It gets obvious now, in this sleuthness, the judgment is not always on the crime. The corruption isn’t just like Brazil’s politicians, its in the ideologies of the every day man. They happily push you down even if you are dying in the gutter. Foot on your head they give you a pep talk. Get up out of the gutter and work, and they push you in with a pole.
I think to myself how lucky I am, that I can escape them for now. To sit here and write this is freedom. They have nothing I want, nothing they can share, if I never saw them again I would not care.
So few people have any real compassion. They can barely understand anyone else. They even see it on television as they munch popcorn and drift off to sleep. I have suffered enough to feel for people I see at the supermarket. That ugly young girl who no boy wants to kiss. I can feel her sorrow, see it in her eyes, she is there with her mother buying chips, she has it tough.
The weakness of man is a carrot. Dangling ahead he does anything to get it, in capitalistic bliss. He has a dream about a boat so he can go fishing and drink beer, all his hard work will be worth it one day.
Not me though.