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What a Load of Crap

N.J.
[nj@thewritegallery.com]

So now what?

           Where do we stand in light of this revelation. How do we hold ourselves -- each other? Am I supposed to blindly trust your words which lure me into a vortex of infinite hopefulness and bliss. Am I supposed to rejoice in my ignorance or shall I be me -- cautious, tentative about every I love you you throw my way. Who have we become? Pawns in the hands of society -- ingratiating servile beasts to the system, yet so loftily proclaiming to be beyond it. Reveling in the warmth of rubicund superiority in a barrel full of rotten apples.

           We're trapped inside a caterpillars head. With every knowledge of pupating but too comfortable within our cocoons to actually confront reality -- however enticing. It simply takes too much effort. Whatever happened to striving for what is right -- for all that is good and virtuous and honourable? It got caught in the traffic of reality and we stopped giving a damn because it was so easy to. To slip inconspicuously in the commonness of things -- repugnant by their very commonness -- always adhering but never to ourselves.

           I wonder what it is that spurs us from day to day sometimes? The moments of delight -- when you first get your braces off or first say I love you or stand first up for what you believe in. . . Is that all it is then? A collection of firsts after which we all wither away in search for more? Trapped in the hubris of mans superiority -- I guess we will never really know until its all over and we are without. For it is only when we are truly without that we can confront what is within. When the clutter of emotions and circumstances and organised life falls away to reveal all that hides behind it. We are then revealed like the clean patch of wall behind a painting. . . the pure untouched bit of ourselves -- waiting to become sullied and dusty like its surroundings. That patch is who we really are -- particularly in times when expectations fall away and we are allowed to just be -- just exist as ourselves instead of as ourselves for the purpose of others. Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, girlfriends, aunts and uncles twice removed clamour noisily on our time and emotions reducing us to wax figures that have been formed out of their genetic mould of predetermined perfection.

           If we really are the sum total of all our choices -- then shouldn't the choice be ours? Shouldn't we be able to make honest decisions instead of be forced into them consciously or unconsciously by the Macedonian musings of all those simian -- purees who wander around judging every act with inkhorn finality and infuriatingly unfailing fallibility.

           With each excoriating riposte they shoot out in supercilious glee they redeem themselves as ingratiating perpetuating slaves the system. And we -- who claim to be so liberated and strong, we who claim to live life by our own aposteriori set of rules; bow in deference -- however insignificantly -- to theirs.

           I ask you again my love -- So now what. Who have we become?



© 1997 N.J., all rights reserved
 appears here by permission



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