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The Smallness of You


The Smallness of You

Another week, another barrage of transgressions: After the Nazis, pardoning Arpaio - and, it turns out, earlier trying to get him off; bragging like a sociopathic kid about the bigness of a hurricane destroying thousands of lives; allowing too-nice police to go back to using military gear. Poet Robert Okaji calls out the atrocity of a human being: "Accept what the mirror sees/ and await karma...I name you Empty/ I name you Gone."


I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert… near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:

And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.[4] Shelley


The source article is clear that the suicide rates given are a proportion of jailhouse deaths, not a proportion of the population incarcerated–meaning one out of every four deaths was due to suicide, not that one out of every four prisoners committed suicide.