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Up
Against the Wall (July/Aug 2007)
Somehow, the
flagrant flaws of the “real world” have become reconcilable.
We shrug away the suffering and turn on our flat-screens. Escape
into fantasies and delusions of immortality and salvation. Our
hands are tied, we tell ourselves. We can’t possibly come
up with a better way to live.
Just enjoy what
you can while it lasts.
My entrance
into this woeful world of full-fledged adulthood occurred amidst
a flurry of political activism. I, at least, would not allow myself
to fall victim to apathy and cushy consumer decadence. So I threw
myself at the gears, trying to be the wrench at any cost. Every
Black Friday I demonstrated at the mall to decry the gluttonous
shopping frenzy. I engaged in anti-war protests to stop a foreign
policy grounded in vengeance and a blatant disregard for the facts.
I got involved with politics, ran for office, and tried everything
I could to topple the Bush Administration. I gradually phased
unnecessary attachments to multinational corporations out of my
life. Stopped eating meat and fast food. Stopped smoking cigarettes.
Street theatre, spontaneous rants in public, acts of vandalism,
rallies, boycotts, letters to the editor, calls to elected officials
– I did it all.
Most of my peers,
they were finishing up their degrees. Traveling. Drinking and
chilling out. But me, I launched a magazine and wrote a book.
Some lessons
are learned hard. I honestly thought I’d see concrete results
from all my politicking. Perhaps a defeat for Bush in ’04.
Maybe an end to the dead-end war. But most change is small. Incremental.
I set myself up for failure by thinking I’d see a shift
in direction all at once. A lot of us did. As a result we are
burnt out and worn down, trying to make the best of a global nosedive.
Even though
I shouldn’t, I can’t help but feel that I personally
betrayed the 3,500 U.S. servicemen and women who’ve died
in my name. Not to mention the untold number of dead Iraqis. Every
time I read about the collapsing oceans and forests I wince inwardly.
Climate change has me throwing up my hands.
Furthermore,
the response to the magazine has been downright disheartening.
Although in many ways Thirdeye has been more successful than I
hoped for, it also didn’t inspire near the level of community
participation I desired. Eggs left in our outdoor distribution
bins, stacks of magazines thrown into dumpsters, storeowners telling
us we’ve been banned from their establishment – none
of it was balanced by any interest in submitting art or writing.
As a result
of this discouragement and a variety of personal factors, it’s
become time to reground and regroup. Regretfully, next issue will
be the last edition of Thirdeye Magazine in its current incarnation.
It’s time for me to travel and rediscover myself. To relax
and enjoy life without simultaneously sacrificing any of my gusto.
My penchant
for building a better world.
- Jason
M. Glover, Editor
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To all our readers, contributors, supporters, and committed
advertisers: we can not thank you enough. While the print edition
of Thirdeye Magazine may be ending, we plan on keeping www.thirdeyemag.com
alive in the form of an online blog. Please keep in touch with
us as we move out west to tackle our next big adventure.
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