Truth, That Tricky Thing

Some days are better than others. It’s better than the last one which found me with an intestinal virus. Recovery is so much better.

Yesterday a new layer of tar stuff was laid over the cul de sac on which I live, but the sun was warm and the air was dry. Perfect for curing, so by afternoon I can gingerly drive out the lane without leaving tire tracks. Life is full of the mundane. Mundane is an improvement over my dailies.

My daughter leaves me breathless with her grasp of information and her skill at writing as she assembles thought beyond average by a whole lot. I’ll share it in a separate blog. It’s lengthy and worth the read. I thought to condense it but I am loathe to leave any part out. Who else, pray tell, says “I am loathe”? I think I’m a definite throwback.

I am mulling, with considerable stagger, over the Orlando attack by a single shooter, it says here in the fine print. Morning news says another might have had a hand. I have little to add to the dialogue except to say someone saw this eruption coming from this particular overwhelming hate source. I’m a bit weary of hearing the defense of “well, it’s just one crazy guy”. Start adding them up. No. It’s a quiet siege. A nibbling cancer. Before  you now it your stage is terminal.

Would it be reasonable to ban driving because people have accidents involving vehicles? Because a similar thing is proposed re firearms and you know it. Just saying. Reality is, the problem is way deeper. You know that, too. Proposing anything else is merely head in the sand. Time to get beyond the slap on the wrist.  I don’t pretend to have answers. I’m just looking at what isn’t working.

If I post a sign at the end of my lane that says FREE DINNER. Y’ALL COME,  who is responsible if a guest brings ammo and a gun of any sort. Kills all the people at my table because he’s unhappy about something. Anything. Or plain unhappy, no frills. Putting it that baldly, I think I am the one responsible for the calamity. The one careless with the idea of freedom. I think I’m saying badly that I should think at least twice before inviting really bad guys on really bad motorcycles to my neighborhood. There is such a thing as bad judgement. The exacted price is horrific.

Stop the handwringing. Start thinking. Stop finger pointing. Start pulling together. There is a huge problem right here in River City and it’s growing. See something, say something. Man  up!

PC is a  hideous form of lying. Pretending to be stupid.  It entails lying to yourself. Putting pretty words on a dastardly thing. Stop it. It permits the fringe element to control what we now laughingly call free speech. I’m at risk to have to walk away from folks because speaking my mind is unattractive. Gauche. “It’s not what you say, it’s the way you say it”. Who doesn’t know that as the polite form of saying shut up. No “please” included. Like we get to determine how opinion is dished up. When a nation practices this attempt to silence, by intimidation and condescension and then ostracism, we have shut off the spigot of discourse because we’re “sensitive”, feelings are easily hurt, etc. Clue: those are clear signs we’re dedicated to PC. A form of comfortable lies.

It’s Mr. Trump’s specific problem, those folks who don’t like his delivery, his “tone”. This is a man calling us out for who we’ve become. You can feel free to paste on the obvious labels. Even as he’s doing it for the nation. Oh yeah. It’s ugly. Hurtful. Maybe it’s true that the truth always hurts, hm? My truth might not be your truth; try to remember neither of us gets to determine that for the country or even each other. But there is an element that is certainly trying.


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