Suicide no. 66: The Ghosts of Reason
(Taken from: HERE)
–by Derek Alan Wilkinson
Boats without anchors typically wind up someplace else. The common rule is to call something home—if only for a moment—before the tide in any argument shifts. Never mind the fact hat most of us (with my failure to exclude stereotyping, inclusive) fail to realize just how much the limbic system pilots our many crashes; we may as well be walking only halfway to some destination make-believe.
Forgive any part of me that sounds judgemental, or…no, better yet: judge me for doing so. Pot and kettle and such.
Walking a country mile on the west side slums, on any given day, will teach you that, often, possessing more means having less. If you’re not making progress, perhaps you’re gaining another kind of ground—one that can’t be bought. I say that like it means something, but let’s face it:
Everything has a price.
Tags will tell of a time where needing more than all you can get is what we become.
Let’s not be greedy when summarizing capitalism. There’s a fire involved—one that can keep you warm, or burn down a city.
The problem…or problems…or the “next big thing…” will always be the next challenge faced. There is no end game in politics. Let me say that again, with emphasis, and re-purposely rephrased:
NO POLITICAL AGENDA HAS AN END GAME.
Think what you want. Hope, wish, dream. Or be greed-ridden, selfish, and/or afraid. But know this: there is only life, and death, and the in-between.
And, for some of us…for me…I’ve reached the middle of the gray that constitutes that in-the-middle, muddy ground.
Only, by choice. My choice.
This ends here.