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Comes to pass my picture of the Middle East (one minute and twenty one seconds of television news,           much less than I had thought) is an inaccurate representation of people and the individuality of their experience. How does one measure the merit of I am offended? If all I know are snapshots, misdirecting the issue, changing path to digest murdered cartoonists killed with Allah in mind           (another misdirection) and I am not outraged. Sadness manifests as thick fog blocking artificial light, splitting the rays, opening up and flexing, the truth as is, the sole truth we must attain;           we are slow, dying creatures. Inborn freedoms dissolve. Did Salman Rushdie beg forgiveness for images of his head book-ending a spear, or did he die a little in secret? Suppose I am a rouser marching the streets of New York City, a gold pendant of two           falling towers adorning my chest-cave, Je Suis etched into my forehead (black felt-tip). Do you defend me? Relish in your torment of words? Will you bury the fire in your belly for sake of freedom?
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Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 7:04 PM UTC
Honey, Painless (Dr. C & Charlie Hebdo)
Comes to pass my picture of the Middle East (one minute and twenty one seconds of television news,           much less than I had thought) is an inaccurate representation of people and the individuality of their experience. How does one measure the merit of I am offended? If all I know are snapshots, misdirecting the issue, changing path to digest murdered cartoonists killed with Allah in mind           (another misdirection) and I am not outraged. Sadness manifests as thick fog blocking artificial light, splitting the rays, opening up and flexing, the truth as is, the sole truth we must attain;           we are slow, dying creatures. Inborn freedoms dissolve. Did Salman Rushdie beg forgiveness for images of his head book-ending a spear, or did he die a little in secret? Suppose I am a rouser marching the streets of New York City, a gold pendant of two           falling towers adorning my chest-cave, Je Suis etched into my forehead (black felt-tip). Do you defend me? Relish in your torment of words? Will you bury the fire in your belly for sake of freedom?
Dedicated to Dr. Clifford-Napoleone, for teaching me no reality rises above any other.
christopher-hendrix
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Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 7:04 PM UTC
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