V is for verbage

V is for verbage, and vitriol.. probably not the kind of thing you were hoping to read. If that’s all I can come up with when I get the opportunity to pay out my two cents worth, perhaps I should shut up? Talk is cheap, right?

 .. Well no, not anymore. Talk will cost you. Especially if you say the wrong thing, the wrong word, at the wrong time. No, you don’t get to spill your verbage in our progressive cities unless you want to back it up with your wallet and risk a criminal record. I’m sure we’ll soon be missing the days when anybody’s two cents worth was worth just that.. when anybody had the freedom to be an ass.

Welcome to the New Age, but it isn’t what they promised us. Comedians had better not be funny unless they stick to the script. If you’ve got an opinion, keep it to yourself unless it’s shiny and happy. You can see what’s going to happen, can’t you? All those bottled up opinions are going to pickle nicely for a while in the dark but eventually that lid has got to pop. We’re a society with a serious case of bloat.. the question is, will it come out quiet and sneaky or blast a hole in our proverbial pants? We’re humans for Pete’s sake! You can’t shut us up!

I never thought I’d say this, but I’m for the trolls. I’m for their rights. Yes they’re a pain in the ass, but the price of shutting them up is a gag for us all. I have my two cents and I want the right to spend it.

Trippin over the Line..

L is for line. Not the one you wait in, but the one drawn between yes and no.

Whether it is a figurative line in the sand or fence of barbed wire, the line exists to forbid crossing. Would it were a concrete vision! Would it were touchable and clearly marked with yellow crime scene tape. But often the line is no black stripe of permanent ink. It snakes somewhere between the unstated and understated, shifting and elusive as the borealis, and yet...should foot or finger cross it, a resulting electrified jolt leaves an intruder in no doubt of its reality.

‘Boundaries’ was the catch word of the nineties on the psychological self help shelves. “Build thy emotional fences and signpost them well with keep out warnings” was the solid advice. The lines in the sand were already there, it seemed practical to erect a fearsome wall upon them just in case. The resultant, exultant Me/Myself/I enshrined in castle and determined to defend all rights to the death could then peer at another over the battlement wall and perhaps wave sometimes.

Tip-toeing along the line is an art-form of diplomacy. Hopefully your rights and my rights mesh neatly at the border. But what if they don’t . Wherever they overlap, someone’s toe has toed past the line.

Where is the line in our relationship? Am I dependant upon you or free? Do you need me or tolerate me? Is a relationship a crutch or a support? Where is the line? At what point does interest become obsession? At what junction does expectation cross responsibility?...

Perhaps what we need is a small office on the border that will issue leave-passes – permission to cross the line without fear of ending up in no-mans land. Perhaps we need to construct a safety net underneath that long thin line. Perhaps instead of keeping it so taut and uptight...we could give each other a little slack. After all being an island is no fun, and nor is sitting arms crossed on the bottom line.

Looking for loopholes.

Long live love.

image from http://thomsondata.blogspot.com

How about a tune..? This one jumped into my head and I kinda like it.