Have you ever been accused of this, having your nose buried in a book? I would imagine that you might have if you’re any sort of writer, and especially if you’re still an avid reader. It’s not a bad thing, not at all. Not by a country mile, my friends. Take it as a badge of honor.
I do.
Our yesterdays unfortunately have already come and gone. Fewer among us can honestly claim this now, and I would presume that it’s far more common to be accused of having your nose buried in your smart phone or tablet now. Strange how the phrase has changed slightly… it’s now: head buried in your phone.
Sound about right?
Well, today is nothing like yesterday. Our new and exciting technology mostly seems to be forming more of a noose around our necks rather than expanding our minds the way books used to. Today, our attention spans are shorter than our tempers, and forget about tolerance. The ability to tolerate other peoples opinions has evaporated faster faster than a pat of butter on a hot skillet.
Keep the fires burning, and keep reading.
I fear that books are on the way out, and that’s a true cause for alarm. So keep the faith as long as you can, and go read an actual book.. while you still can.
I wish Ayn Rand was still around. It would be so nice to get her perspective on the myriad of things going on today. We live in such a polarized, and intolerant era. The gates that were breached a long time ago are now wide open, and the enemy seems to dwell within.
What now?
Each days begins on cue, plays out in controlled chaos before ending just as it has ended before… but there’s been a noticeable shift in perceptions recently.
Have you felt it?
I have.
Guilty until proven innocent. Everything is treasonous. Free speech is alive and well, but only until you go against what I believe.
Yada, yada… it goes on and on.
I am going to go live with the cave people soon.
They seem to be the progressives now, and possibly the only ones that might survive what comes next.
These days, these unimaginably awful awful days. In no uncertain terms, how much more could I possibly despise these wonderfully awful days?
Sitting on the bank of the Mississippi, watching the barges drift by… and it seems like such a dream, a poor man’s mirage, a phantasmagoria of wee tiny proportions. Such a perfectly awful day, flowing by as slowly as the cold, harsh river that dwells before me.
Mayhaps it’s time to circle the wagons?
Clouds break like glass, as what’s left of the sun pokes out here and there. There’s a rhythm embedded in everything we do. I see that now. I feel the wind brush across the water, and it’s so incredibly cold.
So cold.
My face feels as though on fire, and it’s now beyond time to go.
So I’ll go.
The harshness of today can only be vanquished by the promises of tomorrow. I’ll keep this in mind, and put it in my pocket.. for tomorrow must be a better day.
It only takes a single voice to break the silence, a lonely spark to ignite the fire and one powerful idea to change the world.
The cave people knew this.
They told their stories through their artwork on so many barren cave walls. Later, in the middle ages great paintings were to bubble up as if by elfin magic, each depicting an important event… a stolen kiss or the rise and fall of an important city, or perhaps just some ancient love lost.
They knew.
The ideas were to be written down, and so they would not be forgotten. The colorful images that can somehow still play out before us, even though ages have passed. A forest defined quite nicely by the trees.
And what is to become of our age?
What can be saved and yet still contain any value, that can not be deleted when the electricity goes out?
I fear we’ve crossed over that dangerous bridge into the most plastic of times. Websites will rise and fall, much faster than Rome ever did.
And yet, hope demands that… it only takes a single voice to break the silence, a lonely spark to ignite the fire and one powerful idea to change the world.
