubt, to which I now rush gladly.
americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan
There are anger and frustration behind his words, volumes of simmering rage that have cleared finally the cresting dams of reason, and of rhyme. Upset he seems at the state of things in this here land of plenty, blinded by a steady blast of racist white-pride bloggers. Perhaps something inside him is wounded at the thought that privileges are ending.
To respond to injury with injury goes against the ancient teachings, but failing to respond in defense of myself leaves mine own heartstrings wounded. Obscurity, then, is my only redoubt, to which I now rush gladly.
americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan
16 August 2017
on battling hatred
Tragedy marked this past weekend, with one person killed and many more badly injured in an act of apparent domestic terrorism in Charlottesville, VA. Concurrent with that violent act, in a public display of wild-eyed and misguided extremism, hundreds of middle-class European-Americans marched through said city holding torches and shouting slogans straight out of Adolf Hitler’s ‘Mein Kampf’. People who are now suddenly worried about the current rise of alt-right and neo-Nazi mentalities here in America must remember that Donald J. Trump ascended to the presidency on ideas nationalist, protectionist, and us-versus-them in their scope and design. In some sense, the alt-right stands today victorious, having helped vote its champion into this nation’s highest office. Hence, statements by leaders of the white-nationalist movement praising the president for his recent stance on their right to rally and organize with intent to subjugate and destroy.
The city of Boston this year decided to display a poster aimed at teaching people who use its public transportation services how to diffuse Islamophobia. It is this author’s personal experience that the most effective method for fighting violent extremism is to ignore the perpetrator and show love to the victims. In Charlottesville, VA, last weekend, citizens protesting the alt-right sometimes did the opposite, fighting violence with violence and hatred with hatred.
Although he disagrees with them on nearly every point (but for their right to keep breathing), this author thinks it’s important to let the alt-right, neo-Nazi, and white nationalist movements not only voice their ugly opinions but also march in public. If they’re banned from letting their true colors fly, open-minded and cosmopolitan lovers of freedom will never know whom to avoid socially, whose businesses to boycott or divest from, whose places of worship to picket, and whom to deny service as well as the time of day. (Since its financial support of organizations perpetuating homophobic bigotry came to light, this author hasn’t set foot inside of a Chick-fil-A, for example.) One slow, methodical way to crush America’s Nazi problem is to do so economically, a dollar at a time. Another way, is to crush it with clubs and sticks and knives and guns, like many of our grandparents did in Europe and beyond during the 1940s.
To destroy the creeping roots of incessant hatred it is often necessary to resort to violence. So long as one does so with positive intentions and for the benefit of all humanity, resting well at night should come easy. Just remember, though, that America’s white nationalists think that what they’re doing is for the benefit of all humanity, or at least the light-skinned portion of humanity whose ancestors come from Europe. Whichever path you choose in your resistance to bigotry and intolerance in America, stay grounded and don’t panic.
americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan
The city of Boston this year decided to display a poster aimed at teaching people who use its public transportation services how to diffuse Islamophobia. It is this author’s personal experience that the most effective method for fighting violent extremism is to ignore the perpetrator and show love to the victims. In Charlottesville, VA, last weekend, citizens protesting the alt-right sometimes did the opposite, fighting violence with violence and hatred with hatred.
Although he disagrees with them on nearly every point (but for their right to keep breathing), this author thinks it’s important to let the alt-right, neo-Nazi, and white nationalist movements not only voice their ugly opinions but also march in public. If they’re banned from letting their true colors fly, open-minded and cosmopolitan lovers of freedom will never know whom to avoid socially, whose businesses to boycott or divest from, whose places of worship to picket, and whom to deny service as well as the time of day. (Since its financial support of organizations perpetuating homophobic bigotry came to light, this author hasn’t set foot inside of a Chick-fil-A, for example.) One slow, methodical way to crush America’s Nazi problem is to do so economically, a dollar at a time. Another way, is to crush it with clubs and sticks and knives and guns, like many of our grandparents did in Europe and beyond during the 1940s.
To destroy the creeping roots of incessant hatred it is often necessary to resort to violence. So long as one does so with positive intentions and for the benefit of all humanity, resting well at night should come easy. Just remember, though, that America’s white nationalists think that what they’re doing is for the benefit of all humanity, or at least the light-skinned portion of humanity whose ancestors come from Europe. Whichever path you choose in your resistance to bigotry and intolerance in America, stay grounded and don’t panic.
americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan
14 August 2017
the ten non-virtues of Buddhism
For most of my time living in the United States, I’ve had trouble figuring out what seemed off about this place. No matter where I’d go, from coast to coast, there always seemed to be something lacking. An adaptive person skilled at learning new customs and languages, fitting in wherever I find himself, I learned, also, to fit into the American modus operandi, copying the acts, actions, and thinking patterns of the people living around me.
Since I frequently choose to move my body around atop a bicycle instead of inside a motorized battering-ram / cocoon of glass, plastic, and steel, this, among other actions, meant yelling or fuming at other people who were committing what I considered to be errors. These perceived errors include poor lane maintenance (i.e. straying), texting or status-updating while driving, not paying attention to the road, following other vehicles too closely, speeding, running stop signs and red lights, failing to use blinkers when turning, and not yielding to pedestrians in their crosswalks. No matter how long I’d bang my head against the wall and bemoan the recklessly aggressive state of motor-vehicle operation in many parts of America, however, I only ended up making myself more upset - without effecting positive change in the world. Then, I discovered texts talking about the ten non-virtuous actions of Buddhism. At which point everything changed.
After studying the short list of non-virtues found in the Buddhist teachings, it suddenly became clear to me why I’ve felt inherently bad during these many years of living in America, and strangely hollow, and fundamentally cut off from an eternal and powerful force with which in my younger days I once felt connected. One explanation for why I’ve felt poorly is due to bad karma and shoddy virtue brought about by my persistent and frequent violation of the aforementioned rules. After reading them, most living persons who view this post are likely to find that these rules transcend background, heritage, nationality, and religion - that they embody Truth.
As with similarly powerful teachings, these rules cannot be unlearned; the mere knowledge of their existence is transformative. For persons living today, hope is not lost: avoidance of the ten non-virtues and adoption of the ten virtues (even tentative, or sporadic) will bring about a shift in thought and act profound and wide-reaching. There’s nothing to lose, and Everything to gain. Please start today.
‘A journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step.’ Laozi, Daodejing, ch. 64
americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan
Since I frequently choose to move my body around atop a bicycle instead of inside a motorized battering-ram / cocoon of glass, plastic, and steel, this, among other actions, meant yelling or fuming at other people who were committing what I considered to be errors. These perceived errors include poor lane maintenance (i.e. straying), texting or status-updating while driving, not paying attention to the road, following other vehicles too closely, speeding, running stop signs and red lights, failing to use blinkers when turning, and not yielding to pedestrians in their crosswalks. No matter how long I’d bang my head against the wall and bemoan the recklessly aggressive state of motor-vehicle operation in many parts of America, however, I only ended up making myself more upset - without effecting positive change in the world. Then, I discovered texts talking about the ten non-virtuous actions of Buddhism. At which point everything changed.
After studying the short list of non-virtues found in the Buddhist teachings, it suddenly became clear to me why I’ve felt inherently bad during these many years of living in America, and strangely hollow, and fundamentally cut off from an eternal and powerful force with which in my younger days I once felt connected. One explanation for why I’ve felt poorly is due to bad karma and shoddy virtue brought about by my persistent and frequent violation of the aforementioned rules. After reading them, most living persons who view this post are likely to find that these rules transcend background, heritage, nationality, and religion - that they embody Truth.
As with similarly powerful teachings, these rules cannot be unlearned; the mere knowledge of their existence is transformative. For persons living today, hope is not lost: avoidance of the ten non-virtues and adoption of the ten virtues (even tentative, or sporadic) will bring about a shift in thought and act profound and wide-reaching. There’s nothing to lose, and Everything to gain. Please start today.
‘A journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step.’ Laozi, Daodejing, ch. 64
americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan
11 August 2017
haiku 11 August 2017
I find that the most
Beautiful women are all
Already married.
americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan
Beautiful women are all
Already married.
americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan
09 August 2017
on creating simplicity
Tackling a complicated task can be hard. How does one know when, where, and how to start? The task at hand could be writing a book, painting a picture, or instituting a good habit and stopping a bad one. This author has been experimenting with breaking down difficult tasks into their composite elements until but simple bits remain, then addressing those bits individually, one at a time.
Few people who write books, for example, sit down and complete the whole thing at one go. Most writers compose one sentence or paragraph at a time, churning out the pages through laborious, daily, methodical, repetitive effort. Faced with the challenge of writing a feature-length, stand-alone piece, this author sat frustrated for weeks until he tried the tactic of breaking down each chapter into an individual file, then each chapter into individual paragraphs (by marking each with an underline). The next step was setting himself deadlines for fleshing out the various paragraphs of a given chapter, whereupon he’d remove the underline markers and click the files closed upon their completion (after copying the newly created content into a master file, of course). This process turned the complex task of writing a new chapter into a series of simple acts, each with its own visible and tactile elements.
This process, he thinks, is scaleable; it applies to most tasks. To tidy up a room, identify the areas within it that need attention, grab broom and dustpan, then focus on one brush-stroke at a time. To fix a flat bicycle tire, assemble the required tools, remove the wheel, then focus on one step of the process at a time. For persons looking to understand more of the reasoning behind this may of approaching complex tasks, please refer to verse 63 of the Tao Te Ching (translated by J. Star), which reads: Step by step the world’s burden is lifted; Piece by piece the world’s treasure is amassed.
americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan
Few people who write books, for example, sit down and complete the whole thing at one go. Most writers compose one sentence or paragraph at a time, churning out the pages through laborious, daily, methodical, repetitive effort. Faced with the challenge of writing a feature-length, stand-alone piece, this author sat frustrated for weeks until he tried the tactic of breaking down each chapter into an individual file, then each chapter into individual paragraphs (by marking each with an underline). The next step was setting himself deadlines for fleshing out the various paragraphs of a given chapter, whereupon he’d remove the underline markers and click the files closed upon their completion (after copying the newly created content into a master file, of course). This process turned the complex task of writing a new chapter into a series of simple acts, each with its own visible and tactile elements.
This process, he thinks, is scaleable; it applies to most tasks. To tidy up a room, identify the areas within it that need attention, grab broom and dustpan, then focus on one brush-stroke at a time. To fix a flat bicycle tire, assemble the required tools, remove the wheel, then focus on one step of the process at a time. For persons looking to understand more of the reasoning behind this may of approaching complex tasks, please refer to verse 63 of the Tao Te Ching (translated by J. Star), which reads: Step by step the world’s burden is lifted; Piece by piece the world’s treasure is amassed.
americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan
07 August 2017
on one who
One who hasn’t studied the ill effects of war will gladly resort to it.
One who is ignorant of the lessons of history is bound to repeat past errors.
One who is obsessed with his own ego will serve they who stroke it best.
One who bathes in a torrent of lies will ignore droplets of truth.
One who prefers hatred to compassion represents but a misguided few.
One who stands indebted to shady foreign lenders is in their constant thrall.
As one who knows no scruples, he approves the killing of innocent foreign children to gain fleeting domestic support. False flag attacks are useful to men such as him. Should American soils once again burn, patriots-turned-nationalists will stand by as our few remaining freedoms are stamped finally out.
The ones who came before him at least tried to pretend they weren’t tyrants.
This one revels in it.
americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan
One who is ignorant of the lessons of history is bound to repeat past errors.
One who is obsessed with his own ego will serve they who stroke it best.
One who bathes in a torrent of lies will ignore droplets of truth.
One who prefers hatred to compassion represents but a misguided few.
One who stands indebted to shady foreign lenders is in their constant thrall.
As one who knows no scruples, he approves the killing of innocent foreign children to gain fleeting domestic support. False flag attacks are useful to men such as him. Should American soils once again burn, patriots-turned-nationalists will stand by as our few remaining freedoms are stamped finally out.
The ones who came before him at least tried to pretend they weren’t tyrants.
This one revels in it.
americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan
04 August 2017
Balinese corn roaster
His name is Muhammad Ali, and he sells roasted corn on the cob. Few people ever think to ask him if he is familiar with his boxing American namesake; the topic rarely comes up.
From around lunchtime until well into the evening he tends his coconut-husk fire, baking corn and selling it to anyone with forty cents to spare. Sometimes, he sticks a ratty beach umbrella into a slot on the side of his pushcart so that customers don’t have to stand in the sun while they wait. He always stands in the sun, though. On his cart are tubs of regular as well as spicy cow’s butter with wood-handled paint brushes sticking out of them. People who desire their roasted corn to be spread with spicy butter say this: mintah panas.
During the Muslim holy month of ramadan, Muhammad Ali travels for a fortnight back to the island of Java, where his family lives, meaning that someone else sells corn in his stead. The other fifty weeks out of the year, however, he stands in the parking lot of Batu Bolong beach selling corn and chain-smoking cigarettes. It’s an honest gig, you see, and someone has to do it. In the Balinese language, one of the slang words for penis is kontol. Therefore, when a pretty white girl says she wants one corn, the joke is to ask her if she wants a big kontol, then jump the eyebrows and crank a secret smile when she says yes.
It’s a funny joke that never gets old.
Muhammad Ali is full of funny jokes.
americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan
From around lunchtime until well into the evening he tends his coconut-husk fire, baking corn and selling it to anyone with forty cents to spare. Sometimes, he sticks a ratty beach umbrella into a slot on the side of his pushcart so that customers don’t have to stand in the sun while they wait. He always stands in the sun, though. On his cart are tubs of regular as well as spicy cow’s butter with wood-handled paint brushes sticking out of them. People who desire their roasted corn to be spread with spicy butter say this: mintah panas.
During the Muslim holy month of ramadan, Muhammad Ali travels for a fortnight back to the island of Java, where his family lives, meaning that someone else sells corn in his stead. The other fifty weeks out of the year, however, he stands in the parking lot of Batu Bolong beach selling corn and chain-smoking cigarettes. It’s an honest gig, you see, and someone has to do it. In the Balinese language, one of the slang words for penis is kontol. Therefore, when a pretty white girl says she wants one corn, the joke is to ask her if she wants a big kontol, then jump the eyebrows and crank a secret smile when she says yes.
It’s a funny joke that never gets old.
Muhammad Ali is full of funny jokes.
americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan
02 August 2017
on getting news
The man got his news from one source, and one source only. He didn’t need to diversify his sources, because “This is America, daggonit, and as an American in America I’m allowed to do as I please.” The talking heads appearing on his favorite conservative-leaning television station told him everything he needed to know, and he liked it that way.
He also listened to his wife, of course, who sometimes passed along knowledge and advice gained from her circle of friends and family. Which meant he got news from at least two sources. He also listened to the pastor of his church, of course, and read such bible verses as appeared on the mobile application a grandchild had installed on his phone. Which meant he got news from at least four sources. He also listed to some of his conservative-leaning friends, whose opinions tended, at times, to match his. Which meant he got news from at least eight sources.
And yet, when pressed, he insisted that he got his news from one source, and one source only. The man was fearful, you see, and stubborn. He had learned to stick to his guns no matter what. Even if it meant being wrong, and lying to himself, and riding roughshod over the gut-knowledge that he was acting foolishly. Even if it meant being cruel to others, and attacking them personally because of their views. Because, in America, where the gentle nonconformist gets steamrolled daily by ten million angry yes-men, corporations don’t profit when people are open-minded or learn from mistakes.
americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan
He also listened to his wife, of course, who sometimes passed along knowledge and advice gained from her circle of friends and family. Which meant he got news from at least two sources. He also listened to the pastor of his church, of course, and read such bible verses as appeared on the mobile application a grandchild had installed on his phone. Which meant he got news from at least four sources. He also listed to some of his conservative-leaning friends, whose opinions tended, at times, to match his. Which meant he got news from at least eight sources.
And yet, when pressed, he insisted that he got his news from one source, and one source only. The man was fearful, you see, and stubborn. He had learned to stick to his guns no matter what. Even if it meant being wrong, and lying to himself, and riding roughshod over the gut-knowledge that he was acting foolishly. Even if it meant being cruel to others, and attacking them personally because of their views. Because, in America, where the gentle nonconformist gets steamrolled daily by ten million angry yes-men, corporations don’t profit when people are open-minded or learn from mistakes.
americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan
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