Newsgroups: alt.anger,alt.bitterness,alt.cynicism,talk.bizarre From: rone@netcom.com (subjunctive doom) Subject: sissy fuss Message-ID: Followup-To: poster Date: Mon, 18 Sep 1995 09:55:38 GMT In days of old, a man's honor was his family, and the family was its wealth. Today, a man's honor is his signature on a document drawn up by his lawyers, and his lawyers are his wealth. Perhaps it's foolish of me to try to do "my part" in the grand scheme of honor; my word is my bond, not because it is my family's, or my money's, but because it is mine. But nobody trusts anymore. Is my honor moot? Am i just another idealist waiting to be crucified? " Just say mister I'm sorry I got no time to die I'm too busy and then turn and run like hell. If they say coward why don't pay any attention because it's your job to live not to die. If they talk about dying for principles that are bigger than life you say mister you're a liar. Nothing is bigger than life. There's nothing noble in death. What's noble about lying in the ground and rotting? What's noble about never seeing the sunshine again? What's noble about having your legs and arms blown off? What's noble about being an idiot? What's noble about being blind and deaf and dumb? What's noble about being dead? Becaause when you're dead mister it's all over. It's the end. You're less than a dog less than a rat less than a bee or an ant less than a white maggot crawling around on a dungheap. You're dead mister and you died for nothing. You're dead mister. Dead."1 Consider the doomsaying, faithstruck fools who arrogantly dare to tell us the truth about the decay of our ethical and moral values, yet predictably can only prescribe as a solution which, in their delusions, they thought worked. After all, if the medicine isn't working, it must be because the dosage isn't strong enough. Fucking morons; their unmitigated hubris of pretending to know what's right for all Humanity is saddening, aggravating, and wrong (Sinners Anonymous: 12-step recovery program to salvation!). People commit moral hairsplitting every day and don't even realize they're doing it, much less think about it. I wonder, are incorrect solutions as bad as the problem? There is no flow of ideas in today's maelstrom of life; whatever good might have arisen is dragged down to the bottom of the ocean to feed the bottomdwellers or to perish in the searing heat of the exposed lava. If they manage not to drown before they get there, that is. See and saw, and see and saw. The balance in life is not; just the swing to and fro of checks and counterchecks and bounced checks. To achieve a dynamic stasis; stability in motion. Run though the garden with the egg in the spoon in your mouth. And you will trip, and sometimes you will fall; usually, the egg is reasonably solid and survives the fall with only a few cracks, and you manage to only skewer your right tonsil with the spoon. Or you spend a great deal of time performing magnificent juggling the egg with the spoon with your tongue, and the only person who knows that this is a matter of luck and not skill is you. Sometimes, though, you end up driving the spoon through the back of your head. And, adding insult to injury, you find out that the egg wasn't hardboiled after all. There are no solutions, no answers. Every day, you step up to the podium and wave your dick like a goddamn baton and direct the grand orchestra (avec soprano) of your life. No sheet music, baby, this is all on-the-spot improvised composition. And you ain't wearing tie and tails, either. Welcome to town, baby. 5150 "don't be afraid i didn't mean to scare you so help me jesus"2 ===== 1: from _Johnny Got His Gun_, chapter x, copyright 1939 (c) 1959 by Dalton Trumbo 2: from _Rubberneck_, "Possum Kingdom", by the Toadies, copyright (c) 1994 Interscope Pearl Music/Warner-Tamerlane Publishing Corp. (BMI) -- This message has been brought to you by the letter 'C' and the number '4'. - Ed Gaillard (gaillard@panix.com)