*** i have a little shoebox. sshh.
when adhering to a schedule has priority over safety, you know there is something wrong there.
when badmouthing blair for the elections has priority over tragedy, you know there is something wrong there too.
i think about the scheduled days here. the times. how early public buildings, shops, services close. how masses rush - i will now take you to victoria station in london - how you will be run over by the stampede, how you will fall and no one will help you, yet they will watch how you stumble forwards, your arms reaching out, the whole process, and then they will go on their merry rushy way. the ones behind the former, they won't look at you with that detached charm; instead, they will tut in annoyance, having someone blocking the floor in their way, 'how dare they fall here of all places, can't they see that i'm walking here? the nerve!'
what happened to manners? to solidarity? to the stranger's helping hand? camaraderie? empathy?
it is truly the survival of the fittest, of the briefcase, of the arm shoves.
faster, bigger, better.
better? how, better?
i'd like to read a book called 'of better', along the same lines of 'of bullshit'.
(for little review of the latter, right-click on the flipflopped foot > title).
schools of fish.
massive bursts of scrambles.
someone presses a button on the remote control:
tumbleweedy styrofoam cups.
i miss the mediterranean laid back schedule.
two months, two months.