Musings, Politics


There is something good to be said about a man who, instead of doling out his country’s riches to the already rich, gave them to the poor. That has to be commendable. But there is something harsh to be said about the man who, rather than harness his country’s human talents, quite happily scattered them to the diaspora. There is something paralyzing about a paranoid mind that saw “enemies” behind life’s chance events, even the blowing of the wind. For those whose properties were seized indiscriminately or were ruined for no good cause by the Comandante Eternal then there is something gratifying that he was, after all, merely a mortal.¬† His macroeconomic policies were, as far as was reported in the West, woeful and such policies, despite the fantasies of revolutionaries, have never been a success for any country ever. They won’t be for Venezuela either since she is no more special than any nation that has gone before.

Yet, there is something sad about the passing of the man that Venezuela has lost. Even though like all mad men he stood for the accumulation of power, he unlike our capitalist fat cats (think Prince Alwaleed Bin Talal who wants the world to KNOW just how rich he is, what a pimp!) did not promote  the concentration of wealth like is occurring say in America. He stood up to bullying from the United States while being a bully of considerable merit himself; yes he was a despicable hypocrite. Venezuela shall see no man like him again and she should pray there is no Stalin in the wings after the loss of this Lenin. That would be a tragedy but then tragedy is what humans excel at.


Ashes To Ashes, Dust To Dust

It’ not unusual for the religiously minded at a funeral to proclaim that God works in mysterious ways. This is supposed to be their way of dealing with the loss of the loved one. The question is: if the death is God’s work (or at least by His not preventing it) then why are they all crying?


Fifty Shades of Guilt

I killed a spider tonight. It was crawling over the wall trying to get in the house. I think it was trying to get in the house though it may have been trying to get across the doorway. Anyway I brushed it, forcefully, off the wall. About a fortnight ago I saw a large spider flit across my living room but I had been too slow to catch it or see where it went. That flashback was playing in my head when I flicked tonight’s spider. Even as I saw it writhing on the floor, probably terrified to death, I determined to kick it further away from my door. So I did. I think I killed it but you never know. These things are tougher than they look. As I turned to put the key in the front door I felt a pang boom in my chest. Guilt. I had just extinguished a life. That spider had done me no wrong. Even if it had gotten into the house it’s not like it’s going to lay in my warm bed enjoying my soft pillows or eat my eggs or drink my bottled water. It’s not going to hijack my computer and steal my passwords or throw a wild party when I’m out of the flat. In fact it would, probably, have stayed well out of my way. Not even probably but almost certainly. So why did I kill it. I don’t know. I do actually, it was fear that made me do it. Fear of a little and quite pretty looking brownish green arachnid just one inch in diameter. The creepy crawly nasty. I know its nastiness to be so because I was brought up to believe that to be true. And as much as I try not to believe things I’m told without proof or a reasonable probability of being true, tonight I succumbed to my primal instinct. It may have been poisonous, you know. I wake up and, very like the guests in August Winnig’s short story Das Romerzimmer, I’m dead in my bed. That’s silly I know, no one wakes up dead but you know what I mean. The thought has occurred to me that I’m probably nasty looking to every spider. How would I like it if something, anything, that considered me nasty just snuffed me, squashed me in an instant. I wouldn’t like it at all.


Keeping Up Appearances

:why we say Yes when we mean No
:why we defer to ideas and people that are plain silly
:why we acquiesce when we should stand our ground
:what makes us define who we are by the work we do
:what compels us to tread the road most traveled
:what becomes the great regret when life comes to a stop

Is not
:necessary or desirable

We are what we have come to be and not the life we dream. When we have lived and have lived life vigorously, then and only then would we deserve our place in the epic story of humankind.