The gang used to be a recognized JMU fraternity, but its lethality/perversity was too much even for a southern frat school, so JMU took away its recognition. Right away, under a different name, and now free from school rules, the frat reconstituted itself and kept up the killing.
It killed two members, and one would-be member, in a car crash, and the parents of the dead boys are suing the gang and each of its members.
JMU should have taken action against the reconstituted gang as soon as it learned of it. As twisted as it is for a university to have to police and surveil itself in this way, if you’re going to let frats go wild on your campus, as JMU notoriously has, you have an obligation to understand that eventually one or more of these groups is going to go very seriously rogue, and that before multiple students of yours are drugged unconscious, dumped in a car, and driven into a tree, you need to rid your campus of the killers.
You sleep, and the white noise is gunshots... That’s fucking poetic.
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How I stay young!
Willie Ann, 81 … has a routine for gunshots. She reaches for her cane, tries to rush toward a carpeted floor near her bed and gently lies down on her right side, where her arthritis does not flare up. When the shooting stops, she reaches for the top of the bed and hoists herself up.
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And remember: Always have more than one sofa.
During drive-by shootings, neighbors wedge themselves between sofas.
This passage from Love’s Work, Gillian Rose’s meditation on love and death, comes to mind as I read about the creeping, escalating de-creation of the island of Santorini, where “homes break apart” in the earthquakes.
Rose’s own disaster – the cancer that would kill her at 48 soon after she finished Love’s Work – generated her argument that life was best lived as an agon, an unceasing passionate losing heroic beautiful struggle toward clarity, justice, and bliss, against the forces of if you like subduction — error/fault, leading to destruction and death.
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UD’s favorite poem, James Merrill’s Santorini: Stopping the Leak, dances just this passionate expiring dance on the most beautiful of the world’s islands (Santorini is insanely beautiful because of its history of unimaginable natural catastrophe) at the very end of the long verse. The poet/poem dances
a grave dance - as if catastrophe
could long be lulled
A grave dance – serious, but also morbid, a dance danced over the centuries of bodies that lie under the island’s volcanic catastrophes. Merrill, visiting the island just having had his own radiation therapy for a cancer on his foot, is dancing on his own grave, and he is as much aware as Rose that the special spiritual passion ignited by the aesthetic bliss of being on gorgeously morbid/passionate Santorini merely damps for a time the subterranean fires. “No foothold on the void,” writes Merrill.
Or not really merely. If Rose and Merrill are right, that lulling dance over one’s grave is the finest expressive substance of our lives, the best that existence has to offer.
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Merrill’s poem is obsessed with the business of boundaries, of avoiding both the crippling madness of what he calls “psychic incontinence,” when you let too much of the world in and are overwhelmed, and “cemented boundaries,” when, in terror of the fires that underlie, you close off the self in self-protection. [Tante] Taube, a veteran survivor, … had fought the grave to a standstill, balking death itself by her slowness, Saul Bellow’s Herzog thinks as he regards his aunt’s non-life balking death through sheer inactivity. Between the madness of too much and the deathliness of too little you find most of us working our way toward how much of our aliveness – to quote the psychoanalyst Adam Phillips – we can bear:
[E]verybody is dealing with how much of their own aliveness they can bear and how much they need to anesthetize themselves… We all have self-cures for strong feeling. Then the self-cure becomes a problem, in the obvious sense that the problem of the alcoholic is not alcohol but sobriety. Drinking becomes a problem, but actually the problem is what’s being cured by the alcohol. By the time we’re adults, we’ve all become alcoholics. That’s to say, we’ve all evolved ways of deadening certain feelings and thoughts. One of the reasons we admire or like art, if we do, is that it reopens us in some sense — as Kafka wrote in a letter, art breaks the sea that’s frozen inside us. It reminds us of sensitivities that we might have lost at some cost. Freud gets at this in Beyond the Pleasure Principle. It’s as though one is struggling to be as inert as possible — and struggling against one’s inertia.
Santorini is always reconstituting itself amid the undermining that is its own violent, beauty-making dissolution, and this is the ideal the poet pursues for himself and for us. The poet “tighten[s] by a notch/The broad, star-studded belt Earth wears to feel/Hungers less mortal for a vanished whole.” This is Rose again: Stop hungering for a vanished whole; you and Santorini are nothing but gorgeous fragments, and that contingency is all you ever will be. Be like the poet and stud the earth with aesthetic jewels:
Our lives unreal
Except as jeweled self-windings
The poet’s words on windy Santorini are
bellowed to recycle
The bare, thyme-tousled world we’d stumbled on
We bejewel the bareness; we break what’s frozen, or quench the fires. Silent Santorini can only live in
imbecile
Symbiosis with the molten genie
Our symbiosis is verbal. Ours are self-windings – they emerge from our human individual expressive battles between stasis and agon; and what our noblest battles produce will be the spoken truth of the broken beauty of being.
Not only did no one at a New Haven area abattoir report a bloody shooting there to the police; even the owners are refusing to talk to authorities.
UD is aware that she needs to adjust her brain cells — Guns are everywhere and shootings boringly routine. Why report them. Why be surprised when no one reports them.
Here’s another Canadian woman who has totally fucked up her career as a teacher because wearing a religious veil is not an option for her. Nuns have the option not to wear habits. But not this woman, a member of no religious order. She’s being asked to take it off only during public-facing public-sector working hours, because she lives in a secular state. But her commitment to expressing her identity – every single non-negotiable hour of the day – is so overwhelming that she’d rather be unemployed.
I mean, UD has to respect her obstinacy. Presumably many women in Quebec who might prefer to display their piety decide not to do it while engaged in public sector work. They are less obstinate. Perhaps they appreciate the appropriateness of sensitivity to prevailing values in the region in which they have chosen to live. This woman has chosen to have no choice in the matter: She MUST veil herself every waking hour of the day.
Her only hope is the Canadian Supreme Court’s incipient review of Quebec’s secularism laws.
… now that the new regime has barred transgender athletes from women’s sports.
Ol’ UD thinks Lia Thomas, who “won the Ivy League championship her senior year in the 500 freestyle, 100 freestyle, and 200 freestyle individually, as well as the 400 freestyle relay,” did the cause no favors by graphically demonstrating unfairness — in her particular case. (Thomas recently lost a legal effort to qualify for the Olympics.)
UD thinks that ongoing definitional and fairness issues (degrees of testosterone suppression, etc.) warranted waiting on trans participation until greater clarity/consensus emerged. “There are good, non-transphobic arguments for fairness in sports… ” But that’s all behind us now; going full-throttle trans deeply upset many people and no doubt contributed to Trump’s victory (“The Trump campaign spent nearly 20 percent of its overall ad budget on transgender attack ads.”).
Angry fellow athletes have sued Harvard (which hosted the Lia Thomas blowout) and others, and the language of their suit is fierce. “[T]he Ivy League and its leadership ‘labored for months behind the scenes to engineer a public shock and awe display of monolithic support for biological unreality and radical gender ideology by America’s oldest and most storied educational institutions.’”
Bill Bock, the plaintiffs’ attorney, wrote in a statement that “the Ivy League believed that if America’s oldest and most storied educational institutions led the way, Americans would suppress common sense and submit to radical policies that steal young women’s cherished sports opportunities and obliterate biological reality.”
“This lawsuit exposes the behind the scenes scheming that led to the attempt by Harvard University, UPenn, the Ivy League and the NCAA, to impose radical gender ideology on the American college sports landscape,” he added.
The plaintiffs seek “damages for pain and suffering, mental and emotional distress, suffering and anxiety, expenses costs and other damages against the NCAA, Ivy League, Harvard, and UPenn due to their wrongful conduct.”
Harvard has ended its transgender inclusion policy.