Letter to a Friend: On Family

My friend,

I never got a chance to tell you this, but I do it now because I think you should listen. I’ve thought about it because of my mother, who is dying in a hospital. I’ve thought about it because of my daughter, who is starting her life. And I write to you because of your wife and your son — because of you. I write to you because of your family.

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The Antithesis of Combat: Shoulders of Giants

Shoulders of Giants
(by Maria Lindsey)

Whoever recognizes Plato’s “Republic” in the series of posts “The Antithesis of Combat“, even if it is only a small glimpse of it, with incomparably less philosophical and literary quality, is not in the face of mere coincidence. I have always admired the construction from scratch of Plato’s state in Book II of the “Republic”, and I think it came to my mind when I realized how inferior the adults are to children, and I decided to get rid of them (us) in “my state”.

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The Antithesis of Combat: Lure of the Mountains

Lure of the Mountains.
(“Foothills Children”, by Doug Zwick / CC BY-NC 2.0 / Desaturated from original)

Let me now deepen my fantastic assumptions and establish that these kids would never grow old. Well, they would eventually reach sixty, seventy or even ninety years of age and then die like we do, but their bodies would remain the same throughout their lives. This means that women would never exist, only little girls that wouldn’t elicit nor feel any sexual appeal. Boys and girls would forever attend to their chores and play with their toys. This is not to say that they wouldn’t become mature — they would. But their relish would never move from that innocent playfulness of childhood towards the lustful shallowness of an alcohol-induced hunt for the pleasures of flesh. Their vices would be others.

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The Combatant – #1

When the alarm goes off at two in the morning, he is sure he is still dreaming. He just closed his eyes, so it can not be time to wake up. But it is. The problem is that after twenty hours working hard to protect the families of others, trying to earn in the private sector the money the police is supposed to provide, those three hours of sleep seem to pass like a glimpse, a brief interlude of life as deep as one’s own death.

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