Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Death be not proud

This is how a Mexican drug-gang killer meets his end. He reduced himself to being waste on the sidewalk. He's dead, and his stuff has to be dumped in a deep pit in the ground or has to be burned so it doesn't stink up the place and cause illness in the area. No nothing for him ever again. He's gone. That's it. He is nothing.

In its way I think it's like gladiation. One cares nothing for life on principle. It is a principle, has its rules and order and meaning. For all that, I think I prefer the mediocrity of the philistine middle class in America. I don't see the nobleness of the Grand Gesture. I just see garbage on the sidewalk. I have some deep respect for a man up to his eyes in grease and motor parts and paperwork and obnoxious customers demanding a discount. I might well die on a sidewalk in a puddle of my own blood, but if I do so it won't be as a grand gesture to show my contempt for life but to protect some fat lady who works at Walmart all day to come home and fall asleep in front of the television at night. That seems meaningful to me. To die fighting to protect people's right to live ordinary lives seems to me about as good as it gets for the likes of me. That no one would notice is the best of it all.

(Photo credit)

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