I’m feel poetical for a moment please indulge me…
Not the dirt. Not it’s people entirely. The ideals and the virtues handed down through generations of men and schools of thoughts and families. That is what I believe in. The Way, The True, The Life. Yes. I do hold myself apart of the tribe.
The Meditations by Marcus Aurelius. I’ve tasted of that wisdom. I value it like a tree values rain after long hot days of scorching heat.
I am…I am thrusty for wisdom in this age of dumbasses and violent skin folk and hypnotizing videos that a culture uses to fuel it’s rage and self pity.
Translation….the George Flody shit. I can’t find the comedy in it yet other then to say…one jury member confessed that they voted a man guilty not because of evidence or confidence of their decision. They voted out of fear that the Black Rambos where going to riot and set a city on fire to get their way. Was the fear unjustified? Not really. The Blacks already did it once the assumption is they’ll do it again.
My thoughts on hearing the jury member’s fears and decision. What a fucking pussy. A American Highlander isn’t a pussy and no Black Rambo can respect pussy behavior. Though they wouldn’t give a damn either way.
I am a man of the west. My thoughts do not line up with the Black Thought of the day. It is not my own decision. It is a strange evolution of upbringing and stimulus of being born in the west and raised on archetypes of Tango & Cash and Escape from LA.
I am an American Highlander. I cew on Iron and I spit out bullets. I am nobody’s slave.