Plague Doctor

Intelligence is hard; moreover, it’s a weak gene. There’s not just recessive nature to it, it’s an often, and quietly despised virtue. Regularly people seem to associate it with snobbery; I can’t deny the association exists. Through it peculiar that people imagine this as the only virtue that is susceptible. To quote a larrikin comedian who optimizes my point
‘I would take a nice idiot over a smart ass-hole any day of fucking the week, ladies and gentlemen.’
True; but what of the idiotic ass-hole or the kind hearted intelligentsia?
In a limited experience smart people aren’t always, exactly intelligent, more often these people we believe are clever cats could tell you tomes about their profession, while being lost in any words that they consider pointless, beneath them, or uninteresting seeing them as the dialect of fools. These are the ‘smart ass-holes’
I prefer people who are ‘sharp,’ willing to entertain thoughts that seem redundant in efforts of expanding their perspective. This is the intelligence that is hard; the kind that requires a will to learn. The kind of intelligence that is recessive. That is kind that Loral’s cannot be rested on. It is the kind that prizes being wrong as a necessary part of being right.
Speaking from power when you can and relinquishing it when you must learn.

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Attempting To Do Medicine

Soon I’ll leave the speaking to the orators. I find myself exhausted by recounting what is obvious to me and those who have taught me. Frequently I’ve had a desire to prove blissful ignorance is as listless and vain; not worth the fleeting comfort for the Draconian ideas that so effortlessly slip past the blissful, ignorant and optimistic, skeptical of scientism. Though I feel I would miss those honest schisms. Be dissatisfied with the inference of what my, then, peers consider explicit. Can it be trusted that what’s needs be said will be? Given how exhausting necessity can be?
I trust my, now, counter parts to hold the line. Though this is just the issue; It is easier to hold a blissful front than a line held by exhaustion at ignorance that is only taxing to those who recognize it.

Plague

Stupidity is contagious. Moreover, it’s easy. Not evil, much like any other pathogen, but you still wouldn’t want it around you or your friend. Just because it’s morally ambiguous, doesn’t mean we need accept its existence. Not a plague of body, but spirit.
Stupidity spreads itself by exploiting our biases and tendencies to admire entertaining celebrities, attractive? Sure, but not substantive.
Like a pathogen we don’t eradicated the carriers, nor shame them for their lack of sufficient luck. We rehabilitate and vaccinate them, making the disease unable to resurface.
The vaccination to stupidity comes through critical thinking, the rehabilitation through open and caring discussion. The spread of the disease however is only overcome through quarantine. Letting no infected mind slip by unchecked, exterminating the rats spreading it.
Cut off their bread supply.

White, Grey, Black. (First Collection)

I create patterns with myself, building with my preconceived notions, in the hopes they are proven wrong. I find joy in golden-ratio-like-spiral-like problems; mental and emotional questions with no answers nor meaningful punctuation. I use my mind mindlessly, before I loose it to open oceans with no water.
I met a concreter who seemed as set in his ways as the result of his days. He told m,e with his several pints, that fewer words is better; a life lesson for a writer certainly.
I agree.
But lacking certainty in what is being said the notions I conceive and temporarily deceive myself with are better explained by choice words, moreover paragraphs if necessary.
By way of example, how do you explain a vibe by simply uttering ‘it was the vibe.’
That’s not particularly helpful. No, novels and tomes have been written, all incomplete on the topic of a simply happy ‘vibe’, let alone anything of substantive fact.
my question to fellows and concreters alike is; How much of the world have you seen recently, that behaves with certainty? So famously few of words? Seems fabulously sub-optimal to describe a human world where ‘vibe’ is as dispensable as a Facebook like and fact never more elusive in common conversation.

Liberal party: from the hearty

We rage for our generation in the hopes the old ways remember the immorality of inconsistent belief. The first world obligated to remain vigulent to demented ideas from within,  to evil orange sprites

What happened? When was our progress smeared by selfish uses of our gear?

I hope ignorance and greed of 18th White ‘rights’ can be healed, for the sake of our beloved, I do try to hope. Seems all too true, this vigilance we must keep as fire in our chests, lest we see a future coloured darkest blue. Not long till the rich twitch from nooses and catch nicks from pitchforks for their abuses.

Higher networth… Seems only a dirth, while we sit praised and punished in one boomer breath. Payback’s a bitch from those with sewn lips and scarred thighs, can’t help but question the motives of Liberal voters, despite a fear of dogma to their side, I see only self interest and no bother. So many arguments of scale starring ‘why bother.’

Does that bother you? Wouldn’t it do? That precious few decide it fine for you to get screwed, while nihil surprise their profits grew. Sick of the values of work from those least down to earth. Doesn’t this seem insane? Very least strange?

Wonder my distain to the billion or so heirs names? While they so seamlessly gain while other lay slain. Yet heirs would say those in pain are our bane.

Hit’s a nerve don’t it? Like the nerve of big profit to profligate such hate.

Hypocrisy that can’t be playcated. I maintain I simply wonder, simply wonder on an explaintion.

The Barber

All me must be clean-shaven.
The male barber is the “one who shaves all those, and only those, who do not shave themselves.”
 The question is, does the barber shave himself?

 – Bertrand Russell

The barbers beard stretches to the ground with the lengths to which we have forgotten human rights entail all humans, while our faces remain clean-shaven from our laws. Yet we exclude out of flawed induction; we blame the barber for this plight as his cutthroat hangs inches from our necks. Every inch his hair grows and each inch he nicks from our faces, as the paradox spirals, weighs upon his mind as his dutifully impossible task. Yet on he cuts, ever closer to the skin. Drowning and pestilence hanging from ages accumulated on his chin sway and drag his resolve down to the floor and the wasted locks he is too busy to sweep. While once his skill was honed to perfection, the ages he has served under hypocrisy and bias savagery has dulled his spirit and worn his razor strop to the leather.
The men of this world walk from the spiraling pole door with lacerations blotting on toilet paper and yet still the laws stand.
Days, years and decades pass at the old man’s cuticles. New generations with bristly beginnings of moustaches and beards line out his door oldest to youngest, each leaving face more bloodied than the last.

A young boy fresh into puberty strolls in eyes bright and heart light for the trial of age to come.

The barber splays the black apron across his slight frame, before pulling the dull blade from gland to gland.

Collapsing of the freshly stained corpse his beard dips into the remnants of his lawful behaviour, as the paradox can no longer continue to spiral.

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