I'm talking to you.
"What's that knocking on my door: hiphop, house blend or hardcore?"
Some people just want to while away the weekend. Who could ask for more, but to unwind after a dismal week of shovelling french fries?
Look at the Rachel Maddow-type standing there like she is unaffected by goings-on.
Its just now getting good.
A little programmed rest and relaxation, or maybe just some binge watching. With the "show hole", or mid-season psychosis, where the world melts away and all there is the show. There is a world out there, people.
Now. I'm not trying to make you mad. Though usually when someone says "I'm not trying to make you mad, but...", usually you're about to hear something you don't want to hear.
The audience is unreceptive-only wanting their pre-conceived notions re-enforced by the droning from the screen. But this is not what I offer. I risk wasting wise words on an unwilling audience, to "cast my pearls before swine", with my words being pearls and you all being the swine. You don't have to stay that way. I love you and consider you a friend. You are important to me.
But sometimes don't you just feel like you're talking to people in a different language, that the words aren't sinking in?
I'll keep talking and you read on. Like the above woman, I speak not for one minute or two minutes or even three minutes, though the task seems gargantuan. I speak for three minutes and forty-seven seconds, just to make sure I've gotten the point across.
My hope is your deliverance, that you are delivered and redeemed even as I am delivered and redeemed, because we all need that. No?
Rescue or deliverance can take many forms and vary in degrees. But you should burst from your box and hold your hands up, feeling the air, feeling and relishing your freedom.
Anyway, it was a good weekend, Tater. I watched some, read some, wrote some and thought a bit. Thought about you and me and all of them out there that needs something more in our lives, if only we were receptive.