The Writer is in a sour mood. I wrote an entry about his mood but deleted it without posting it. Too much of a downer to inflict on others, bitching and whining about modern life, laughing about how so many of his fantasies are about starting over on other worlds, away from moneyed politics and base hypocrisy, a place where the expression, "Life is precious", is more than a marketing campaign. Life is precious here, unless you're another color, or a minority, or someone has said something you don't like, or if you think the others are going to do something to you and you're trying to save yourself. Life is precious here, unless you're poor or live in another country or saving your life will reduce your profit margin. Life is precious here, unless you're an animal or a soldier or a protestor, or it will inconvenience others to save you. Life is precious here as long as you're in the same political party and share the same religion, and your actions haven't blocked the road or the sidewalk and you don't smell bad. Life is precious here as long as you're not crazy and you don't need help.
Need to back away carefully. This ranting is feeding the fire oxygen.
The writing served its purpose. The sour mood has been vented, his disgust drained. He's poking his head out again, readying himself to write. He's vowed again, he's going to write until he dies. Maybe he'll finish something and get published along the way. His other hope is that we'll be able to migrate to other worlds.
Gotta go find some good news to read. Life might not be precious but writing time is -- unless you're not a writer.
Causes Michael Seidel Supports
Kiva, Women's International League for Peace and Freedom, Propublica.org, Doctors Without Borders, GreaterGood.com