Joe Bageant,
Goddamn, the way in which you put your thoughts to words is sweet.
Having pretty much given up on receiving any serious and inspirational wisdom from the TV, I spend some good time on the net. Don't remember how I first stumbled across you, but it was about three years ago, more or less, when I read you for the first time. Printed out a copy and gave it to a couple of my co-workers. A 22-year-old German-Russian-American and a 50-year-old American expat who'd lived in Germany for near on 20 years. Can't say they appreciated the beauty and honest ass-biting missives of yours as much as I did, but I was hooked, man.
(Yeah, perhaps "ass-kicking" would be more appropriate, but after a bottle of Merlot "ass-biting" is what came forth, and so it shall be).
I recalled in years past sending off to friends long screeds railing against the injustices being committed in our name by the lying sycophants we had elected to various positions in government. How I would spend a god-awful amount of time on just one damned sentence, fishing for just the right word to express my feelings. The nights were long back then. Sometimes they had no end. I was -- this should go without saying -- single.
Somewhere along the line, she came into my life and life changed. Completely.
There are no more 10-page letters to friends forthcoming. I miss sitting in my little corner typing away as the lights went out across town.
No. Now the demons are kept away. She does not understand. And why should she? What good would it do her, honestly, for me to expect her to go there with me? Sometimes she catches that look on my face, or hears that tone in my voice, and thinks it is there because of something she did. I would rather gouge out my own eyes than hurt her.
She believes. She has faith. She works her ass off, to be sure, and she is tired and worries about the future no less than me. But she has taught me that there is always something to be thankful for, and I have memorized her prayers and sometimes even find myself echoing her pleas silently to myself in the dark.
What the hell? And so it goes, Joe.
I click my way through the words of others, looking for something that makes sense in these fucking senseless times. There is some evil shit heading down the road, I believe, but as of yet I haven't a clue how to get out of the way.
Keep it coming please, you are a genius wordcraftsman!
More power to you Joe Bageant!
Holger
Munich, Germany
P.S. If you ever come to Munich, Germany, then the first two dozen beers are on me!
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Dear Holger.
You are too kind with the praise and the offer of beers in Munich.
HOWEVER, being a devotee of the malted path, I'd like to keep the beer offer in reserve.
I would write a longer missive but I get hundreds of emails a week and try to answer each one personally, however briefly.
But you ain't gonna get away clean, my friend. Because I am putting your email in my "When in Europe" file. Perhaps then I will meet the object of your love and you will meet my Barbara.
I was particularly moved by: "She does not understand. And why should she? What good would it do her, honestly, for me to expect her to go there with me? Sometimes she catches that look on my face, or hears that tone in my voice, and thinks it is there because of something she did. I would rather gouge out my own eyes than hurt her. "
Me too. Unfortunately, for old bears like me, the rosy blush of youth and young love was long ago removed by the many frosts since experienced. Now is the time for me to either plunge or rage "into that good night." Plunge? Rage? I suspect I shall waddle.
In brotherhood,
Joe
