Quisit 7
More and more of us, every day...perched precariously atop our artificial pinnacle, false security marking its underpinnings of dependency on systems and technologies surely bound to falter or fail...with all skills and memory of how to cope otherwise slowly bleeding away. Our concern is only to shore up the weaknesses, not a thought to inevitability, or primrose paths.
Modern man tends to enjoy his sense of superiority over primitives. No qualms in the burgeoning attitude of entitlement. Just a certain amount of lip-service regarding the heretical threat to his cushy world, thin concern for the devastating cost in resources and planetary health.
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War and sports
It's true I've been transformed.
Disfigured. Transmogrified by a terrible accident. Life. The horribly scarring carnage. In figurative ways mostly, though. Left otherwise untouched.
Writing rule #37: Never write about yourself. It's creepily self-indulgent, unctuous and universally boring. Far better to write about war. War or sports. Sport, with its flashing instants of quicksilver brilliance. Depending on the view. Losers suffer the same moments with different eyes, crushed in defeat. Sport/War.
Sport is war...tidied up...with altered politics.
Like a proud sagittal crest held high above the soft underbelly of aching failure ...doomed to the fate of any singular beast.
Modern man tends to enjoy his sense of superiority over primitives. No qualms in the burgeoning attitude of entitlement. Just a certain amount of lip-service regarding the heretical threat to his cushy world, thin concern for the devastating cost in resources and planetary health.
----------------------------------------
War and sports
It's true I've been transformed.
Disfigured. Transmogrified by a terrible accident. Life. The horribly scarring carnage. In figurative ways mostly, though. Left otherwise untouched.
Writing rule #37: Never write about yourself. It's creepily self-indulgent, unctuous and universally boring. Far better to write about war. War or sports. Sport, with its flashing instants of quicksilver brilliance. Depending on the view. Losers suffer the same moments with different eyes, crushed in defeat. Sport/War.
Sport is war...tidied up...with altered politics.
Like a proud sagittal crest held high above the soft underbelly of aching failure ...doomed to the fate of any singular beast.
posted by Indigobusiness at
2:47 PM
2 Comments:
Hey I like to hear your voice!
I don't know to write about anything but myself.
Shoot me.
Just as soon as I finish building my new gun.
It'd be a shame though, you're likely the exception that proves the rule.
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Thanks, btw, but my voice these days is barely a whisper.
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