“Every time anyone says that Israel is our only friend in the Middle East, I can’t help but think that before Israel, we had no enemies in the Middle East.” Fr. John Sheehan, S.J.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
I watched a woman die today. Presumably from the heat. It reached well over one hundred here and many are foolish about being out in such hellish weather. I was at a gas station and a few pumps over, I saw a crowd start to gather and I heard voices raised. People were pulling out their phones and an ambulance was there in nano-seconds it seemed. I had seen the woman starting to fill her car...and then I didn't see her. I just assumed she had bent over out of my view. Not so. As I walked toward the inside to pay, I watched the paramedics cover her face and slowly load her body into the vehicle. No hurry there. No airlift. No jaws-of-life. No cardiac resuscitation. And no mourners around...save that reminder of mortality that washed over the onlookers like the hot wind of the day. I want to go like that. No real pain to speak of...heaven knows that we have all endured pains in our lives that exceed that final one. I reckon that death is not about pain...but a short burst of an ultimate exhilarating fear followed by silence. But I wouldn't swear to it...not having experienced this parting myself yet. But I will. Someday soon I hope. I have had about all I care to take, even now.
The timbre of society has changed over the course of my lifetime. As it has over the time spent alive for countless generations before me. Things move quickly. Things always in flux. And they have moved toward the less desirable end of the scale. Or so say the people of my generation. But so said the generations that have passed on like the woman at the gas pump. But maybe we are right. Maybe there really is a decline in the tone and consequence of the species. I looked at the woman's body as they loaded it like so much furniture into the back of the white ambulance...and I thought. As Pynchon so wisely queried: "...where do all the memories go?". Where indeed are the mental records of the birthdays and births; the loves and the hatreds that this woman experienced over her lifetime. Where do they go?
I watched a really good movie last night. Needless to say it wasn't an amerikan one. We can't make those anymore. Good films. The timbre in them have changed as well as our ability to recognize the change. However on the streaming movie-service page for the film...there were member reviews of it . I like to read those and have even written a few myself...but none with this kind of insight. It began:
"Human passion, in most Hollywood products, comes in wet and heavy dollops. This means double helpings of guffaws and violins for family movies, slapstick, or romance; messy bed sheets and puddles of blood in sex and crime flicks; and torn up facial expressions, enhanced (in case we still don’t get it) by swelling cellos, plus torrents of artificial rain, in dramas. Don’t despair: If you want understatement and irony, wit and smiles, and that rare awareness of hearing both the faint crackle of your synapses and the wheezing of your soul – for that you can still rent foreign films.... "
The review then went on to laud the "foreign" film I was about to enjoy.
I know...I know. You are wondering where this is all going. And when am I going to get to hating judaism in this post. Well, I could say that the jewish have spoiled Western film. That they have turned it into a debauched medium that panders to the most primitive impulses in the human DNA. But that would be an unfair assessment.
The medium has always been thus. They have owned and operated it since they stole the technology at the turn of the last century. It, as has the plethora of their influences through various fronts, represents a gradual decline of decency which I constantly decry here. What ever the traffic will allow, as they say. And the ashkanazi direct the traffic. In politics..in finance...in the media.
It is no wonder that I seek foreign films. They tend more to recall a decency in life, that has yet been touched by the hand of the jew.
Those foreign films and the whole elusive wholesomeness that they can and do portray are all that is left to those of my generation...if they live in reality. All that are left of a dream of true virtue. That ain't much. But I will pack them up with the rest of my memories and take them with me, if I can...as that woman did today on the burning pavement. I hope we get to take them with us. I would be nothing without them.
Posted by Timster at 2:18 PM