Lindsay’s Scribblings

A bold statement, but little is to be lost by bravado. One more drop is unlikely to cause the bucket of extremist outrage to overflow, though we have been living for years in a state of surface tension.

But is it true?

In America, we have guns and butter, technology and with it convenience, genius, but because of it, lethargy.

Americans can be riled for a cause, and perhaps Obama’s presidency will move us beyond the jaded self-interest of Bush’s last term, but can we be as devoted as religious martyrs? As desperate for success?
As driven by revenge?

Americans are well-fed (perhaps overly so), have longer life-spans, suffer primarily from self-afflicted rather than natural maladies: heart disease, lung cancer, diabetes, stress. Even the more endemic of diseases, such as cancer, most traditional cultures don’t live to see. It is no lie, then, to say that as a people we are more vital than the impoverished, habitually mis or uninformed peoples who are raised, on promise of security and paradise, into the culture of terrorism.

But stronger?

Jets and tanks may make us more able. Losing proportionately less warriors in every fight. But would we ever allow the proportionate loss that they encourage?

Globalization may make our ideals more widespread and our overall society more resilient. Incorporating the best ideas into our pre-existing framework and discarding the rest. But do we have the convictions of ignorance or religious dogma?

We have our advantages, but against guerilla warfare I contend that though we may have strength of arms and currency (for now), if strength of spirit IS critical, then the harder we crush our self-declared foes, the more passionate they will become.

Feigned nonchalance does not fool
My body
Your solace is arrhythmia
The wobbling, teetering
Too-loud heartbeat Of
your captive
Pen-mate
Your solace is arrhythmia
A fluctuating victory
Whose only term:
I suffer.

You never liked being corrected; never liked being correct.
So no matter what is written, it won’t please you.
But I would like to try. Suspend your sarcasm and disbelief.
We should be friends. Friends that talk often, that discuss the world and life and politics. We should be friends who talk every day.
I miss you.
We should be friends who talk every day because that is certainly how often I check my email, my facebook, my phone, hoping that something will have changed.
Something has changed, but I don’t really understand why. It could be a ramp to eventual communication or it could be the final step in completing separation – removing now unnecessary self-censorship.
Something has changed, and as much as I want to believe it is for the better, I remember your over-reasoned melancholy too well to trust my optimism.
Let me be clear then: I should have really given you that second chance I seemed so close to granting. You could have fixed the problems I worried so about. You would have, I know.
I should have given you that second chance because even though he was not the reason I broke up with you, he was the reason I didn’t come back. And that was never fair to you.
I should have said that sooner. The guessing was unduly hard on you, and now you are certain I am full of mendacity and malevolence – or at least, you see no reason why anything I say should matter, should mend, should serve the purpose I desperately push it towards.

If it were up to me, we would talk every day. But for the last six months it has been up to you, and we haven’t spoken at all.
And that, I suppose, says everything.