Tuesday, March 1, 2016

Join us, won't you?

Attention. The following post contains profanity so if you do not care for that sort of thing, you have been warned. On the other hand, yes, it absolutely had to to say what we needed to say.

PostScript at the beginning:
To our real friends - no, to MY real friends - this may be our favorite thing we've -make that I - have ever written, flaws and all. Whew.

(((((You know who you are)))))

Part I: Humoring the humorist....

Yo. Homies. (Thus spake an old white broad digging her tongue way in the side of her face for the following.)

Part II: When it's worth looking

Jorge Luis Borges wrote a brief prose piece called "Ragnarok". We found it long ago in one of his anthologies along with some of his metered poetry. ('Dream Tigers" in original Spanish with English translation) It's a page and a half, tops.

It's stayed with us all of this time, recollected, like a dream, in shards and chunks, which is perfect because it's about a dream. We can recite even less of it, but that's fine. If it commanded our consciousness thus, it's hard to imagine the force of it as it was being written.

Ha! How presumptuous of us to even imagine. But that's how we roll. And, dammit, it's a sin that we haven't learned Spanish by now because we bet it's more electric that way.

We'd post it but aren't for two good reasons...

(1) Maybe it violates copyright. Mebbe.

(2) And the best reason...

Not everyone will care enough to go look for it. By doing so, you're following a hunch that it's - off road. And you'd be right.

Speaking of being right, we also think the act of seeking might winnow. Out. As in filter or, better, short-circuit a pointy-headed sort: the ones who take umbrage with nearly all levels of discourse that don't run parallel with their own certainties.

Well, well. See what we did there? Wrote something that was a close approximation of that very behavior. (Tricky, damned tricky, this business of self-inventory.)

We're not sure how or why, but their numbers seem to be rising: that not-so- merry band of those who are comfortable maintaining belief systems that will not only fit on a bumper sticker but that also masterfully convey, simultaneously, a low opinion of anyone with an opposing view.

Think of it. How much more trouble to fit ideology on a fender AND factor in the self-esteem of those daring to disagree?
It approaches brilliance.

And yet, if we may humbly submit the following..
As if End Times will arrive and the rest of us who haven't honked at your exhortations to honk back or LIKE GRRRRRR or whatever spastic form of agreement you had in your thimble-sized cranium when you got up today wanting everyone to be as miserable as your ass is about a multitude of things that are entirely too SACRED, PERSONAL AND COMPLEX TO GO AROUND FUCKING YELLING AND CLUTTERING UP OTHER PEOPLE'S FREAKING PAGES then we'll be cast into the pit of flaming dysentery.

(Muffled sounds of disruption, muted roars and hissed whispers. Running water and brow gently wiped with cool cloth.)

Excuse us. Where were we? Ah, yes.

Regarding folks who do not crave nuance, who rejoice, perhaps, at the thought of being Right. All. The.Time.
That's just nutty, kooky and exhausting, isn't it? And they're not always ones with whom we disagree.

It gets interesting about then. We've noted their shocked expressions, as they find us compromised or, worse, spineless if we don't heed their rallying cry.

Belief-ville, Unincorporated. Sticky territory and almost any fervently held tenets end up being kin to the infant made of tar in the terrible old fable: How can we grab it without becoming mired in things we swore to exclude to begin with?

Like we said. Stick. Eee. Facebook pages become claustrophobic sparring places where petards and hoisting happens in tight quarters. Maybe the smart ones are at the concession stands and bumper stickers are just a sign of the times.

We reckon we'll see fewer of those thumbs up thingies on this post, but maybe it'll mean that who's left standing doesn't have to be on the same page to be on this same page
This was both a line drawn in the sand and the hot air that obliterated it. Join us, won't you?

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