What a weekend.
I marched on Saturday, in New York.
So many people marched on Saturday.
It was beautiful. This city. Manhattan was empty and full at once. Long corridors of hushed streets and quiet office buildings. Fog pressing down against the architecture. Hundreds of thousands of voices, cresting at intersections. The mood was safe, joyous, electric, and alive.
There are two kinds of people in America: People who marched on Saturday, and people who watched TV on Friday.
(And other people.)
This morning in America is brought to you by the word dissonance, and the letter F.
Cognitive dissonance. I have it every time I read the news. If our nation were a person with a psyche this inconsistent I don’t know how she’d make it past puberty.
Cultural dissonance. Did you know there’s an actual term for what we’re experiencing?
Dissonance, in music: the opposite of consonance. If our daily bread is harshness, unpleasantness, and unacceptability, I need to hear some of that reflected honestly in our cultural output. Please dear music industry, novel writing industry, yogurt packaging design industry: Record this pain. Especially the music industry. Music crosses state lines with greater ease than novels and yogurts.
I’m gonna marry this man. Together we’ll fight our way through.