One of the great ironies of life: The minute you complain about someone's behavior heretofore pure you mimics that behavior. I discovered this in college and have allowed myself an unexamined mystification about same for many years. Why unexamined? I sense it's so clearly and universally fair; and I always hope I'll stop complaining.Lo these many years later (yesterday) I was discussing a complaint-free and/or criticism-free life with a dear friend. We agreed it was alright to "complain" about BP and the oil leak, because such complaints came out of caring for the oceans. For the whole planet. Possibly for the questionable and shaky soul of civilization. Sorry. "Civilization."
While I want to avoid that dusty and or sludgy anger that helps no one, I am angry and critical of the unbelievable mismanagement, lies, cavalier capitalism, greed, cowardice, lack of imagination and lack of foresight that the idiots of industry wear--with pride as if their lies were Versace.
My favorite graffito in Manhattan shoots straight: Wake the fuck up. It dates from the Bush administration.
My complaint, shame and horror are wrought of love and many are feeling their, probably greater version, of compassion for life strangled, coated, glutted, strewn. Let's see how much love can heal. As for solipsistic me, I was told long ago by a female Lutheran minister that I have the gift of the believable compliment. May my gifts expand to the tolerable and efficacious complaint.
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