“Wise men speak because they have something to say; Fools because they have to say something.”
Watching the train wreck called ‘Nancy Grace’ I feel she is in other people’s personal space. If it were not for the downside of humankind, she could no longer embrace these dramas and shriek like a bloviating banshee bartering time for bits of gossip. If she missteps, her paths will be glacial thumbprints upon an arid land and her legacy will be those chains that Charles Dickens spoke of.
The gold standard of any objective is the bandage that stems the flow of further missteps. Like a ‘Deer Crossing’ sign strategically located, a berm against recklessness and a speed bump for good measure. Mercy for the deer and the pot of gold that is in each of us but seems so utterly far away, so abstract and so transient. So lost among the evil tree and thorny twig.
An example of tyranny might have been the fight between Tesla and Edison. A thing that benefitted all of us was twisted and bent for an invention or the claims of it. And as a legacy to true wit, a withering white tombstone in the alternating sides of man.
Those I like to call gossips can take any truth, co-opt it and then make themselves a martyr. There are no intentions to mitigate suffering but to make a puppet show over the pain and sadness of others. I cannot be part of this. Like Tiger Woods, what were the justifications? Indeed, he did run afoul of his wife and the sanctity of his commitment. But this is no sin against me and he knows his commission all-too-well, but do we gather interest from it? Is anyone’s life made better by this illicit banter? If so, let me know where.
This kind of hyperbole masks over the sad Seraphim’s sigh, this symbolism, this carnage, and this, without a real tear in the sophist’s eye. A funny little aside in a life full of contradictions, idle passive expressions like “standing shoulder-to-shoulder”. Sounding more like an electric fence grounded out in brackish water.
So now the Rebel Flag is the symbol of suffering and hate but does burning it’s alleged intentions put a meal on the table or correct a huge wrong? Is Eric Garner coming back to us, like a Phoenix rising from it’s ashes, who most likely is most worthy of pity? Most deserving of our love? Selling a cigarette, and getting rich? A headlock dreadlocked traded for a headstone.
The little miscreant who destroyed nine lives, is fit for a hanging for the blood on his hands. He represents no one but the brain-damaged and hateful ones. No flag represents that any more than a potato chip being a vegetable.
From Casey Anthony, to Foxy Knoxy, the truth is hidden like a fiber optic wire in a sea of circuits. We want witches so we can revile evil but every time we do so, another alter ego appears like ragweed among us. Another person to complain about. From the deviancies of Jared, to a man named Jed. We have trouble keeping our boiling caldron fed. With corpses of tiffany and trinkets of cubic zirconia we lavish both contempt and praise and not sure what witch is which.
So Nancy fires her salvos like a Gatling gun severing reality with a wag of her tongue. If this drivel flooded our drive, we would sandbag the river until we fixed the levees. Let us find some good words to say about each other, find food for the hungry, clothes for the naked and hope for the hopeless.
My favorite commercials are the ones where we pay it forward or the ones where we see the good in each other.
If we put our minds to it, Reality Shows and Gossip Shows would give way to feeding the entire world and maybe the cure for cancer or other diseases and to let others live without the need for slogans, avenues or road blocks. No more barbed-wire bounding both sinner and property but halos freely dispatched to a dying world and thirsty world. No more cannons and no more experts. No more pollen from poisonous plants and toxic people.
Better we mind our own business when that business has no place in our lives unless we wish to hug them or share our blessings. Even an offender of whatever needs to be watered right or the bitterness of that root takes hold and diminishes us all.
The last officer was killed just after helping a hungry boy.
Floyd, Times Are Changin 