Art of Conversatiion

Who was speaking for the public interest in all of this? http://www.theglobalizer.com/Shame we can’t vote for them….

Anyway – is this what’s on my mind?
The moment a stream of consciousness reaches our ears- we can’t believe it, can they be thinking so much like me, else where?
Does the single identity have a compatible ‘people’ – of class, philosophy, of profession, upbringing, social politics…?

And while we speak not in public interest, are we fixated on our own? Do we discuss things that create harmony, or self-service?
Don’t be a utopianist, right?
Why should you imagine the best and take a step towards that, and how would that happen? I say to politicians: change my mind, don’t change my vote. You’re not meant to fool me but inspire me. If you want to be a leader you have to be worthy. Talk to me. Through others I will hear what kind of human you are. Between all this debate, information, gossip, prayer, formality, speech that fills the air – do we have an art of conversation – anymore, ever?

Of course it was once normal to discuss the larger picture on a daily basis – take responsibilty for the state – ancient Greece?

What do we do to take part – for not taking part, we leave that share of power to others to wangle and flap in the wind like the metal sheet that sounds like thunder but is not, and never could be.

WHAT DO WE GATHER TOGETHER FOR ANYMORE??

Easy money > is that what we are?
A liabilty – is that what we are?
House fillers? Is that what we are?> Targets?
The grass roots? Many and indespensible?

Who talks of higher things moves in that general direction – in fact whatever you think – you will eventually become.

Of course no one’s chin is up, who disgrees with politics, are they shouldering any of it – learning any?

Even an artist can do that, especially an artist I should say:

The living conditions in Iceland took William Morris totally by surprise.

He’d always been liberal, but now he saw something that transcended the British social structure.

In Iceland, everyone lived poor.

Yet they were happy in a noble, teeth-gritting sort of way.

When he returned to England, he was shocked at how big the houses seemed against the horizon.

In Iceland, the houses were small and functional– and the countryside seemed so awesome and vast.

He stood on an apple crate on hammersmith bridge and talked about what was right and what was possible.

That’s the art of public conservation. Wonder how he might have written a rap Had he been alive nowadays? He wrote poetry while he was weaving. That’s why his poems are looong ~~~


He had black guests in his Hammersmith house and his victorian peers snubbed him for it.

He waited for the groups of Samaritans to move out of the way, so he could take his spot on the bridge and stand up amongst the people politely walking across the bridge, holding their vistorian umbrellas up high, turning thier sharp noses above corset tie and beneath thinly woven veil, to hear only the echo of what he was saying – THAT MOST SOCIAL ILLS WERE CAUSED BY THE WAY THEY WERE LIVNG
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