Today, the internet is increasingly used by public authorities as a tool for the online consultation of citizens and organizations, including outside the circle of the ‘usual suspects’. Democracy, however, is not defined only by one’s capacity to express one’s preferences, but primarily by an equal capacity to participate in converting social inputs into political outputs and thus to contribute to decision-making. Online and more general public consultations are valued by citizens, but the question remains whether there is actually ‘anybody listening’ (Coleman and Blumler, 2009: 189).

(Yannis Papadopoulos "Democracy in Crisis?")

Under such conditions of supply, there is no reason to think that those who prefer infotainment to politically relevant information will behave differently on the internet. Even if more politically relevant information or data is available, the problem remains on the demand side: frequently, the good that is most scarce is not information, but attention. (..)
But perhaps the most important reason why we should not have too-high expectations of the positive impact of the internet on democracy is that although the internet may indeed change the style of political communication as well as pressure strategies to influence office-holders, most developments on the internet have no formal connection to political decision-making. The internet may affect how we discuss politics and how we try to have an impact on decisions that affect us, and it will also increasingly influence how organizations or individuals are consulted, but it does not fundamentally alter the structures of policy-making.

(Yannis Papadopoulos "Democracy in Crisis?")

Do you remember that story about that young man who almost beat me up? It was a very funny story. It was very funny, I made a lot of people laugh about his ignorance, and the reason I could do that is because I’m very good at this job. I actually am pretty good at controlling the tension. And I know how to balance that to get the laugh at the right place. But in order to balance the tension in the room with that story, I couldn’t tell that story as it actually happened. Because I couldn’t tell the part of the story where that man realized his mistake. And he came back. And he said, “Oh, no, I get it. You’re a lady faggot. I’m allowed to beat the shit out of you,” and he did! He beat the shit out of me and nobody stopped him. And I didn’t… report that to the police, and I did not take myself to hospital, and I should have. And you know why I didn’t? It’s because I thought that was all I was worth. And that is what happens when you soak one child in shame and give permission to another to hate. And that was not homophobia, pure and simple, people. That was gendered. If I’d been feminine, that would not have happened. I am incorrectly female. I am incorrect, and that is a punishable offense. And this tension, it’s yours. I am not helping you anymore. You need to learn what this feels like because this… this tension is what not-normals carry inside of them all of the time because it is dangerous to be different! To the men… to the men in the room, I speak to you now, particularly the white men, especially the straight white men. Pull your fucking socks up! How humiliating! Fashion advice from a lesbian. That is your last joke.

All my life, I’ve been told that I’m a man-hater. I don’t hate men, I honestly do not. I don’t hate men. But… there’s a problem. See, I don’t even believe that women are better than men. I believe women are just as corruptible by power as men, because you know what, fellas, you don’t have a monopoly on the human condition, you arrogant fucks. But the story is as you have told it. Power belongs to you. And if you can’t handle criticism, take a joke, or deal with your own tension without violence, you have to wonder if you are up to the task of being in charge.

(Hannah Gadsby "Nanette")

I pressed my lips against his ear and whispered again, It's not your fault. Perhaps this was really the only thing I had ever wanted to say to anyone, and be told.

(Miranda July "The Shared Patio")

All of your questions will be answered, said the Oracle, or already have been, or won't be. Those are the three possibilities.

(Joseph Fink "Alice Isn't Dead")

Chance had cast me on his island, chance had thrown me in his arms. In a world of chance, is there a better and a worse? We yield to a stranger's embrace or give ourselves to the waves; for the blink of an eyelid our vigilance relaxes; we are asleep; and when we awake, we have lost the direction of our lives. What are these blinks of an eyelid, against which the only defense is an eternal and inhuman wakefulness? Might they not be the cracks and chinks through which another voice, other voices, speak in our lives? By what right do we close our ears to them? The questions echoed in my head without answer.

(J. M. Coetzee "Foe")

Chinua Achebe was born on 16 November 1930, in Ogidi, Eastern Nigeria. His great uncle, who brought up Achebe’s father, had taken the ‘highest-but-one title’ in the clan, and was considered to be of such importance that when in the late nineteenth century Anglican missionaries came to Ogidi, and sought support for their work, they were shown to his compound. ‘For a short while he allowed them to operate from his compound,’ Achebe says in an essay written nearly a century later, ‘but after a few days he sent them packing again.’ Not because he found their theology offensive, but because he found their music alarming. ‘Your music is too sad to come from a man’s house,’ Achebe’s great uncle told the missionaries, ‘my neighbors might think it was my funeral dirge.’

(Biyi Bandele, Introduction to "Things Fall Apart" by Chinua Achebe)

(..) This question is one that only a very old man asks. Does this path have a heart? All paths are the same: they lead nowhere. They are paths going through the bush, or into the bush. In my own life I could say I have traversed long long paths, but I am not anywhere. Does this path have a heart? If it does, the path is good; if it doesn't, it is of no use. Both paths lead nowhere; but one has a heart, the other doesn't. One makes for a joyful journey; as long as you follow it, you are one with it. The other will make you curse your life. One makes you strong; the other weakens you.

Before you embark on any path ask the question: Does this path have a heart? If the answer is no, you will know it, and then you must choose another path. The trouble is nobody asks the question; and when a man finally realizes that he has taken a path without a heart, the path is ready to kill him. At that point very few men can stop to deliberate, and leave the path. A path without a heart is never enjoyable. You have to work hard even to take it. On the other hand, a path with heart is easy; it does not make you work at liking it.

(Carlos Castaneda "The Teachings of Don Juan: A Yaqui Way of Knowledge")

P. S. Mrs Maugery lent me a book last week. It’s called The Oxford Book of Modern Verse, 1892-1935. They let a man named Yeats make the choosings. They shouldn’t have. Who is he—and what does he know about verse?
I hunted all through that book for poems by Wilfred Owen or Siegfried Sassoon. There weren’t any—not one, And do you know why not? Because this Mr Yeats said—he said, ‘I deliberately chose NOT to include any poems from World War 1. I have a distaste for them. Passive suffering is not a theme for poetry.’
Passive Suffering? Passive Suffering! I could have hit him. What ailed the man? Lieutenant Owen, he wrote a line, ‘What passing-bells for these who die as cattle? Only the monstrous anger of the guns.’ What’s passive about that, I’d like to know? That’s exactly how they do die. I saw it with my own eyes, and I say to hell with Mr Yeats.

(Mary Ann Shaffer, Annie Barrows "The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society")

When In-hye laid the food she’d brought out on the table, Yeong-hye said, ‘Sister. You don’t have to bring that stuff now.’ She smiled. ‘I don’t need to eat any more.’
‘What are you talking about?’ In-hye stared at her sister as though she were possessed. It was a long time since she’d seen Yeong-hye’s face shining like this; no, in fact, it was the first time. ‘What on earth were you doing just now?’ she asked.
Yeong-hye met her question with another. ‘Sister, did you know?’
‘Know what?’
‘I didn’t, you see. I thought trees stood up straight …I only found out just now. They actually stand with both arms in the earth, all of them. Look, look over there, aren’t you surprised?’ Yeong-hye sprang up and pointed to the window. ‘All of them, they’re all standing on their heads.’ Yeong-hye laughed frantically. In-hye remembered moments from their childhood when Yeong-hye’s face had worn the same expression as it did now. Those moments when her sister’s single-lidded eyes would narrow and turn completely dark, when that innocent laughter would come rushing out of her mouth. ‘Do you know how I found out? Well, I was in a dream, and I was standing on my head …leaves were growing from my body, and roots were sprouting from my hands …so I dug down into the earth. On and on …I wanted flowers to bloom from my crotch so I spread my legs; I spread them wide …’
Bewildered, In-hye looked across at Yeong-hye’s feverish eyes. ‘I need to water my body. I don’t need this kind of food, sister. I need water.’ 

(Han Kang "The Vegetarian")

The whole situation was undeniably bizarre, yet she displayed an almost total lack of curiosity, and indeed it seemed that this was what enabled her to maintain her composure no matter what she was faced with. She made no move to investigate the unfamiliar space, and showed none of the emotions that one might expect. It seemed enough for her to just deal with whatever it was that came her way, calmly and without fuss. Or perhaps it was simply that things were happening inside her, terrible things, which no one else could even guess at, and thus it was impossible for her to engage with everyday life at the same time. If so, she would naturally have no energy left, not just for curiosity or interest but indeed for any meaningful response to all the humdrum minutiae that went on on the surface. What suggested to him that this might be the case was that, on occasion, her eyes would seem to reflect a kind of violence that could not simply be dismissed as passivity or idiocy or indifference, and which she would appear to be struggling to suppress.

(Han Kang "The Vegetarian")

We’re looking for a fern that blooms,” said Pärtel, although I was nudging him with my elbow, because I’d started to believe that Uncle Vootele and Ints were right—that the fern really did bloom only in legends. So it was embarrassing to admit that we’d been wandering so far all night for the wrong reason.
As I feared, Meeme fell to jeering at us, until he was choked by the wine catching in his throat.
“A fern that blooms!” he crowed, spluttering with laughter. “Weren't you looking for a green fox? I hear that such an animal has been seen in these woods.”
“We’ve heard there’s a key in the blooming fern,” explained Pärtel, taking no notice of my nudging—or maybe not understanding it and thinking that I was simply twitching from tiredness. And he told Meeme everything.
Meeme was no longer laughing, but merely snorting scornfully.
“We simply wanted to try,” I said then, apologetically. “Of course it was silly. Obviously there isn’t really a key at all.”
“That’s not what I said,” replied Meeme with unexpected abruptness. “The blooming fern doesn’t exist.”
“But there’s a key?” I asked.
“So they say,” answered Meeme, in his former drunken tone again. “But there’s no sense in looking for it. The key will come into the right person’s hands when the time is right.”
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“That’s what my blind grandmother told me,” replied Meeme, starting to laugh and cough again. “She also said that you can walk along a rainbow to the moon, and that if you eat a handful of earth, you change into a cuckoo. My blind half-wit of a grandmother told me all sorts of things. Go and figure out whether they’re true or not. Anyway, I haven’t eaten soil, because I don’t want to become a cuckoo. Cuckoos don’t drink wine; they have to lay eggs in other birds’nests, but what I want to do is drink. Your health, boys! I assure you wine tastes a lot better than fly agaric!

(Andrus Kivirahk "The Man Who Spoke Snakish")

In situations of conflict, they are less likely to refer to an adult to act as an adjudicator, and are liable to
‘take the law into their own hands’. These children may also learn that acts of aggression can repel other children, ensuring uninterrupted solitude. Conflict and confrontation with adults can be made worse by non-compliance, negativism, and a difficulty in perceiving the differences in social status or hierarchy, resulting in a failure to respect authority or maturity.

(Tony Atwood "The Complete Guide to Asperger's Syndrome")

We know that young children with Asperger’s syndrome are prone to develop mood disorders (Attwood 2003a), and some children seem to be almost constantly anxious, which might indicate a Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD). One of the problems faced by children with Asperger’s syndrome who use their intellect rather than intuition to succeed in some social situations is that they may be in an almost constant state of alertness and anxiety, leading to a risk of mental and physical exhaustion. The child may have developed compensatory mechanisms to avoid anxiety-provoking situations such as school, by refusing to go to school or being mute at school (Kopp and Gillberg 1997). There may be intense anxiety or a phobic reaction to certain social situations, or to sensory experiences such as a dog barking, or to a change in expectations such as an alteration to the daily school routine. A referral to a clinical psychologist, psychiatrist or mental health service for children with a mood disorder may lead to a diagnosis of Asperger’s syndrome when a detailed and comprehensive developmental history is completed (Towbin et al. 2005).
Some children with Asperger’s syndrome can become clinically depressed as a reaction to their realization of having considerable difficulties with social integration. The depressive reaction can be internalized, leading to self-criticism and even thoughts of suicide; or externalized, resulting in criticism of others and an expression of frustration or anger, especially when the child has difficulty understanding a social situation. Blame is directed at oneself: ‘I am stupid’; or others: ‘It’s your fault.’ The signs of a clinical depression or problems with anger management could be the first indicators of a developmental disorder such as Asperger’s syndrome.

(Tony Atwood "The Complete Guide to Asperger's Syndrome")

Performativity is a process that implies being acted on in ways we do not always fully understand, and of acting, in politically consequential ways. Performativity has everything to do with “who” can become produced as a recognizable subject, a subject who is living, whose life is worth sheltering and whose life, when lost, would be worthy of mourning. Precarious life characterizes such lives who do not qualify as recognizable, readable, or grievable. And in this way, precariety is rubric that brings together women, queers, transgender people, the poor, and the stateless. It is worth remembering that one of the main questions that queer theory posed in light of the AIDS crisis was this: how does one live with the notion that one’s love is not considered love, and one’s loss is not considered loss? How does one live an unrecognizable life? If what and how you love is already a kind of nothing or nonexistence, how can you possibly explain the loss of this non-thing, and how would it ever become publicly grievable? Something similar happens when the loss or disappearance of whole populations becomes unmentionable or when the law itself prohibits an investigation of those who committed such atrocities. For the queer movement, this was emphatically the case with AIDS, and remains the situation on the African continent and for all those populations throughout the globe who have no access to new drugs or no way to pay for them. These are but a few of the ways in which the differential distribution of grievability takes place, and when it does not actually lead to the annihilation of those who are already socially lost or socially dead, it ties them in knots without hope of ever becoming undone.

(Judith Butler "Performativity, Precariety and Sexual Politics")

Emptiness and loss of meaning are expressions of the threat of nonbeing to the spiritual life. This threat is implied in man's finitude and actualized by man's estrangement. It can be described in terms of doubt, its creative and its destructive function in man's spiritual life. Man is able to ask because he is separated from, while participating in, what he is asking about. In every question an element of doubt, the awareness of not having, is implied. In systematic questioning systematic doubt is effective; e.g. of the Cartesian type. This element of doubt is a condition of all spiritual life. The threat to spiritual life is not doubt as an element but the total doubt. If the awareness of not having has swallowed the awareness of having, doubt has ceased to be methodological asking and has become existential despair. On the way to this situation the spiritual life tries to maintain itself as long as possible by clinging to affirmations which are not yet undercut, be they traditions, autonomous convictions, or emotional preferences. And if it is impossible to remove the doubt, one courageously accepts it without surrendering one's convictions. One takes the risk of going astray and the anxiety of this risk upon oneself. In this way one avoids the extreme situation till it becomes unavoidable and the despair of truth becomes complete.
Then man tries another way out: Doubt is based on man's separation from the whole of reality, on his lack of universal participation, on the isolation of his individual self. So he tries to break out of this situation, to identify himself with something transindividual, to surrender his separation and self-relatedness. He flees from his freedom of asking and answering for himself to a situation in which no further questions can be asked and the answers to previous questions are imposed on him authoritatively. In order to avoid the risk of asking and doubting he surrenders the right to ask and to doubt. He surrenders himself in order to save his spiritual life. He "escapes from his freedom" (Fromm) in order to escape the anxiety of meaninglessness. Now he is no longer lonely, not in existential doubt, not in despair. He "participates" and affirms by participation the contents of his spiritual life. Meaning is saved, but the self is sacrificed. And since the conquest of doubt was a matter of sacrifice, the sacrifice of the freedom of the self, it leaves a mark on the regained certitude: a fanatical self-assertiveness. Fanaticism is the correlate to spiritual self-surrender: it shows the anxiety which it was supposed to conquer, by attacking with disproportionate violence those who disagree and who demonstrate by their disagreement elements in the spiritual life of the fanatic which he must suppress in himself. Because he must suppress them in himself he must suppress them in others. His anxiety forces him to persecute dissenters. The weakness of the fanatic is that those whom he fights have a secret hold upon him; and to this weakness he and his group finally succumb.

(Paul Tillich "The Courage to Be")

"Why is he here all alone?"

The difference between depression and sadness is...Sadness is just from happenstance, whatever happened or didn't happen for you. Or, you know, grief or whatever it is. And depression is your body saying - fuck you, I don't want to be this character anymore, I don't want to hold up this avatar that you have created in the world, it's too much for me!

(Jim Carrey)