My Prose Take on Current Affairs

Posted on November 17, 2010

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It’s all a question of priorities. I type before you plagued with age accumulation. I note the ever-decreasing hairline and change from blonde to white. I live on the charity of friends and family who have grudgingly grown accustomed to my eccentric devotion to peeling back the layers of this farcical existence. Perhaps they know my unhinging is really enlightenment and are willing to support my shocking thrust through the illusion.

 

Or perhaps they look upon me with pity as I affix myself to a cause that is destined to be crushed under the boot-heals of power and cash. They are achingly aware that I might be right but it’s not worth the fight and my failure to adapt and apparent lack of sanity is a grim, yet helpful, reminder that peeking your head out results in swift decapitation. “So let that motherfucker do it and I’ll help pick up the pieces.”

 

Regardless of reason, I trudge on, diving deeper into self-absorption in hopes that I will glean truth and bring back the light in Promethean glory.  “Here is flame!” I cry while close ones sigh and despair. They indulge while knowing full well that truth and insight are not essential to this mortal coil.

 

Take the other day.

 

That day I spent exploring the scent and taste of a lovers embrace. I found poetry in her being. Penetration an act of nature as her vibrations resonated with the theoretical. The String plucked to vibrations in tune with nature and physics and the laws of hedonism. I find truth; I find an embrace that commands the acknowledgement that we can truly be one entity in that encounter and describe the infinite in arched back, clenched hair, and muscle spasm.

 

Yet that experience is considered base and sinful by those who trust in the word of long dead myth creators.

 

And those vibrations are fleeting moments in the sea of existence like fading boat wake lapping on quite cove.

 

Priorities I wonder. What then is the reason? Don’t tell me that it is all about some vane hope that an afterlife will reward (or punish) for the one we live now. We are indeed eternal thanks to the law of conservation of energy,  but to bank on consciousness traversing death is less sane to me than peeling back  the veneer of this life.

 

Are we really nothing more than fuck machines? Eating, excreting, and ejaculating to propagate the species?  Is our tribal instinct the real rule of the land? Is it all really about an “I got mine Jack so piss off!” mentality?

 

I write on. I experience and observe. I reject commonly accepted notions that drive this faux existence punctuated by consumption and planet destruction. We are nothing but glorified, upright walking, hairless apes that developed a whole economic existence to justify our base instincts. Fear the other, take what you can, spend this eye-blink of awareness pursuing meaningless bits of paper. All the while, the cosmos trudges on in its billion upon billion-year life span, not even noticing our ever so brief mark.

 

Faced with that kind of isolation I prefer to live, love, and care. I reject the notion that my purpose is to be successful in this fools construct of greed and consumption. We ALL need to reject this notion.

 

But,

 

Perhaps,

 

That is why,

 

I live on the charity of friends and family who have grudgingly grown accustomed to my eccentric devotion to peeling back the layers of this farcical existence.

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