A new morning coming up. Gray day in May, green trees outside my window. Little Lisa laughing in the doorway.
Newspaper speaks about the crisis in Burma. Pictures of the generals in their parade uniforms. There are pictures of men with medals, lots of glitters, pomp and circumstances. One of them is the boss, a fat, middle-aged scared lump of meat, with a face that hasn’t felt the joy of a smile in ages.
This man’s shit stinks just like other’s. When he studies himself naked in the mirror morning, it’s with the same disillusioned unloved pathetic sigh as anyone else having to live in fear and luxury.
Who gives him power?
Power puzzles me. How come we allow single individuals to acquire so much power over other people’s lives? How come the zillions of people in Burma just don’t eat him for breakfast? What is it in man’s mind that craves humility towards abusers?
Posted by paal 