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The marshland of mediocrity 0

Dear Bradshaw,

            I’ve recently read some good books but also some mediocre stuff that makes me wonder how it happens. Incredible, isn’t it? Seeds sprout and some become sunflowers and others poison ivy. From a poisonous political perspective, George Bush and the damage he’s done keeps going and going like the Energizer rabbit and I ask myself: how did it happen?

            Life flies by faster and faster and, like this bottle of wine I’m drinking, diminishes at every sip. I don’t know what’s going on and guess I never will. There are few seashells left at the beach, the air is becoming unbreathable, and the American Indians are all but extinct. Meanwhile, money is made of paper. Yet people are willing to kill and die for it.

            And then there’s the biggest mystery of all, the fact that, in spite of everything, I’m enjoying my life and taking it one day at a time. I listen to music, read, surround myself with pictures on the walls, write in my notebook and on my computer, play the harmonica, take long walks, joke with Jimi, drink wine, wonder about the world, wait for George Bush’s term to come to an end… but then what? What happens at the end of every day? The sun goes down and along comes the next lousy leader. (Though I believe in Obama.)

            Speaking of leaders, I recently rerewatched Charlie Chaplin’s The Great Dictator. He should have called it: The Great Movie. We also saw (me for the first time) Fellini’s La Strada. Have you seen that heaven?

            So that’s it then. For whatever it’s worth. Time might have to sift through the marshland of mediocrity but at the end of the far shore there will always be Mark Twain, Hermann Hesse, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, as well as Vincent Van Gogh, Michelangelo, Krishna and Lao Tzu.

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