Sorry folks for the downer but I have to broach an issue that continues to amaze and confuse me. It is a phenomena that is contrary to the continuance of our species. I liken it to Fascism. Shoving your personal opinions down the throats of free citizen’s. Snuffing out their own aspirations.
The excessive noise pulsing from otherwise humorous vehicles. Yes maybe they are fast and aero-dynamic. But when sonic bass notes precedes the vehicle by two blocks, give it a rest. Going back to an earlier blog (reality show) where we discuss means of drawing attention to one’s life, with negative feedback via a phone, the ghetto experience mirror’s the twisted values of this chronic society.
I’ll be sleeping, I’m somewhere else and then a distraction far off. Hardly a decibel yet gradually it cannot be denied. I awake. To hear bu bum bu bum, the windows vibrate like an electrified fence. The flashing lights of blue and orange. These strobes of halogen suns dazzle many a row house dweller.
The people who believe their life only has meaning, if they can ‘matter’ by causing other’s pain, sorrow and terrifying them to the point of humiliation. That is ‘ACTING GHETTO’
The first thing I don’t understand, where’s the draw. I mean why get off hurting someone for not agreeing or looking at you too hard. Does it feel wonderful to pull that trigger and tear through families that are trying to figure out the same puzzle as you?
Is it a power trip? Taking control over who lives or dies. Feel omnipresent? Is it not enough to collect trinkets from the government, without ambition? Is it not enough to keep having babies you cannot afford. Why? I don’t understand. I helped raise three children and I can say with experience. Like Ringo sang. It ain’t easy!
With what logic do poor or middle class parent’s plan to have a half dozen children with no means except government programs to support their family? You’d think two healthy children would be a blessing.
Often I think they believe the older siblings will do their job of raising the youngest. Am I wrong?
COPYRIGHT 2017 GLENN A SEGAL