As the early morning flexes its rainy, grey shoulders, the sentence likewise limbers up in my mind: "It is easy to lionize or demonize the dead: They are no longer around to correct the praise of blame that may be heaped upon them."
I wonder whether to add this to the newspaper column homework I have agreed to imagine I have to do. The column is based in the premise that complaint and criticism may be my conversational habit -- "ain't it awful" tucked neatly in among the crescendo-ing arguments/observations -- but what is it like when I attempt to praise or place my trust in someone ... and name the name of one such someone.
Many of the most memorable and praise-worthy individuals I can think of seem to have cloaked themselves in the camouflage of death, a cheap-date defense if ever there was one.
My longing to trust and praise override all objections: I don't care if an investigation brings the whole business to its knees ... trust and praise feel good; I like feeling good; therefore trust and praise are both true and warranted. How's that for fucked-up and completely human 'logic?' I feel only mildly assuaged/relieved to at least try to see.
Oh well, there is a bagel in the kitchen with my name on it: Time for breakfast.
And if anyone suggests I "trust the bagel," I will come over and shoot your tires out.