Music she speaks...

Zay sits at the piano.  Her hands feel the keys like warm pebbles in the sun.  The colours mix in surprising patterns.  It is like listening in on a conversation she is having.  Or maybe she is talking to me...

Baah-aaah!

It is a sad time, when trust in well established institutions has to be revisited.  

The Catholic church has probably done some of the worst damage to its own reputation and in many places now only a few die-hards and other desperados continue to fill the pews week after week.  

As for those who have shown the courage to sacrifice old certitudes for moral rectitude, the trust in that institution has eroded, especially since those who committed the crimes were protected by the church's hierarchy.  

A closing of ranks against a bleeding flock hardly stirs feelings of renewed belief.  

It is a well-know and keenly repressed fact, that sexual abuse cripples many institutions.  

Mostly it is men at the top who commit the crimes and it is mostly women and children who suffer.  Whether within the revered institutions such as the BBC or schools, orphanages, and care institutions where children supposedly are to feel save from harm, male abuse (and all too often female complicity) has a history of corrupting what has taken long to establish.

The strange thing is that these scandals often become material of denial or simply dissipate with passing of time.  Interest in the deeply troubling matters of human interaction is usually short lived, probably because it would be too disturbing.  

And so these events are eventually swept under the carpet in the hopes that everyone will forget - too absorbed by the upcoming Olympics or discount event - and with time will return to the trough.  

Generally they do.  Like a flock of dull-eyed sheep.  Whether it is the way we consume, worship, or live...old habits die hard.

Baaah! 

Tarts!

My roses have started to pop, their tissue-like petals seemingly suspended in air.  It is this passing moment of beauty that leads to predictable gasps.  Ah, and the smell!  Divine, like a bowl of heavenly fruit.  

Darn.  

How about this then:  

My roses have started to pop, their ridiculously intricate frills fall to all sides as if some crucial thread perniciously snapped, releasing the bounty of their garments without any concerns for modesty.  Roses.  

Such tarts!   

No God like Mine

Capitalism is a mundane God.  

It wrenched the higher might out of heavens and placed it into our sweaty hands. 

Each of us has thus become the captain of our own happiness.  Now there is no redemption other than the pursuit of that happiness on earth.  

As we know capitalism was born from a religious impulse, Calvinism.  But that wasn´t the first or last time that spirituality atrophied to stupidity and greed.  

Nutty

The time some couples spend on quarreling and make-up sex would be so much better spent on fixing bike tires and consolidating retirement accounts.  On days like this one, when I am running at the speed of light while moving down my list of to-do’s like a snail on tranquilizers, that kind of thought can drive me nuts!!

HEARTLESS

I usually recommend ample amounts of estrogen to be dissipated in the World’s war zones.  After almost five hundred posts it is most certainly no longer a secret that I believe that most atrocities are a result of some charging alpha male or wannabe.  

Truly it must be tricky to operate under the influence and I generally try to use every iota of empathetic ability available to me when approaching such a specimen, but I also struggle when trying to come to grips with the yang side of nature.  

That deadly need to please and to care about every little detail can be stifling.  And not only that, it can turn women into true tyrants of compliance!

And although their blows generally don’t kill on the spot, the poison injected at each strike can leave the victim sadly crippled.  

I can attest to being a healthy example of the estrogen troupe, but I have replaced most of my poison darts and bleeding heart rhetorics with a more pragmatic approach.  I have turned off my phone!  

Heavy Stuff

Jules is sprawled across the armchair in my office monologuing about truck engines, cargo capacity and speed.  I love my little guy - I just hope he will be able to handle his hormone cocktail!