by
Paulo Freire
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[...] domination is itself objectively divisive. It maintains the oppressed I in a position of "adhesion" to a reality which seems allpowerful and overwhelming, and then alienates by presenting myste rious forces to explain this power. Part of the oppressed / is located in the reality to which it "adheres"; part is located outside the self, in the mysterious forces which are regarded as responsible for a reality about which nothing can be done. The individual is divided between an identical past and present, and a future without hope. He or she is a person who does not perceive himself or herself as becoming; hence cannot have a future to be built in unity with others. But as he or she breaks this "adhesion" and objectifies the reality from which he or she starts to emerge, the person begins to integrate as a Subject (an I) confronting an object (reality). At this moment, sundering the false unity of the divided self, one becomes a true individual.
That sense of instability manifested as a constant nervous energy. Every winter, every weekend, could be one person’s last and another’s first. It made Anna and Tom feel alive, fueled their curiosity and sense of adventure, and reinforced the impression that the city was inexhaustible. And yet their world was smaller now than it had been when they were students. At any given time there were, at most, a dozen or so people they saw on a regular basis, and the liminal circle of vaguely familiar faces and half-acquaintances was looser and more ill-defined than it had been at university. Not that they ever noticed, because that limited world regenerated fast enough to give the illusion of infinity.
lol
THEIR LOVE grew deeper every day. They were lovers, partners, best friends. The connection they first felt at university had only strengthened over the course of their foreign adventure. Minor betrayals had been forgiven or left unsaid. Through the strains of everyday life, they had learned to rely on each other. Tom called Anna’s parents without fail once a week; Anna wrote his emails in German for him. They had a joint Volksbank account but separate Netflix profiles, although the algorithm suggested the same shows for both of them. Either of them could choose anything on their joint behalf—be it a dish from a menu or an apartment—without a second thought, confident that the other would like it. They would fight over silly things: random social media storms, a form they were supposed to fill in. Every other Sunday they would clean the apartment while listening to old Eurovision songs. They never doubted they would grow old together. The sex was infrequent and bad.
ok this is annoying but the last line did make me laugh
Despite almost crossing the threshold several times, in the end they always found themselves back in line for the coatroom. They would be tired and smelly, but their unease would fade the second they stepped out into the cool night air. If a taxi passed they might hail it. Otherwise they would walk home in the gray light of dawn, hands clasped, exhilarated, unified. And also, in truth, relieved to have spared themselves the STD tests, glad they hadn’t accepted those water bottles, baggies, and vials. Once in bed, their excitement would soften into tenderness. They would spoon under the covers, let their breathing fall in sync, and tell themselves that no sex party could ever be a match for the intimacy and gratification of that closeness.
In the morning that thought would seem pathetic.
these people need to make up their minds (this passage is good tho)
THE FUTURE APPEARED out of focus. They couldn’t imagine it being substantially different from their current life—so smooth and manicured—which itself made it seem rather abstract and unenticing. They had grown up in the shadow of the turbulent sixties and seventies; their grandparents had lived through the war and been tossed about by the raging seas of a century that had now ended, leaving only calm in its wake, as far as the eye could see. They would have liked to have been in their twenties for the summer of ’68 or when the Wall fell. Previous generations had had a much easier time working out who they were and what they stood for. The problems back then might have been more urgent, but they also had clearer solutions. Now there were too many choices, with each one leading off on endless branches, preventing any real change. Their idea of a revolutionary future didn’t go beyond gender balance on corporate boards, electric cars, vegetarianism. Not only had Anna and Tom not had the chance to fight for a radically different world, but they couldn’t even imagine it.
reading this as an ode to jameson
THEY COULDN’T SAY EXACTLY what had changed after the immediate urgency of the migration crisis passed. In many ways, life carried on as normal. They worked. They attended openings. They partied. They could still be captivated by the beauty of the sun shining down on the Fernsehturm, framed by a sloping Hermannstraße, but their inconclusive, largely wasted efforts over the previous months had left them tired and frustrated. They had glimpsed—within themselves and those around them—a flakiness and vanity that they could not now unsee. They were restless.
promising
There was still the coast, of course, but somehow even that was different from how they had pictured it. The fishing villages had no fishermen in them, and the little bars around the main piazza weren’t patronized by old people playing cards but by groups of teenagers with ripped bodies and blaring mopeds who would glare at Anna and Tom in a way that hardly encouraged them to pull out their shiny aluminum laptops. The restaurants all had laminated menus with photos of the dishes and chintzy sailing knots on the walls. There were the stunning views over the horizon at sunset and the small courtyards with potted lemon trees and ivy growing up the drystone walls, but they had already all been co-opted by the boutique hotels with SUVs parked out front. What they were looking for must have existed once upon a time, back when you only had to hop onto a train or a ferry to reach a whole other world, an authentic, uncrowded world of dark red house wine in carafes and quiet hideaways by the sea. But now they knew those days were over and that, whether due to a lack of foresight on their part or because they had simply been born a generation too late, they couldn’t afford that world today.
Through all of this they continued to document their remote working life on social media. The pictures were always stunning, enticing—prickly pear groves, Camparis on red plastic beach tables, sunsets over vineyards, carved tufa limestone facades, stray cats, their laptops usually somewhere in the frame to prove they weren’t on holiday—evidence of a life of freedom and adventure, one full of beauty and hard work, and with occasional surprises. Yet something in their spirits had changed. Back in the day, looking at images like those and knowing how frustrated and unhappy they had been when they took them made them feel ashamed, deficient, as if the reality presented in the photos should somehow be capable of triumphing over how they really felt, and that their inability to enjoy such a desirable life revealed a flaw in their character. They had outgrown this insecurity. Now those images just seemed like a con.
this isnt a bad passage, im just bored of reading about social media etc
[...] It wasn’t just Handler’s politics that repelled her, it was the entire ideology these life-hacking white boys espoused. Unable to explain their privilege by any other means, they had convinced themselves and others that everything that had landed in their laps had landed there not through basic structural imbalance but through some sort of philosophy. Tech-bros weren’t overpaid and over-lauded because they’d had everything handed to them on a plate, went the accepted wisdom, but because they’d focused, or lived their vision, or actualised. Because they’d done it, anyone could do it. Because anyone could do it, anyone who didn’t do it had only themselves to blame.
i mean i dont disagree with this obviously but the style feels heavy-handed?
this also glosses over the potential contradiction in "because they’d done it, anyone could do it" - surely they dont actually think anyone could do it; they think they are one of a lucky few with the natural talent. but they also know that feels unfair so they cloak it in pretensions of universality despite not actually believing in it. idk. should be investigated more.
‘Let’s just bear in mind,’ said Hugo, ‘that much as you might like to throw your weight around with regards to offering or withdrawing your support for my campaign, which I assume is what you’re implying with all this vague talk of interests, your project is going to take a hell of a lot longer to complete than mine, and while you’re completing it you’re going to want someone who’s sympathetic to your cause in a position where they might actually be able to help you, so let’s stop pretending that my getting elected is solely of benefit to me.’
‘Of course,’ said Jones. ‘But let’s also not pretend that you’re the only one who can help.’
Hugo thought about this for as long as he could manage without giving the impression he’d been thrown by it.
‘Hang on,’ he said. ‘How many people are you backing?’
‘Like I said, Mr Bennington. We’re very much results driven.’
it's small but i kinda like it