“Why don’t we just calm down … and stop everybody getting so damn uptight…”
The woman looks like she’s about to burst a blood vessel anytime somebody wears something she’s not down with. And fashion censure? Phew… what a way to do your bit for peace, equality and acceptance in the world. But sure, some bulk of a dumbass has strike 2 with vicious vitriol and we must all calm down.
I don’t like or understand homophobes, but in doing so I have to appreciate that they don’t like or understand gay people. But if I don’t impose my homosexuality in their space, then they shouldn’t feel like they can impose their homophobia in mine. Oh to live in that world…
But Joan Rivers? What the fuckery? The woman makes a living out of enmity towards (just about) everything that anyone else is doing or wearing, so she basically has to come to his defense, right? But you know what? You’re not stupid, so maybe choose your words a little more carefully next time you silly old Diplodocus.
Al things considered… the sanity is bound to slip from time to time.
Something sore happened a week ago. Let’s call it derisive humanity. They say that who you are and what you become is all about the things you learn, right? Here’s what I learned: That sadness is the most intimate of feelings. That people who have been sad themselves are still so quick to jump at the opportunity to make somebody else sad too. That we all make stupid mistakes. That maybe it isn’t a mistake if you don’t say sorry. That sorry seems to be the hardest word. That you never really know anyone’s story until you ask them. That most people don’t ask. That kindness is underrated. That sincere-shoulders come from the most unexpected places. That these devices we play with are dangerous. That you actually don’t have to be okay with something and that that prerogative is all your own. That it’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt. That not everyone knows how to recognise what hurting looks like. That no matter how much you may have been bullied before, each new time sideswipes you like the first.
And, that — short of death I suppose — there is nothing more final than walking away.
Infatuated by the treacle of what felt like New York in the snow, you are still a weirdness that I like but a distance I can’t grant. The difference between stagnation and my defiance for madness is travel, apparently. Happiness happens when the harp for it invites an interlude…
…or are these just lies that your hopes will tell you?
A bitter nastiness flows wildly through its blood. It’s not just a personality clash… This is a nastiness that comes to the fore in vehement flood. The double standards spiral in its unwillingness to listen… and to see… and to concur. To refuse the happy-medium for harmony’s accord.
I’d like to know how you forget the sacred sanctity of stories privy through nights long and days for the damned? Trust is tried … for when the journeys have been so similar, that shove is an intractable savage. Slam, slander and sulk. And in that grows the unforgivable enmity in never saying sorry.
Responsibility doesn’t have to live with one man alone. It is more powerful when shared. Still… the double standards will spiral as her lone–grazed–crucifixion is one that only she thinks she can see glisten. So trust is trimmed until it is torn… For when the journeys have been so similar…