There have been situations, close to difficult times, when certain decisions are binding and there is no possible compromise, in which, cynically, we asked what was the best option.
cynically, and with luck, we agree that it would be better to be bad actors in a process, rather than a beautiful funeral. Are those circumstances that most people, fortunately, will not live. There are circumstances that happen if you do certain jobs. It 'a dirty job and someone has to do it. And down the mask of hypocrisy, please. Away with respectability, the moralists. The flights of Pindar utopian thoughts break free from reality. The naive pacifists. The vicious intellectualism. Adhere to the ground, we must. Confronted with the reality of things. Pragmatically. In good faith, relying on its principles.
There are people who pontificates and aerates the oral cavity, the first floor, in the elegant drawing room, and preaches the moral and philosophical fabric upholstery, pretending to ignore that other, silently, in the basement, shovel the shit septic tank. To the right, ignored by all the tenants of the building. Who believe that democracy is a good thing had an automatic right. Not really. Be aware, critical of yourself, before allowing you to point a finger. You do not have the gift of the right to be morally superior.
So, dear Stephen, now we have been to your beautiful funeral.
You could leave the skin in other situations, in other places. Instead you went away quietly at night in your bed. Your mate has shaken you very well in the morning, so you do not be late for work. I think you would not believe that there was suddenly more.
Your companion is a good two inches from the torpedo ass. Now that you're dead, and that self is, by law, your ex-wife. Which although you loved, I think. Which will enjoy all the benefits. And if it is magnanimous, if you put a hand on your heart, your partner will leave at least the right to continue living in your home. Otherwise it will be lost, along with your love, just everything. And you will find on the street. But these things are women, I would say. Yeah, sorry, boys hardly happen this nonsense.
Dear Stephen, we have often quarreled. Never carry a grudge. Always knowing, in his sleeve, to speak the same language, be made of the same stuff. Honor them. To understand at a glance. We
in contact worked for many years, knowing you are always part of the solution of a problem, enjoying the confidence that others had not, always allowing us to say a word more outspoken. And this makes us uncomfortable, difficult. Respected.
The two rows of ribbons on our uniforms tell a story. We are proud of.
From Kosovo to the Middle East, our hands on each other's shoulders, for a goodbye.
The base closes thirty minutes after take-off, Stephen, as always. This time for you.
Hello boy.
0 comments:
Post a Comment