Dot, dot, dot

A dot connects nothing, it’s only a dot.

So where to start?

Everyone’s on edge and the edge is precarious. The the next breath could be called in for questioning.

Have we been given slop or have we demanded slop?

It seems we’re living in the age of thinking we think for ourselves, though it’s not like the thinking we were once accustomed to. It’s newer, younger, faster thinking.

Speed is the center of our belief system, the nucleus around which we’ve built our culture with its large and small cult temples. We examine these newer temples, but no matter how thoughtful and open-minded we may be, calmly assessing the situation, the merchandise moves through the halls, more and more goods, packaged or otherwise, move through the system with a vengeance, faster and faster and faster! Then the stuff’s hawked on the airwaves, stamped on hats and towels, engraved on earrings and bracelets, a network of shiny webs, baubles which turn into traps…

Perhaps we actually believed we were having a religious experience, attending a rally in Iowa featuring a long speech delivered by the ex-Commander-in Chief. But his message defies belief, even the Christian beliefs of actual Christians. But here we all are, tottering on the edge of a dot.

Yet I ‘m comforted. I’m getting along with the tormentors and the tormented, the old tormentors and the newly tormented. As Picasso once put it, “two dots can make a face.”