banality stork daddy when he was younger, he used to have images in his mind, he saw all of the characters in history's passion plays, in himself, or on the schoolyard. when he learned about nazis, he had a terrible time because he used to see smiling fathers in the town he lived in, and he somehow knew that though it was taught as safe in distant and vanquished history, that somedays even the dirtiest, the closest to the blood, the butchers, with aprons of choring motions, would perhaps on any given day, see the sun shine a certain way, tell their children something at home that would make any child laugh. that would've made him laugh. and he always was watching people. his friend died when they were both 17. and his father had his first smile after the death later in that very day. surely the transgression of this father smiling is not equivalent to the sickening image he used to see. of that laughter, childish laughter echoing up history in each new day. was it the banality of evil, or the evil of banality? for his own part, there was a time he counted each lie he told in a day, tallied the good against the bad, oversaw some of it, tried to see past the stormcone of a moment, tried to be more than the tunnelvision of a raccoon snouting through a trashcan. but he grew too tired to keep recoiling. it seemed, so many of us are evil, just lucky enough to not harm anyone by it. he wanted proof otherwise. not from others, he saw others do good or what appeared good all the time. it was not enough. he wanted to know, that he would tear the sun out of the sky refuse to go on. steal laughter from his own child because after doing so much wrong, it was the only right thing to do. 040317 ... ergo It is in the I of the beholder 101218 ... () (see: banal) 101219 ... minnesota_chris You have to write what you know about, even if it seems completely insignificant. 101220 what's it to you? who go blather from