Well, I could talk about Paris but.

I think it's either, well, a tragedy or a tragedy and a tragedy and a farce. I mean. Can't help but be sad that people en masse for no reason, or every. Can't help but be aware that, at least in certain regions of the world, well, duh. I dunno.

The thing is, I feel like I repeat myself. Paris is/was beautiful, as Tehran, as Damascus, as Washington, fucking, DC.

The shooters care, the flesh-bags of former lives don't. Regardless of orientation. I'm not this cynical. I mourn and yet I'm sure lives were taken too-quickly for other, mundane, quotidian, reasons, too. The efficacy of automotive transport. Lead paint. U No. But back to.

Belief, meet non- and, vice-versa.

I'm actually not this cynical. It's just that, as much as my eyes tear over Paris, I also know that, gee, if I don't tear over Beirut or Manila too, well, then, Paris.

Most people are boring. They want to be middle-class. Let's let them already. As sad as it is. The alternative is worse (or is it?). Imagine ISIS. Now imagine ISIS trying to get money from someone watching Dancing With The Stars. So you see.

I mean, it hurts but.

It's never been good. Listen here.

Listen to God. Listen closely. There were always people talking amongst themselves. Peace and war. The background to gossip. Bob is sleeping with - whoa! Utopia and dystopia, nothing. ISIS and Marx. A fetish. Only one is lethal. Sadly. And sadly. Publisher of Radical Alterity, meet "radical alterity" and his/her new tattoo.


I don't support ISIS. I don't support that ISIS is a surprise, birthday party of death. I just figure. Most people don't care. Should they go to heaven or hell?

Conviction would solve it all quickly, but which? And who? Not so far.



Instead of complaining, I'm just going to say: it's now or never. I'm scared. Have I left it too late? Only one way to find out.

EDIT: I mean, what I am actually sick of, more than feeling like I am failing, is the self-obsession that goes with that feeling.