It took about 10 days, but I think I’ve uncovered most of the archive. There’s a few files missing, mainly all the mp3’s. I know there’s a laptop around here somewhere with em all.
So now that that’s done…
Now what?
I’ve decided to take an audio break and listen to trains. Yup, trains.
When I read The Hunger Games, for a moment I had hopes that our children where angry. Angry enough to realize what was happening around them. To realize what it meant. Perhaps it’s a quiet revolt stewing in places I don’t see.
Writers and actors want these stories to change us. I commend their bravery to speak out loud, to fight the ancient Leave-It-To-Beaver guard, to try and spark some form of action.
But I fear catharsis.
By the time one hour is up, my anger, fear, desire to act has been purged and released with the scrolling of credits. I know how fiction makes me feel. This feeling has to be because of the show I watched last night. Not because I’m urged to change my world.
What happens when the world isn’t stranger than fiction?
This post was originally published on one of my old blogs. I backdatedthis to the original publish date.