A House on Fire

Smoke anyone? Quite attractive isn't it. Fire is an alluring element. Smell it, smells like freshness, feel it, feels piercing and punishing, consuming its host in a passionate display.
Lyricist use it to evoke fury and promptness. Visual artists use it to illustrate activity and chaos. It is disturbingly attractive, and there is nothing quite as attractive to a doe eyed mob as a house on fire.
Literally or figuratively speaking, it will be hard to find anything that gathers a throng of onlookers, cameras, commentators, rescuers and miracle workers than a haven being demolished to nothingness and bare remnants.
I like to call it the vicious and merciless poem. Case in point: steroids, narcotics and amphetamines, lies, cheating and betrayal, disease, violence. Those of us who have been scorched, and decimated by these vices are catapulted to an arena of scrutiny, judgment, and verdict.
Look at the greats who after setting their houses on fire, or being set on fire by someone or something else, are hallowed and revered and held in the court of public opinion as either sacred, or savage.
Jimi Hendrix, Bob Marley, Barry Bonds, Martin Luther King Jnr, Tupac Shakur, Magic Johnson, Biggie Smalls, Mark Mcguire, Malcom X,
John F Kennedy, Abraham Lincoln, John Coltrane, Billie Holiday, Janis Joplin, Aaliyah, and the list goes on and on.
There are contemporary public figures now who's houses have burned, or is burning, and have been notarized and publicized as a result. The three obvious ones that come to mind are Britney, Paris and Lindsay. No last name needed right. And we are all having fun watching there houses burn. And it looks as if they nor us are interested in putting out the flames any time soon. What is important here is that we gather, and look.