t h e s a l o n
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A Pot Tries to Call a Kettle on his Pretentiousness
I have to admit, there's a measure of Cilliers' snarkery and bitchery that appeals to the snarky bitch in me.
After the tower fell, I lived among the ruins. It's funny, but you breathe the dust long enough and you start to hear the prayer of stones. Sometimes, when the fan belt snaps and the air is redolent of rubber and pavement, the scent itself becomes a tune. They sink dead subway cars in the harbor, and the fish find a new home.
An Elders Manifesto
We do indeed fall into genuine depression, with all the dysfunctionality that involves. How could we not? Is depression not appropriate to someone no one values, a mere burden to family and society in general? And we do turn into husks, old fools, even demented old fools. How could we do otherwise—excepting the sturdy minority who see through the cruel game and manage to maintain some sense of self-worth?
Thomas J. Hubschman