There was a time in the near past.
A time when written letters were sent to one another.
Person to person. Letters written in smooth flowing lines.
Written on paper and mailed in envelopes.
The recipient would get a package. A container with information.
The potential for a reception of thoughts, ideas, observations,
related experiences and goals for a future act or acts.
The envelope opened and the letter within, withdrawn.
Unfolded, the letter revealed it's art, the paths drawn by the hand of the writer. A history of their strokes as they laid upon paper their thoughts.
What beauty the written word in longhand.
But now it is endangered like some frogs, freedom and clean air.
It is being lost to the hyper accelerated world of the PC.
Much like the ancient dragons of legend that were in both Asia and Europe the PC is commanding our attention. It draws our attention and we give it our attention. Dragons were often the object of fear and yet also the object in many cultures, of good fortune and luck>
So the PC is feared. Feared by some governments that the people will learn too much and become rebellious. By those who don't understand it and lauded by those who use it as good fortune. They see the this Dragon PC as a boon.
Now we dragon click, We can copy and paste, we can see and "chat" over thousands of miles of land or vertically into space.
And handwriting is for the elderly who sign their checks as the suns sets on the art of writing letters.
Write a letter in longhand to someone you know and they may dragon click a cheery reply

6:30 at First Avenue Bridge. Looking like a bridge out of the Ukraine it spans a dry gorge in the city. The bridge is 463 feet long and 104 feet above the lowest part of the ground below. It was built in 1911 by the a neighborhood community group. The brass plaque is tarnished and green has dribbled down the concrete pier that it is embedded in. People made this bridge, not a government. People concieved of it and followed through with it. It is strong and was built to last.
The government chooses the lowest bidder. Who wants to trust their lives on what the lowest bidder builds?
We pay for laws that favor the rich and penalize the poor. The advantaged are given more and the disadvantage given less.
What happens when the Government doesn't represent the people?
What happens when it spies on the people who pay them?
What happens when it represents killing and murder?
Are we all accomplices?
What are we?
Did we vote for the lowest bidder?

They come when we are driving, when we are waiting in the doctor's office or the dentist office. They come when we just had a tough meeting or family problems, they come when we forget an appointment; they come uninvited.
They come in our mind bringing with them memories as evidence. Memories of past indiscretions, mistakes, misspoken words, forgotten birthdays, or little white lies we tell those we love, we tell our friends and co-workers.
The Directors of the Bored.
The chairperson slams the gavel of shame on each uncomfortable memory, self rebuke, fear, lack of confidence, embarrassment and uneasy thought.
If that's not enough, then whole Bored adds their admonitions.
It is time to dissolve the Bored.
How? you ask.
Change the Chairman.
Correct and educate the chairman, be gentle and firm and don't let the Bored get started.
What would it be like without the Bored?
Where did it come from?
Who really is the Chairman?

Warm climate of the Japanese coast line of San Die-go.
Straw hats threaten to blow away to the rustling of silk clothing.
Blossoms and tropical vegetation line the broad streets of Bankers Hill.
The dreams of Akira Kurozawa are played out in view of all who look.
A movie is this San Die-go.
Pencil drawn buildings with cinematic shadows and color intoxicate vision. A dream land set on gound that lay undisturbed for an uncounted millenia. Houses, streets, buildings, people floating on a hidden history of life. Floating on the crust of a turgid molten planet.
The hidden and the seen, the small and the large, the discreet and indiscreet all floating in a blink of eternity.
What a movie!
We are in the movie.
What role do we play?
The hero/heroine? The villian/villianess?
Victims? Survivors?
Memorable rolls to be sure!
What if we are just extras, walk on roles what then? Roles that we pay to play at!
Meanwhile the movie makers laugh and grin in delight nourished by suffering.
Didn't we get the message?
Weren't we told not to feed them?

Sometimes we forget.
We just go along as if everything is working.
We take it all for granted.
Then, when things are getting tight, timelines are shrinking, the radiator hose breaks.
Water and coolant all over the place.
Scratching our head and looking at the mess.
Where we were supposed to be; what we supposed to do; when we were supposed to be there; people and things expecting.
Then the unexpected.
What is it about the unexpected?
Isn't it a surprise?
Aren't surprises unexpected?
What if the unexpected was always a blessing, a gift, a surprise of wonder!
What does it take to make a broken water hose a gift?
When was the last time you had an unexpected gift?
Did you laugh? At yourself?