I saw some things this weekend. Two of them mattered…and stuck.
I don’t know how or why they became connected in my mind…and I don’t recall the particular order with which they occurred. Nevertheless, they hitched a ride on the special bus…and are now attending my school of thought.
The Pope died. In Rome, they held marathon vigils. The looks on these people’s faces were…I don’t know. Words? Yeah, they are certainly going to fail…
It struck me…a belief so strong. Layered tears. I envy that…even in sadness.
But there was something else…
Yahoo had a live web cam. I couldn’t stop watching. It looked down, high above St. Peter’s Square. So many people waiting for this man to die. Something about it was so familiar.
You know what it was?
Ants. Those rare glimpses where a vast, dark and stained segment of concrete is moving. An entire civilization of these...things. So perfectly beautiful that it’s too much to handle. So we either look for a stick to drag through the assembly…or ready the spit bombardier to fuck it up. What? Don’t tell me I’m the only one guilty of destruction lust. Please.
But now I want to talk about Canada.
If you haven’t already heard about the seal killings, then I have to be honest…ignorance may very well be bliss. You might want to consider this the last line of today’s post and move on. Really. You wont like this.
I mean it.
Alright then…
Protectseals.org -- Scroll down and watch the video…all of it.
Feel that? Hurts bad and wont go away, huh?
There was one thing that echoed in my mind. Over and over again. Who the fuck are we? Say it with emphasis on the “Fuck” and the “We.” It really makes all the difference.
What’s your mind saying?
Why isn’t there someone out there to spit on us? Or to drag a stick through our beloved congregation? In a way, I find that I am praying for my common man as well as myself. That there is something up there, looking down. Praying their spit is our tsunami…and their sticks are our tornados and earthquakes. Maybe they too have a lust for destruction. Let’s cross our fingers that they are out there…remorseless destructionists. At least then, we will be in the sad company of sad company when answering for the things we have done.
There’s a swirling disappointment at this moment in my life. It’s a realization that if I were laying face down and helpless on the sidewalk outside my apartment, there wouldn’t be anyone to come along and club the back of my head until I die. Remember the emphasis? Now say it again…who the fuck are we?
In closing, there’s this word that I have always had a great appreciation for…a word that brings me a little comfort when I think of our tragic capabilities…
Relativity…and if that doesn’t dance your fancy, try closing with a cliché.
What goes around…comes around.
