I know artists and writers those latter-day Lorenzos ought to be supportingif they knew what's good for them, and for their posterity. But they mostly don't. So they whip out the checkbooks for Harvard, for Yale, for Princeton, for "peace studies" and for "art" that isn't art, and for teachers of literature who do not teach literature but rather about the ethnic, racial, and religious background of authors, and so on.
The preceding words of Hugh Fitzgerald, as idealized by this writer, are worth at least a dozen warm meals in harsh times, a triumphant song on an Olympic-sized sound stage, a fully loaded Glock 23 in a plastic picnic knife fight, a grain of sugar in a dirty ocean of whale screams. Don't mock. Just ask anyone who's not invested nostrils first in cherry pits and dark chocolate. Understanding what makes us each different is not just understanding the past but understanding the future each of us will achieve because motivation is always measured in personal steps. Civilizational performances, like the water and blood of life itself, is a snapshot of biophysical strategiesmolecules in actionand we, the seventy year set, ebb and flow with or without the consent of our forebears or our neighbors, except to the degree we consent, bow or scrape, a mere pellet melting and mixing into the ocean of time. So according to some, why bother?
My response. If these people claim to be your friends, they are imposters. Know them by the arc of their sucker punches.
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