May 20, 2008 at 14:46About Maximalism
There is such a disease - “Maximalism”. Acne, due to puberty, adolescents suffer from it. Old decrepit old people and all other people. Maximalism is when it seems that life and all decisions in life can be only two colors: “It’s bad when children are beaten, I will never beat children” or “It’s good when there is money, and when children are beaten - it’s bad”.
Come to you on the street and ask: "Will you hit the child?" And you, feeling yourself a bit holy, with complete confidence in your voice, say: “No, what are you!”. What am I? And if I say that you will need to hit the child with the rubber of your heel, it is straight in the nose, knowing that the still weak bones will hesitate, and there will be blood on your leg. Most likely, you will try not to communicate with me anymore. You are sick my friend, sick.
You just stood on the street and listened to my stupid questions, and now you are in the basement. You have blood all over your body, clinging to your skin, and painful ripples in front of your eyes. And here she is your opportunity to be a saint, stands in front of you and cries, turns her childish head, but does not run away, because she already tried. This is a little girl, all dressed in sunny freckles. And you already raise your leg for a blow that is strong, knowing that she will remain alive, as if she will remain alive, but before that she will be very hurt. Isn't that about you?
And along your wall are your little parts: friends, parents, beloved. And it so happened that friends are real and only, the best in the world. Beloved person is the closest, even closer than himself. And the parents are crying, you just really, really love them and they too. And this strange man has already fired once, when you said: "No." And now he transferred the gun to your mother, looks at you, waits. And without saying anything, feeling on the verge of insanity, raise your leg and hit, with all the force, the main thing is that the pistol does not shoot anymore.
You hear the sound of broken bones, torn skin, and only now do you think that maybe this little life will not be able to remember your next day either.
Everyone, the beggar and the priest, the esthete and the pacifist, will hit. Just because we are people.
And the worst thing is that she’s all that kind of life. Now realizing that you can violate even such a ban of your own, even in such circumstances. You have the opportunity to remember that there is no universal answer, even to the most clear-cut question.
Is it worth it to regret the rich man? May be. Is it worth it to beat flawed? All. can. to be!
Come to you on the street and ask: "Will you hit the child?" And you, feeling yourself a bit holy, with complete confidence in your voice, say: “No, what are you!”. What am I? And if I say that you will need to hit the child with the rubber of your heel, it is straight in the nose, knowing that the still weak bones will hesitate, and there will be blood on your leg. Most likely, you will try not to communicate with me anymore. You are sick my friend, sick.
You just stood on the street and listened to my stupid questions, and now you are in the basement. You have blood all over your body, clinging to your skin, and painful ripples in front of your eyes. And here she is your opportunity to be a saint, stands in front of you and cries, turns her childish head, but does not run away, because she already tried. This is a little girl, all dressed in sunny freckles. And you already raise your leg for a blow that is strong, knowing that she will remain alive, as if she will remain alive, but before that she will be very hurt. Isn't that about you?
And along your wall are your little parts: friends, parents, beloved. And it so happened that friends are real and only, the best in the world. Beloved person is the closest, even closer than himself. And the parents are crying, you just really, really love them and they too. And this strange man has already fired once, when you said: "No." And now he transferred the gun to your mother, looks at you, waits. And without saying anything, feeling on the verge of insanity, raise your leg and hit, with all the force, the main thing is that the pistol does not shoot anymore.
You hear the sound of broken bones, torn skin, and only now do you think that maybe this little life will not be able to remember your next day either.
Everyone, the beggar and the priest, the esthete and the pacifist, will hit. Just because we are people.
And the worst thing is that she’s all that kind of life. Now realizing that you can violate even such a ban of your own, even in such circumstances. You have the opportunity to remember that there is no universal answer, even to the most clear-cut question.
Is it worth it to regret the rich man? May be. Is it worth it to beat flawed? All. can. to be!