It can be tough to document these end times, whether the world implodes tomorrow or at some distant star date in the future – who knows for sure – and at this point, few care.
Jesus might return next week and be greeted with such apathy that He might wonder what was the point in coming back at all. Unless He truly is back to completely, and with finality, separate the couth from the uncouth once and for all – then I’d say the heavenly digs he’s at are far superior than this slop pit of humanity that has continued its downward decline since His Father had the perplexingly strange idea of starting it all in the first place.
Most people in these particularly distasteful times think the world at large is their private living room. Yeah, that’s right – walk around half naked in public as you might in the privacy of your crib, but whereas your dog or cat would leave the room from embarrassment of what you parade (or not) around in at home – those out innocently walking the streets, sitting next to you on a bus, a cubicle at work, or even worse, sitting next to you at a restaurant – we can’t so easily and readily escape your worldview or “unsee” that which you apparently have no issue with being seen.
Mouths open after a glob full of food has been stuffed into their pie-hole, lips smacking – they continue to spout on about anything and everything that pops into their empty heads via the smartphone they’re gazing at, spewing chunks of food on the screen, table, condiments and others plates of food with nary a concern.
Parents who think their little ones are as adored in public as they are at home, screaming, having a piss-fit, crying, pestering mommy and daddy for anything and everything – about the only thing they’ll do to quiet the little angels is admonish them, sotto voce, expecting their whisperings to be heard over their glass-shattering screams.
A nice dinner among family and friends turns into a flurry of thumb activity on their smartphones because, HEY, their world has to know what they’re doing 24/7/365. Whether they’re at a restaurant, in the can, on a bus, at work, walking the dog, laying among a weeks’ worth of dirty clothing in their bedrooms – the shyte they do every moment of every day must be documented because their peeps care.
Another delightful forced venture into another’s living room is being in the vicinity of these waste’s of space at work. Coughing, hacking, sniffling, with not a tissue or handkerchief or shirt sleeve to be found – they find the office just as convenient as their living room to launch saliva, cough, fart, bathe their cubicle and everyone else’s with the cheap scent of the perfume/cologne purchased at the thrift store, and in general, be the turd blob at the office that they are at home. Impressive!
It is no wonder that few Americans are informed, care or give a rat’s ass about what is going on in the world outside themselves for, in their minds, there is no world outside themselves.
Bomb a few more countries into oblivion – who cares. Hundreds of Apps spying on me – I have nothing to hide. That chemotherapy promotes inflammation and causes cancer to spread – conspiracy stuff. That the next Hollywood hypocrite, lifetime politician, millionaire, or self-proclaimed savior of mankind will solve the country’s problems – yeah, I’ll buy into that one because it doesn’t require me to do a damn thing other than deeply inhale the perfumed BS from another.
There use to be a bit of a mystery and decency that one kept about themselves. Call it what you like but I’d refer to it as self-respect. Not anymore. Roll out of bed in your PJ’s and saunter into the grocery store – that’s a pleasant eye-full; flip off your shoes on the airline flight causing asphyxiation of other passengers – no problem; and my personal favorite – whether you be man, woman, transgender or other entity – wear the tightest ass-bulging and crotch revealing jeans, yoga pants, running pants, shorts, etc., that one can paint themselves into – yeah, that can curdle the morning’s breakfast faster than a Trump, or any other politician’s, media moron, or Hollywood dimwits’ tweet.
Good taste is the first refuge of the non-creative. It is the last-ditch stand of the artist. ~ Marshall McLuhan
Tonight’s musical offering:
Mussorgsky: Pictures at an Exhibition (excerpt) ~ Gergiev ~ Berliner Philharmoniker
(a grand one to blow your eardrums out on from glorious tones, with headphones on, of course!)
Photo credit (front page): http://www.unsplash.com/@quinoal
Photo credit: http://www.unsplash.com/@romankraft