In the United States, on what date did it become socially acceptable to be only either red or blue; a member of only “us” or “them”; just “extremely right wing” or “heavy leaning left”?
When did it become a fashionable faux pas to be just a proud American, a citizen of one country and an all-encompassing social community? When did hatred and racial bias further evolve, until mere difference of opinions are expressed with such rancor and hatred that some commentators have made absolute fortunes providing the catalysts for promotion of this expansion of prejudice.
Neither any one individual belief nor any single group of thought can be perfect. There have been many individuals and groups who would have you believe otherwise. Perfection, though an elusive goal, sought by many, may never be truly achieved. It is the wonder of diversity, the mystery of though and imagination and the basis of a successful civilization.
Humans, as a whole, face enough adversity in just the changing evolution of the planet Earth, and we might better be served by working together to adjust to or be prepared for all that Mother Nature has in store for us in the next fifty years and more.
“Hatred” in every aspect of life or opinion is like a cancer eating away at civilization. “Fear” is used to attempt to force otherwise weak and insignificant individual’s control over the majority, when the latter is somewhat divided. “Greed” grows corruption and a leech mentality that breeds the rise of bottom-feeders with nothing to offer but discontent.
Why do I ask? Because I care. Does anyone else?
(c)2007 Barry Noble Palm Springs CA
“Forward One.” Boomed Ada, the manager of the Leather Goods store, in an upscale London shopping district, and one of the timid sales girls hurried forward to help the notably tattooed man who’d just entered the store. He asked to see a fine, brown leather wallet, for a gift. She ushered him into the back section, laid out several wallets on the counter and as he bent forward to admire them, she reached out and quickly drove a hypodermic needle into his upper arm. He lost consciousness almost immediately. There was a special on tanned, tattooed beige wallets, next week.
As the sun rose, Elly Mae opened the door, spit her tobacco juice, zapping the fly on the edge of the porch railing, scratched her ass and sighed. The smell of pigs wallow floated up on the breeze and the cow was bellowing to be milked. Her husband hadn’t stirred on the porch swing, his legs propped up and over the arm of the bench, as she had left him the night before. He’d smacked her up the side of the face one to many times. The knife was still buried deep in his chest. Just another day in Paradise.
