Thursday, December 20, 2012

wash. rinse. regurgitate.

every single person looked the same.  they all had that redundant, deep stare, as if they were reluctantly waiting for the one in front of them to step down in offering of the pillary.  heads in hands, fidgety bats at the controls, solemn and empty gazes, all fixed on the center of the closing tunnel, which only draws them closer to the predictable end.  all i could hear beyond the banter of the street's rhythm was the occasional chirp of a fleeting bird, and the train announcing it's departure far in the distance.

staying fixed on the approaching swarm, performing a ballet of death defying leaps and bounds among the confines of this rushing herd, a gazelle danced within the parade of lumbering giants.  when dwarfed by the shifting mass, an effortless twitch snatched him from the grip of this ever growing tsunami of metal and fatigue.  the fringe is where safety awaits those willing to ride the wave.  there will be no overtaking this day. 

as i continued my pursuit of the retreating sun, i noticed many of those choosing to travel by foot shifted their direction toward a descending concrete staircase, which led to a highly protected and isolated arena.  i have only dealt with this type of contraption when entering or exiting high security military complexes, and wasn't sure if this particular one was designed to restrain or contain. 

one can only imagine the helplessness and fear of those truly reliant upon this level of protection from the nature of things.  lined with shatter proof glass, chain links, barbed wire, and cold steel, this is the only fresh air some have in their lives.  they remain in perpetual inclosure, from bed to car to cubicle to car to sofa to bed, all the while captivated by the brightly lit face of technology, which remains the destiny for their foreseeable existence within this self imposed confinement.

back on the trail to nowhereinparticular, i reached the apex of the climb.  surrounded by the flickering lights and festive accoutrements of the holiday season setting in, i was struck by the power of this view of the courthouse.

there is something about the back lit restraints hidden among the charms that play havoc with the true meaning of what is offered.  once the curtain is lifted, the underlying tone is not warm and fuzzy.  the compression is just constricting enough to allow breath, the bindings only small wanderings.

the chaotic and aggressive consumption of shiny shit, as apposed to memories, keeps the minds and hearts of the masses captive, and fosters the fears necessary to contain the next step in our evolution.  much like the frog in the pot that's getting hotter, i do not see tadpoles striving to find better tributaries. 

is it all over?  personally, i just don't see it happening.  i just see bikes, booze and fun on the horizon...  looking to the past to predict the future is fruitless without the lessons that come with it.  especially if those detailing the exact conclusion couldn't even grasp the fact that they were looking extinction right in the fucking face.

...and as you have nothing else to do but lament the fiscal punch in the groin coming from the unspoken commitment of procuring shiny shit for people you don't like, don yer gayest apparel, jump on yer bicycle, live to die tomorrow, and get ready to party like it has already happened.

there is a fakebook page devoted to this shin-diggery.

maybe the end is nigh.  and if that is true, you will find me sitting atop the highest point in the land.  with a case of beer, a bottle of shitty whiskey, and a bucket of popcorn, i will put forth a final and triumphant effort to destroy my liver in a single blow coinciding with the final curtain call of the meteor crashing, mass chaos, the hostile take over of locusts, nuke-you-ler smelting, or whatever the four horsemen contrived to bathe the earth free of such pests as me and my fellow man.

...or i'll wake up with the pain of my liver drying out like a beached whale, matched only by the vertigo of dehydration, and the taste of yesterdays lunch making an evening cameo.

which in fact, is both predictable and redundant.

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