Dangerous Compassions


Hey, did you know I love salt?  Salt is bizarre, by the way.  It’s not an herb or spice, but we sprinkle it on so much of our food.  It’s a damn chemical!

Long ago I heard this thing about how salt crystals are squarish, but they squish a little from gravity.  But salt in space is more angularly squarish.  That felt special to me–salt in space.

“Is that like Star Wars?” Ming asked.

“No, no war involved.”

“Assault in space.”

“No, but I hear what you’re saying, sweetheart.”

Salt tastes great, can hurt our health if we have a ton, but we need some.  There’s iodized vs not iodized.  Confusing!  To not get goiters, right?

There’s sea salt–if you get micronutrients from it, how about micro-not-nutrients?  Microyucks and tiny plastic bits.  Or Fukushima radiation.

Himalayan pink stuff.  All of what happened in India, of course.

When I was a kid, those salt licks, for the neighbor’s sheep.  Can you imagine me, six years old, staring at that dirty white brick, mystified.

But mostly, what about after the revolution?  How will we get salt?  That’s what I worry about.   A few years.  Then…

But I think the revolution is not like I imagine.  It’s already in process, like Peak Oil.  A rolling revolution.  So the rich rich people will always have it?  Armed guards with machine guns for their salt and weed farms.

“What about the way future?  Rich people will have slaves who cry for them.  Salt slaves.  Distilled from the tears.”

“Yeah,” Ming said.

“Sorry–scary.  I should be a sci-fi writer.  Speculative non-fiction.  No, probable people already wrote that.”

“I think you just did,” Ming said.

zero hits

I feel happy when I google a phrase and get zero hits.  The other day I googled “pulling myself up by my own bra straps” in quotes and got nothing.  A good day.  That’s my facebook bio right now.

Last year, when we were in New Mexico, someone emailed me–he had googled a term he thought of, and the only hit was in my blog.  So he emailed me to be friends.

I emailed him back and never heard from him.  I guess he didn’t like me.  That’s happened a lot.


This is my favorite David Rovics song now–it used to be Letter to my Landlord.  Now it’s After the Revolution.  I like the accordion part at the end.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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