Brostein,
What is going on with the world?
Is it really the stupidity of the U-Man race that clogs the market aisles with trash to read and false ideas to embrace? Can the world really be so bored that when I search for news, on supposed news links, all I find are flaccid celebrities apologizing to a hypocritical public who demand retribution for an act that somehow affects their paltry lives. Either the public isn’t getting enough sex at home, or they’re not satisfied with their own philandering.
I suppose if I were to rate my favorite apology it would be Emperor Henry IV for usurping the Pope’s authority and appointing his own bishops. He knelt in the snow for over three days, until Pontiff Gregory finally un-excommunicated him. Then three years later, Henry comes back to kick the Popes ass for making him do it, and has him deposed in disgrace! Now that bullshit apology was as real as it gets!
Why can’t we take the bullshit out of the bullshit? Ah, life was so much simpler then.
We could talk for hours about heroes and villains; the need for fickle readers to have them act accordingly or be outraged, gab long into the night with illegal and legal substances, finally passing out with sweet smiles on our faces, knowing we have not solved a thing throughout our discourse.
I wish I still had the impetus to wonder why. The truth is, my personal life and the need to keep up with the bills or lose shelter, has found me past all reservation and indignation. But it’s a joy to ponder these imbecilities with you. After all, aren’t we also guilty of boredom, which no doubt, leaves lazy minds to reach out for vicarious living?
Yet is judgment part of the vicarious pathway or is it something deeper, more insidious?
Unfortunately, I fear it is the latter.
In some ways, I wish I could embrace my hatred as publicly as others have found the need to do through ridiculous blogs and poorly written news articles. I wish I could abandon my principles in the name of reality TV, a moment of fame and a chance to speak my pointless views. Yass, I said pointless, aren’t they all?
Instead, I’m writing this letter, indulge in my soft drugs of coffee and cigarettes (as always), go for a walk, think about my new novel, make love to my best friend and fall soundly asleep while the dogs of war continue with their cries of apologetic reprieve. Perhaps I’ll have wild dreams that take me to the place of crazy characters and mad words that spew from their lips. If I’m lucky, I’ll remember a part. If I’m really lucky I’ll find a way to fill in the gaps, maintaining the integrity of the story and the truth of which my characters speak.
What’s the point of writing, if not to speak the truth of ones soul.
I love you, my wild and lunatic brother
Bindo
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