Entry 2
Beef with Grief
I don’t know how to talk about grief! Not because I haven’t experinced it, I think people actually grieve often, whether it is consious that they are doing so or not. There’s also a misnomer in that; there’s so much to gieve about, that you don’t even know what you’re grieving. It’t like a perpetual state of grief. I think when it comes to physical death, the end of consiousness having a physical experience, grief carries a different signature than when one grieves the end of something, or a melancholic grieveing of something that never was and never can be. That kinda grief enters a nihilstic territory of sorts. I’ve grieved the death of animals I never saw, of people I never knew. I grieve the lives of the animals reduced to “meat” to a “cut” to “protein” to “baccon” and so forth. Everytime I pass the meat isle at a grocery store I think of cries, of how some exerted all the energy they could to escape, and other, completely broken down, with nothing left to loose, numb, nervous system completely shot, walking, slowly next–tazer, tazer–flinching, but it’s the electricity within the cells reacting, not really the seat of consiousness that inhabits the body. I’ve stayed up at night thinking about the terror they endure. I grieve, in embarrassment, of what intelligence have become, drained in chemical agents. Have you smelled blood? Like have you really smelled it? It dons’t come off easy, both the oder and the stain. I don’t love being a vegan, I am one. Same thing with these: I don’t love being an athlete, I don’t love being an anarchist, I don’t love being a twin, these are etched in my identity wheather I like them or not, whether they are expressed or not. I don’t see these as decisions, I can’t see any other way to live in these circumstances. Some people never find the connectivity that was always theirs. Some find it, and are then told that it doesn’t live up to social standards, that their insecurites or abilities to queer are completely corrupted, and impose their own on to you anf force you to own it like your own. I think about all the horribles things going on, the hidden and the bloody, the broken and the sielnced, all the forms of repressive expression and genocidal oppression. Of all things, when I break down, I can thank myself for my veganism, with the greatest scincerity. Veganism is oppressive resistence. And it just happens to be a resisstance against many things that currupt the human’s being, on an individual, socially, and consiouslly connected level. And many ignore it, don’t wanna waste any time thinking about it, because they know it too, that it’s wrong. That even a second of consideration rubs the the burn. I feel too much, and I know a lot of people do too. I wish that everyone could see the animals we call food the way I see them, their innocence–far too innocent to possibly conceive an ounce of any human terror and wrath. I mean look at our human history. Can we compare the insatiable hiercical domiance, the thirst for greed, the distructive ignorance of life, the tortur we put ourselves through, the indoctrinated stories, the individualism, to animal history? Is this the cost of intelligence? Curruptedness? All these unnecessary games made us numb (and dumb). This gameing. The animals we have enslaved, on industrailised scales, globally, want nothing but to escape our wrath. They don’t want to dominate us. “If it’s not them, it’ll be you.” Have you heard anything more zero-sum than this? These as human mind diseaes, psychological warfar rooted in scarcity, capitalist jargen! These animals have no want for domination over us, they want to feel peace in the morning, they want to discover their culture and run with it, they want to socialise and cause a ruckus, to have friendship and community, love. They are not inanimate objects, they are not rocks, they are not vegetables. They cry, they tremble in fear, they anger when disrepected, they grieve, they disassociate, and they sometimes give up–some, but not all. It’s hard not to fight for your life–even when you’ve lived danger your whole life. They are not living for the purpose of exploitation. It angers and pains me–well now I guess that falls under giref too–when people truly believe that People have chosen the conditions of their life experience, they are not alive for what we put them through. They are alive because their mother birthed them. Nature doesn’t pull the plug if the way in which a child is conceived out of violence and exploitative meaures, it doesn’t matter, from the point of reproduction, how an egg is fertilsed, or the intention behind the rapist. What comes next is spiritualised matter, consious experience.
Grief, too heavy to carry on; inflammation; biological program–down; miscarriage; capitalist machine–broken. Mother’s, now on their way to a place of unthinkable horror, and they feel it. Looking outside from the holes of the truck, in a moment of uncorrupted wonder, I wonder what they might be thinking, holding the wonder of all the children they will never see.
May 11, 2026