The Much Maligned Middle Ground

This blog has more counterpoints than my kitchen. That's good. It would be boring if we all agreed on everything (unless you are all agreeing with me, then of course that would be fine).

Our world is a paradox of blue moons, pink hearts and purple horseshoes, a regular bowl of Lucky Charms (sorry, I've been eating a lot of cereal) but it is also black and white. It is grey.

First and foremost allow me to address one of Deep Shit's concerns, and that is the legitimacy of having these conversations on the internet, specifically this blog. I will not argue that the preferred manner of conversation is face to face, even better with stiff drinks and some Monk playing in the background. That is the romance of conversation.

However, technology has presented us with a forum to fill the time between thinking aloud. A chance to sit around in our underwear, drink coffee and do something that I am not used to- thinking before I speak, which I've decided is somewhat overrated. I like the passion of speaking without thinking, and the subsequent slaps that follow. Redundant I know. But I digress, and yet I make a point, something else I seldom do, that the typing on a keyboard does not need to inhibit the free flow of thought.

I don't think this should be a battle, but rather a tool that when yielded correctly can become a weapon against the demons that we are facing. Plus, there's easy access to porn.

As for activism (like how I nonchalantly toss that one out), I applaud it, but I don't live it. Not as a rule anyway. When a battle presents itself I fight it, and they present themselves often enough.

The thing is that I am as anti-establishment as I have ever been, and yet I am submerged in it further than ever before. I think Bush is an idiot but I love Crate and Barrel. I am the grey area.

I don't take it to the streets anymore, not often anyway, I tend to show my support through other means, mainly money. I cut checks to my beliefs, each dollar another piece of peace of mind. It's not much different than filling the collection tray in church every Sunday, every dollar renting a bit of salvation and allowing the parishioners to wallow in another week of sin.

I'm not proud, but I'm not embarrassed either. Every battle needs soldiers and every battle needs supplies. I traffic in the supply trade.

It's a big bowl of grey- sprinkled with yellow stars and little marshmellow diamonds.


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