rlbourges

Therefore ?

In Artists, Circus, Current reading, Drafts, Film, Hautvoir, Local projects, Theater on March 21, 2015 at 7:43 am

Maybe there’s a limited amount of time I’m willing to spend on indignation. Maybe there’s a saturation point beyond which indignation simply doesn’t get the job done. I’m thinking here of a petition I didn’t sign yesterday, despite the fact I agree with Amnesty International’s defense of privacy in the face of massive governmental intrusions on citizens’ basic rights.

I may still sign the petition but it feels useless to me. A “Sir, I exist!” type response. Something like a passenger in a runaway train, for instance, circulating a petition onboard, denouncing the company’s maintenance policy.

I don’t think honorable or dishonorable leaders thus addressed give a sweet goddamn about petitions. I don’t think they even consider useless the exercise of having Big Daddy spying on every click of computer keys or every phone conversation streaming through Big Daddy’s spyware. How much of the stuff gets “analyzed” as they say? How much of it yields anything worth pursuing. How much of the spying has made the world a safer place for you, me, my friendly neighbor and my stupid one? Drones,  guns, tanks, explosives: manufactured by whom? Sold to whom? Surely, the list is smaller than the number of folks who use computers, phones and other electronic equipment. But -ah. How could we have a war on terror without weapons? Ah. And how would we keep the good folks employed without the war industries and their attendant spying? Ah.

Meanwhile, whether cowed or indignant, most so-called citizens go about their business. Some get blown up (their bad for being where they were while Big Daddy collected useless data), or get stuck in “retention centers” for making the mistake of believing their chances would improve once they’d gotten across the border. Others couldn’t care less, yet others wring their hands, or see their therapist, or…

Therefore?

Therefore, as much as I can, I concentrate on keeping up the pretense I’m channelling Buster Keaton. The man did all his own stunts, too. (I do a slow-mo version, minus the runaway train. Something like a juggler handling eleven pins, minus the pins. My version involves filling endless forms, not breaking a leg on rutted sidewalks and not collapsing of heart failure after puffing up and down endless flights of stairs. I make myself laugh, every chance I get).

Current reading: I finished Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale last night. Wherein, by story’s end,  one person comes back from the dead and the good woman who lost her husband gets another one for her troubles. Fairy tales will come true, it could happen to you. Yes, I am being facetious. I would have loved to see the play as staged by Peter Brook.

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