I loved walking around on the ramp in the fog. The beautiful airplanes could be seen all alone with nothing to interfer. The airport would be quieter. Passengers would wait for the fog to lift. You might stand at the glass and look out together at the beauty, symptoms not sunny. There sharing a view with some with much more power than you. You in your red coverall fueler uniform talking with the CEO of Conoco.
So my point is that it is foggy, erectile | and you can see better, treat or worse depending on your attitude, willingness to enjoy the limitations, or fret that things are not sharp all around, and you can't see far. Do I really need to know that people are at war in Libya? What do they care that I'm safe, though crippled, hobbling around in Carrboro?
I hear of these things, human events out of walking distance. I know of wars and am involved with them whether I like it or not. Why? Well for one thing whatever taxes I pay get spent on these wars. I may as well face that fact.
I've watched and read histories, and the fact is that during wartime crimes are committed, lies are told, secrets are created, and propaganda is pushing us around. Where do I best spend my passions? What if I know the truth, and it is uglier than the lies and propaganda? How can I pretty up these ugly truths?
I really want to know how to do this.
Now adays the block wars run round and up and down all over the world. I've flat out lost before I was born, or walked out my door.
-And it seems a waste of time to fight the Drug War. Let it be just some foggy confluence of economic interests killing ugly little Mexicans, or angry low class bikers, or gang members in the slums I can yet avoid. – Oh they will grow and come to me. I can pretend there is escape. It's a pretty lie. The smugglers I knew said they shipped pretty flowers.
In the deep deep fog, what you see is there all alone.