[Image: “don’t ask for permission,” by Alexandre du Launoy. (Found it over on Flickr (of course), and use it here under (of course) a Creative Commons license — thank you!) The complete text of this stenciled poster says in English, more or less: “If you want to be great, stop asking for permission.” I love that the hipshot, masked human figure depicted holds (a) a can of spray paint and (b) a stencil for one of the words spray-painted on the poster — apparently caught in the act of creating the very poster on which she’s shown.]
From whiskey river:
A Contemporary Fable: Upstream/Downstream
It was many years ago that the villagers of Downstream recall spotting the first body in the river. Some old-timers remember how spartan were the facilities and procedures for managing that sort of thing. Sometimes, they say, it would take hours to pull 10 people from the river, and even then only a few would survive.
Though the number of victims in the river has increased greatly in recent years, the good folks of Downstream have responded admirably to the challenge. Their rescue system is clearly second to none: most people discovered in the swirling waters are reached within 20 minutes—many less than 10. Only a small number drown each day before help arrives—a big improvement from the way it used to be.
Talk to the people of Downstream and they’ll speak with pride about the new hospital by the edge of the water, the flotilla of rescue boats ready for service at a moments notice, the comprehensive health plans for coordinating all the manpower involved, and the large numbers of highly trained and dedicated swimmers always ready to risk their lives to save victims from the raging currents. Sure it costs a lot but, say the Downstreamers, what else can decent people do except to provide whatever is necessary when human lives are at stake.
Oh, a few people in Downstream have raised the question now and again, but most folks show little interest in what’s happening Upstream. It seems there’s so much to do to help those in the river that nobody’s got time to check how all those bodies are getting there in the first place. That’s the way things are, sometimes.
(Donald Ardell [source, apparently, but I was able to confirm much of the full text here])
…and:
I wanted to ask you about your vision of perfection in an imperfect world, or what side of the earth calls out to you when you touch a physical globe, or maybe about your greatest heartache and how you still go on as your world continues turning, or what you do with a memory once lodged inside your bones that’s still breathing, and burning.
But you’re still a stranger, and I’m overly polite, so I’ll ask all about your day when I’d rather know about your life.
(Victoria Erickson [source])
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