Honest Hypocrites

Give me an honest hypocrite any day. At least then I’ll know what I am dealing with. People who know they are hypocrites, who are up front about it, at least with themselves. They live with a sardonic grin on their faces. But please, oh please, save me from the hypocrites who truly believe in their own bullshit. Those are the dangerous ones.
It’s the little biddy telling me that we have to do something for the poor while she lives on the inheritance of her predecessors, an inheritance pressed out of people who worked sixteen hours a day for pennies. She pays her dues to various charities, and she feels very good about that. It’s the young urban professional telling me we really need to finally do something about the situation in Africa, though the company he works for is robbing resources from that very continent, and killing people in the process.
Dangerous. In such cases, the word honesty takes on a whole new meaning. The problem is that truth is on many levels, and people who believe in what they say are very convincing, though what they say may have nothing whatsoever to do with what they do. That yuppy wouldn’t give a cent to the corner bum. Nor would the biddy, most likely, for she has already paid to help poor people, hasn’t she now?
Either you live in the world as it is and you’re glad you’re not in the bottom half, and you know you’re glad and you look at the bum on the corner and say, tough tits; or you don’t think that’s right and you actually do something about it. I won’t tell you which direction I go with this, because that is not the point. I will say that either direction is okay with me, as long as you are honest with yourself.

Confusion, Confusion

Recently someone told me I am confusing my readers. All right, I’ll let you in on it, it was that officious little bastard who calls himself Mr. Wilder. The bloody fucking EDITOR. He said: why do you post every six days? It’s totally confusing! Post once a week, everyone understands that. You post every six days… monday, next week sunday, people look monday, next week saturday, they look monday… and so on, until they look monday and you post first on tuesday!
What
What the fuck…? Doesn’t he realize I have to keep my readers on their toes? No way am I ever going to let them get in to any kind of rhythm here. That would be far too easy. Rhythm is routine, and routine is mindless, and mindless… that is to say mindsdlessness is… mindlessism? Ähhh…
Whatever. Fuck ’im. Never ever will I blog once a week. Not on my life. Not even on yours. If you find it confusing, tough titty in the big city, as my parents used to say.
Listening to Chipatapata, from Thomas Mapfumo