The houses seemed to be suspended in animation like the dumpster fires along the sidewalk dystopian galleries. Garbage in waste-fields just a representation of its civilization. The houses no longer homes but places of survival, or at best, temporary rest stops. Community was bleed out, certain lives deemed so important believing those lives were separate from nature instead of understanding it is nature in itself, life and death through the magnificent tethers of mortality. So I guess it’s a mute point that saying importance had nothing to do with: food, water, shelter and kindness, but this grasping at immortality as if it were some kind of all encompassing curative.
Knowing more didn’t mean living more, experiencing more didn’t mean sharing more, feeling more didn’t mean people felt each other more, laughing more didn’t mean healing more, this was a place addicted to the escape and scared of the intimacy. A place where the empty spectacle outweighed the quiet message. Where the advertisement was the teacher and the technology was used to herd minds into Petri dishes. Where the politics deadened the narrow person and coerced them to play a part for promises that were never meant to be promised. Where security outweighed discovery, where the word: risk somehow meant: not caring. But I thought one takes risks because they care so much. A place where non-conformity somehow meant being a spiteful contrarian. Where a person having thought-engaging thoughts somehow made that person socially unacceptable.
Where the days of the week went like:
Mundane
Too Confusing
Weeping
Telling Too Much
Fried
Sad
Stuporous
How people sauntered around stuporously tucking their real emotions under their sleeves hoping a savior would come to their doorstep. So they manufactured a story of themselves that might have been more palpable to the tongue…
But even through this cold reality there were these two spellbound beings that still remained…
Remained not powerful, nor certain, not exactly brave, nor fearless, but also not fear-filled, not hopeless, not cowards in a dying light… They just remained… The iridescent spheres gleaming from their faces connected to each other, their bodies looking like a Dragon Ball Z Snake Way to the soul, not understanding the electricity that was pouring through it. They wanted to run away from it because it was too right but at the same time too hard. But they didn’t run… They stayed like they were inside each other. And for one moment they forgot about the history, their generational trauma, they forgot about everything that was written in stone, they forgot about that cold reality which played in their minds like a loop with no point. They forgot, but they didn’t forget it would all be there tomorrow. So for that one moment they struck a line across all of it:
The houses seemed to be suspended in animation like the dumpster fires along the sidewalk dystopian galleries. Garbage in waste-fields just a representation of its civilization. The houses no longer homes but places of survival, or at best, temporary rest stops. Community was bleed out, certain lives deemed so important believing those lives were separate from nature instead of understanding it is nature itself, life and death through the magnificent tethers of mortality. So I guess it’s a mute point that saying importance had nothing to do with: food, water, shelter and kindness, but this grasping at immortality as if it were some kind of all encompassing cure.
Knowing more didn’t mean living more, experiencing more didn’t mean sharing more, feeling more didn’t mean people felt each other more, laughing more didn’t mean healing more, this was a place addicted to the escape and scared of the intimacy. A place where the empty spectacle outweighed the quiet message. Where the advertisement was the teacher and the technology was used to herd minds into Petri dishes. Where the politics deadened the narrow person and coerced them to play a part for promises that were never meant to be promised. Where security outweighed discovery, where the word: risk somehow meant not caring. But I thought one takes risks because they care so much. A place where non-conformity somehow meant contrarian. Where a person having thought-engaging thoughts somehow made that person socially unacceptable.
Where the days of the week went like:MundaneToo ConfusingWeepingTelling Too MuchFriedSadStuporous
How people sauntered around stuporously tucking their real emotions under their sleeves hoping a savior would come to their doorstep. So they manufactured a story of themselves that might have been more palpable to the tongue…
And together they catapulted into the great unknown,
letting one’s vulnerability exercise with the other’s.