Simply Not the Same
To state the truth simply is not the same as to simply state the truth. There’s a mine field laced with concertina wire between them.
Concertina wire is not the same as a concertina, and a mine field is not a possessive pronoun, at least not on the battlefield of the mind, which can turn into a mine field if you’re not very careful.
Sixteen Jewish musicians playing concertinas with Lugers pressed to their temples while their wives are marched naked thru the concertina wire into some random gas chamber. Chamber music, tra-la, Brahms and Beethoven losing their chutzpah. And in march the liberating Russians.
I know, you’re thinking these are leaps of faith that can lead to nothing but trouble, but let me tell you (and you really should listen now), trouble’s been around from the get-go.
The get-go is not the same as the get down or around although there are brave similarities. The get-go is a vanishing point where one world segues into another. Call it the Big Bang or the first hint of space/time if you want to, all the missed appointments and chance encounters; how long can you hold your breath under water before your lungs burst and the life guard blows his whistle?
This little piggie went to market while the other piggies stayed home in their houses and the wolf came along and torched the lot of them. So much for the protection of ownership.
I’m writing this with a knife pain shooting from my wrist up my arm to my elbow. It spikes when I cross a t, loop a g, or dot an I. Writing under a thick fog of fatigue, which may impact my take on things.
There, I’ve gone and said what I had to and waved my disclaimer, and now I stride with stern purpose into the blood-soaked arena, raising my clenched fist to Caesar, a little man high in the bleachers surrounded by bowls of fruit and beautiful women, wearing a toga and a crown, twiddling his thumbs and wondering which way to point.