in the shadow of a broad, serrated, leaf

boy i’m really having to practice some restraint. yes, if i had more, i’d not even write this post. but watching a person get lionized on Twitter and in Internet chatty circles for having so much integrity with their work…watching them put on their show. when i’ve spent time with them and have heard all their thinking on these very matters, and know just how much of a show it is, wow. i understand that being an ———— isn’t easy, and i don’t begrudge them success, but jesus if that image isnt the biggest crock i’ve seen in ages. in my experience, that person happens to be utterly calculating in these matters. i’d go so far as to say heartless, and bereft of integrity in personal life to the point of shock; to the point that to this day i won’t repeat what i learned in my very personal time with them because, well, it doesn’t feel right to me. i won’t gain anything from trying to hurt them and i don’t want to—even though they showed no similar restraint with me. i guess that’s the part that really burns me. but watching them receive accolades on integrity when i know they shift anything and everything left right up and down trying to find a sweet spot in the market? that it all comes down to selling for them?

yeah.

and i guess i don’t blow up their spot but only vent here in this oblique way because in truth, i don’t think we should be pegged by our past deeds. i’d like to think we all evolve and deserve a chance to be better than we were. even when we can’t bring ourselves to atone publicly or in person. maybe it makes me feel big to include them in that idea.

so i guess i’m getting something out of the deal.

but that’s what you learn about life. that’s one of those heartbreaker lessons told in stories like little red riding hood. we are good at wearing skin. sociopaths are hailed as community heroes, liars fashion their own self-image and dole it out to the public like swedish fish on halloween, the crooked get rich, the murderers get keys to the city, torturers get congressional medals of honor, the good decent and simple people are ground down and suffocate under the weight of corrupt societal mechanisms without even a three second trumpet blast on an a.m. radio station at two in the morning to mark it.

there’s nothing fair or just about any of it. when we see sense and justice in the world of (hu)man, half the time it’s our own imagination, enlisted so we can continue living in this screamingly green jungle without falling to pieces. the rest of the time i’m tempted to call it an accident.

you have to learn to laugh it off, or breathe through it, or see it all in some way that doesn’t light fires in your stomach. or at the last, find something to douse the fires before they eat you alive.

who am i kidding. it’s like jim said. no one here gets out alive. burn up or drown yourself trying to quench the flames, we’re all giving it up sooner or later. in that light, i guess it’s easy to understand why some want to dress up for the last show.