What is a writer, if nothing more than an impoverished eye, absorbing, experiencing, filtering and processing, satiating the hunger for subtle clues, puzzles and words, rendering, extracting alternate worlds — the construct of what may have been, what is and what isn’t, the relentless pursuit of the perfect sword, to distinguish the relevant from irrelevance, while hanging on a thread of Truth.
And so, the subject goes.
A Woman In Line
To get an audience with the tax collectors in Athens, you have to get in line, as early as 5AM, to get a piece of paper with a number – your personal number – penciled on it. It’s the line for the hottest show in Athens, where citizens who provide amusement for those in Power are part of every act, – “Shades of The Greek Government”
(A WOMAN IN LINE)
“It’s a Thursday. And it’s February, so I didn’t have to get here at 5am – which is good, you know – but I was here before 7am, and it’ll be an hour before I get my ticket, and I can get outta here for a while.”
“Where exactly are you now?”
“Well, now, I’m gonna head back there and probably wait for another hour-and-a-half before I
actually see anybody. And then, maybe they can help me. But you never know.”
(ONE DAY LATER)
“Yeah, well, yesterday didn’t go so well. So, yeah, I’m still in line.”
Love this picture so much, decided to put it up again, because I enjoy looking at it so much. It’s full of innocence and love – unlike the downward trajectory most take after that. Just full of Love. How refreshing in these times of Trumpism and other crazy global leaders? So I’m just gonna keep looking at this picture until I get tired of looking at it, to remind me what many of us were once like.