Billy Budd


Why I Write: by Billy Budd

There is no time: children, private practice, university, service. I am tired of the constraints of discipline.

I have an overwhelming need similar to any of the basic biological imperatives.

I will simply share the snippets of my emotions and thoughts. You may do with them as you wish.

I write only for me. If you find something of significance within, I am happy. If you do not, my intuition about the general malaise in the face of our great nations demise is confirmed.

What can I do? Little more than raise my children, be a good mate to my wife, play and laugh loudly, do my work, and rail against the giant forces of our social undoing.

I will go about my life in a congenial and caring way. The world beyond my family and friends will not know me. My coming and going will be of little consequence.

But occasionally, when alone, I will wring my hands and weep for the things I believed were true as a child. Most often, though, I will pound my fists and curse the forces of stupidity which rule us all.

I will look fearfully at the storm clouds gathering and pray for strength for my children and loved ones to live well and defend themselves when I am gone.

If I have lost you in what I am saying, it matters little. Go find that which is meaningful to you and feel do something beneficial.

If I have struck that spring loaded pit, the raw spot, wherein dwells your quiet fears, indignation and anger over the unraveling of this great society, then—

Join me in catharsis!

Billy Budd

A long time ago.

P.S., I am Billy Budd.   V. Thomas Mawhinney, Ph.D.

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