Before a word is written there will be some that interpret this as a political piece aimed at one side or another of the political debate or indeed the middle ground where most appear to live these days.
There is no intention for this to be a political piece and if one can not relinquish this opinion before reading on then, my advice to you upfront is stop reading now as it is possible that you will miss the point I am scratching around !
Okay that said why did this thought appear, well I guess the over use of the word battlers started to get me going, especially when uttered from behind a suit that cost more than an average man’s weekly wage. But that wasn’t enough to illicit more than a passing pfft from this less than connected voter.
It seems everything we are fed these days has a PR motive, when we look at prominent sports people and their drug woes being played out on the front pages and TV screens or the personal infighting of TV hosts that dissolves as quickly as it appears, do we really see anything that is real. Is it not all contrived to drive another agenda ?
Some examples..
A number of so called sporting scandals have used the insatiable desire of the reader to soak up gossip and here-say to destroy a super star or two, only to have the predictable public backlash protect the cheaters from experiencing a conventional stoning. Of course the otherwise private relationships of superstars also get the same treatment when things go wrong and there is a cause to fight (or money to be made), Sir Paul or Sir Shane must need a calendar to keep track of their good/bad boy status.
A high profile radio announcer parks their wagon purposely on one side of the political fence, previously having made a point of displaying a complete lack of regard for the subject. The listener is required to believe they have suddenly become a fast study, caught up on years of ignorance and now clearly understands the benefits that will undoubtedly flow to them and their listeners.
Artisans love to spruke a socialist message, one that sees artists of many descriptions fed and clothed so that they may concentrate on their masterpieces – although many will admit their inspiration does stem from their difficult environment.
All of these things start to gel but not solidify into a well reasoned explanation until one asks the right question, everyone is entitled the their opinion even the bigots. If someone works hard and reaches a level where their opinion is valuable and respected they should be applauded not derided even if they use their opinion to the detriment of its value, after all it is theirs to tarnish or polish as they choose.
However the reader must retain control of their own opinion, they must base the value of the opinion of others not only on the words that are spoken but on the effect the consequences of the opinion will have on the opinion giver themselves.
Heather Mills spends $220,000 on a party !
Its nice to see our rich and famous sports stars, musos and other well healed public figures taking an interest in the world but really, are we really sure they understand what its like to live on an average family income with no real prospects of improvement ever.
We drank from our emotions as though they were eternal springs. Fed from our passion as though it were an immovable feast. Each peak of mountainous desire, we scaled confident there could never be an end.
Our eagerness to totally dissolve into each other’s spirit led each of us to blindly give the other, not only heart and soul but everything that we had ever been. There was nothing more we could give, no empty spaces inside to fill, no dark undiscovered corners, we were one and it was forever.
And so when we fell, as inevitably we had to, we fell dangerously, battered and bruised; we hurt. The pain ate away at the very core of our being ironically the dissolution that was once so welcomed, now tore us apart. An addiction starved not of an artificially created drug that could equally be introduced or removed voluntarily, but a natural concoction made specifically by the host to guarantee dependency.
The pain wasn’t just inside, it was all around in the everyday. The past was now all rotten, infected by a hideous disease, try as we might to make it fade into a distant memory, forever lost amongst a modern glamorous present; it resisted with the strength of passion it had been fed.
Our discarded, exhausted bodies resembled a sculpture of dried out dessert sand. To be struck by a simple blow, shatter and disperse, to make us disappear without a trace and end an incurable pain that no pills could ever relieve; a simple wish destined to be ignored.
Separated we’d grasp at any small hope to make it through the minutes until they became hours and eventually days, only to discover unanswered questions were worse than the answers themselves.
We’d return to a former battleground with blood in our eyes, our inner claws sharpened and ready. Optimistic that one last meaningful bitter fight would lead to the end we both so eagerly sought. Instead we’d find the sun had chased away our shadows, no words would be spent, a single look sufficient to wash away the foolishness of it all.
Resting back in the safety of our unique embrace the future once again sparkled as clear as ever. No one else matters, friends advice no longer valuable, our deceit a small price to pay for the only happiness that matters.
Amazed at how we can find so much more to give, only hours before too much had been shared, sacrifices made deemed ridiculous; and yet now fully refreshed these thoughts have vanished.
No matter how much we seek to stop this endless tide of torment, we know the heartbeat of waves on our personal beach is nothing more than life itself. The only way to get everything we truly desire is to be selfish, retain a little of ourselves deep inside and endlessly pursue the pattern that our horizon shows us regardless of the torment.
Add Comments
Read More
Comments (1)
Al Brunswick
Romance Writers
