The Death Of Civility

I didn’t plan on writing here tonight, partly because I have been writing everywhere else and partly because I have a particular and peculiar feeling.

I feel like Travolta’s character in Michael.

And I feel like Maximus screaming at the crowd.

It is a mix of mirth, fury and frustration.

You see there is a part of me that finds everything that is going on to be funny in the purest sense of the word while simultaneously mirroring a Waiting For Godot kind of thing.

Some crazy and ridiculous existential something or other where you go to sleep while life is normal and wake up wondering how the hell you got to be in this place.

It is like this piece of me that remembers leaving Texas four years ago with a promise to come back and I did exactly as I said I would.

But not without some doing because it wasn’t easy making it happen.

I danced in the fire while buckets of gasoline were poured upon my head and demons shoved hot pokers in places never meant to receive them,

They beat me to my knees and had me wondering what the hell I was doing. I looked up at the sky and asked for answers and got nothing.

I looked down below and got the same so I cursed both equally and fought my way through.

By the time that was done I didn’t expect to see my promise fulfilled. It seemed impossible and ridiculous but life proved to be smarter and trickier than I am again and well, here I am.

Back in a better position than I was in when I left and feeling a sense of optimism that I haven’t had in a long time.

Intermixed with this period is a certain level of frustration and anger with some whose actions have me wondering about their character and who they really are.

Typically I would try to end the concerns and the wondering by asking some questions. It is much easier to be direct and to ask for an explanation about XYZ.

Except we are living during a time in which civility is dying a quick death and I am not sure I can be civil.

Many times it wouldn’t matter enough to me to do so but my gut has pushed me to hold my tongue so I have.

Truth is often stranger than fiction and that which I find so damn irritating might have the kind of explanation that would make me look stupid for blowing up.

It is very possible I could scream and then find out the things I thought were so awful were unrelated and all I would have done is caused unnecessary trouble.

So I sit on my hands and focus upon a very long list of other things to do.

A Scratchy Old Record

I told my daughter I always imagine this playing on a scratchy old record player and picture some parallel version of Inception and a different story I haven’t written.

Dear daughter responded by telling me she wasn’t really sure what that sounded like. She had an idea, but she really didn’t get it.

You can’t tell her to be careful not to scratch the record or expect her to recognize the sound the needle made after the music stopped playing.

Can’t tell her not to leave a record in the car because the heat will melt it or make her smile when you talk about throwing a record like a frisbee.

I still own a bunch of records and I could go out and buy a new turntable so it wouldn’t be hard to educate her but it still wouldn’t be the same and that is ok.

And with that we reach the climax of this particular piece.

So much gratitude for the gift of words and writing and the reward of knowing things that could not be known otherwise.

Life is interesting and most of the time it is pretty damn good.

Stay tuned, all sorts of interesting announcements coming.

Maybe the death of civility hasn’t quite arrived.

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