So much fighting has been going on. So much trouble, it's becoming like something out of a cowboy movie. But it's not. It's the Christmas 2008 scenario in Malta. And I thought I was wild, but these Country and Western going-on make me pale in comparison. I am wild because I've got the guts to go blond, or because I love heavy theatrical make up, or because I used to love the bad boys. But never have I even thought of using a firearm, not even on the worst day of my life which I know the time and date perfectly. I just thought of lighting up a cigar. That's all. And of course that's not very much against the law, especially when you're doing it in private and bothering nobody with the smell. Just what is happening here? Is it the credit crunch, recession, depression, a touch of paranoia stemming from schizophrenia? What the hell?
I am not trying to make myself as a very pure angel. I never used a firearm because probably I was brought up by people who didn't even know what a gun looked like. I am no thief because I have been brought up by the same people who didn't steal. And I do not kill because I have been brought up by people who never killed. I guess I was lucky. Of course I get angry sometimes, and maybe raise my voice a little and cry copious amounts of frustration tears. But tears never killed anybody. It's might not be the grown up thing to do, but crying never left anybody half dead. It just dries out the eye lubrication which is replaced immediately once you stop. Of course I have been brought up to stand up to be spoken, but never to stand up to kill. Never. And again, I guess I have been lucky. It could have been so easy to be me instead of someone else firing a gun. It could have been me who, like Jean Val Jean stole the loaf of bread to feed his family (although I like Jean Val Jean and I don't think he was doing such a wrong thing). It still could have been me, especially because of my liking the bad boys. I was lucky, because I got out in time. Or perhaps it is because you always return to your roots no matter what. But what if the roots were in some filthy, dangerous swamp? Would I have been the same? I guess not. So I can only thank fate, destiny, God for providing me with my own healthy roots. It's true I have messed them up a little bit by the smoking, but never by crime. It's life, and I'm one of those who just got lucky and cried instead of killed.
I am not trying to make myself as a very pure angel. I never used a firearm because probably I was brought up by people who didn't even know what a gun looked like. I am no thief because I have been brought up by the same people who didn't steal. And I do not kill because I have been brought up by people who never killed. I guess I was lucky. Of course I get angry sometimes, and maybe raise my voice a little and cry copious amounts of frustration tears. But tears never killed anybody. It's might not be the grown up thing to do, but crying never left anybody half dead. It just dries out the eye lubrication which is replaced immediately once you stop. Of course I have been brought up to stand up to be spoken, but never to stand up to kill. Never. And again, I guess I have been lucky. It could have been so easy to be me instead of someone else firing a gun. It could have been me who, like Jean Val Jean stole the loaf of bread to feed his family (although I like Jean Val Jean and I don't think he was doing such a wrong thing). It still could have been me, especially because of my liking the bad boys. I was lucky, because I got out in time. Or perhaps it is because you always return to your roots no matter what. But what if the roots were in some filthy, dangerous swamp? Would I have been the same? I guess not. So I can only thank fate, destiny, God for providing me with my own healthy roots. It's true I have messed them up a little bit by the smoking, but never by crime. It's life, and I'm one of those who just got lucky and cried instead of killed.
