I dare call it cowardice…

Richard Dawkins came up in a conversation I had with a colleague this evening. I will call her “April” out of respect for her privacy.

She is a “professing” secular humanist and ardent follower of a purely naturalistic worldview.

Nevertheless, we get along quite well and are able to engage in dialogue without resorting to unproductive bickering or intellectual one-upmanship.

April is rather well-read and capable of conversing on a range of subjects with a decidedly philosophical bent.

Our conversation was initiated by an editorial, written in a local paper she was reading, concerning the Theory of Evolution and the ongoing legal contentions taking place within the state board of education. Naturally, the topic strayed (dare I say “evolved”) into the broader realm of the “Science vs. Religion” debate.

As I was making a specific point (regarding an argument Dawkins made in a recent article), I noticed a curious expression on April’s face. An expression that indicated I had somehow offended her, yet I continued on. Wondering, in the back of my mind, precisely how I had gone “over the line” as I thought I was maintaining a more than adequate logical objectivity in refuting the ideas set forth upon their own merit.

Finally, I could tell that we would not make any headway in this exchange if I continued to disregard the sensibilities of the co-participant in this exchange. I stopped and inquired of April as to whether I had insulted her.

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I’ll keep them still…

“…drink up baby
stay up all night,
with the things you could do,
you won’t, but you might…”

It is very…  very…  late.

My day starts long after others’ have ended, I do more before 9am than most people do all day. I also weave more self-aggrandizing hyperbole into the mundanities of my life than your average drunkard.

I’ve only been at work tonight for a couple short hours but it will be a looong day today, essentially a triple shift (23:00 to 08:00, 09:00 to 16:00, 23:00 to 08:00), and I wish to take a moment in the quiet overnight hours.

So…  I stop by the cafeteria to build a coffee for medicinal purposes. That’s right, I said build a coffee. Raiding the voluminous pantry for cinnamon, cardamom, fennel, and whatever spices I can find to tickle my catastrophe. Lotsa cream and lotsa sugar, I like my coffee like I like my women: high-strung and strong enough to kill the average man.

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Needle in the Hay

“…sometimes they just get caught in the eye,
you’re pulling him through…”

“I want to do right,” he tells me, “but I don’t do it. I do the wrong things over and over, and I know what I’m doing is the wrong, but I want the wrong more than I want the right.”

His name is “Paul” and this was the first thing he said to me at the outset of our relationship.

Pause, and deep breath.

Desirous to speak to the “universe of discourse” his words have wrought into existence, yet do I also wish to answer with clarity of Truth.

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