Colin,

I wonder if you realize that you insult me when you dismiss my arguments as
merely convoluted, without bothering to explain your assessment? While
suggesting that you are a person of reason, and should not be limited to
mere statistical demonstrations, you fail to reason with me, Your
self-confidence may convince others of your authority but I have watched
people like you posturing from above, many times,

In the middle ages they had an effective way of combating gestures such as
yours, Each person making a counter argument had to state the other's point
to the other's satisfaction, If they could not do so, they had to enlist the
other's help in clarifying his points, This built-in Socratic function had a
way of deflating the prettified sophistry that is political correctness. It
inspired understanding rather than dictating dogma.

The elite on this newlist are apparently arguing for the suppresion of angry
voices, I am arguing for love and understanding- for tolerance and guidance
of the angry persons. I do not judge people for being angry, I judge them
for lying and molesting and killing and then prettifiying their crimes with
the buzz words that stolen leisure can buy. I judge them for building into
their statistical measures their devaluations of other human beings, and
then calling it science,

I do not see things as merely a game, I am not a psychopath. I experience
disgust. This makes me appear to have something wrong with me, It wrinkles
my face, It makes me old. If I were politically correct, then surely the
gods of fortune would have smiled down on me and I would own my own
newslist, But I am not one of you. I am ugly in my pain, If I strike out,
I will be rejected, even if victorious, even if righteous, That I am the
enemy that the politically correct should fear is a moot point. Because of
the infinite capacity of such idiots to forgive themselves and to forget
their offenses to others, they will simply go their merry ways, swaying with
powerful opinion, What can a distorted figure like me do to the likes of
you?

So we hunchbacks climb back into our abstract heights and on our knees we
ask...
How long, Lord, how long...?

Bill Chambers




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