A lapse of memory in the loneliness
When had we forgotten that we were alone? At what point did we think there was a place for us? A community that might, freely and openly, open its doors for us? At what point had we forgotten that there are no such doors to speak of?
But that we were standing, cold against the chill, in a field filled with darkness. And sorrow. With the crows and the doves of this world. Just trying to scrape by on whatever gets left over.
That we are the dead. The last and the lost. Ineffectual and stone cold. Hopeless already before we ever began. A generation of those hit with the debts of our forebearers. A generation without the benefits of happiness and re-creation. A generation with the weight of the cost. A generation that will, in effect, not be able to bear up.
Let us not forget.
We should not forget.
We cannot forget.
Only push aside the means of the numbness we are pretending not to partake in. Only push down the price already on our heads. Only close our eyes to the ends our modern lives instill. Only shut our ears to the screams our current lives now feed. Only cut ourselves off from the raw reality of what our desires have done.
Only pretend that others are not just populating the road beside us, but travelling in the same direction. Seeing the same lights. Reading the same signs. Knowing the same way. Only pretend that it is not the dead walking alongside the blind.
Should we try to forget, we will eventually see the truth again, and the disappointment when the others diverge - the weight when the others do not come along - the loneliness when the others leave, will be terrible and heavy. Like lead stones hung around our necks. So that we will be tempted to sink into the bottom of despair where an end comes quickly to our dreams.
So instead, let's you and I spend our lives singing a song based on the terribleness of the loneliness that is inherent in this model, this design. And in singing it, remember: despite the number of others around us, we have no reason to hope in an end to the loneliness upon this road. In going this way, in walking until our feet bleed and our hearts stop, we cannot depend on anyone to follow us that far into the night.
Then, we can be prepared, expecting at any moment to be alone again - just the two of us against the world. Huddled in the sorrow and the void, watching the spiral spin itself down. Watching the Weft unwind. Watching the world collapse.
Perhaps wondering why, but knowing still the inevitability of the fact. That the way we had gone was a terrible one that had already lead us to the door of death and destruction. And that there was no way out but going through it.
So then. Let us keep watch for the collision instead of hoping for the a bend in the road - a place to settle in - a little valley to huddle in against the cold. And let us stand watch over the others instead of trying to turn them - trying to change them - trying to re-invent them. And let us keep our eyes on the last light instead of on this desperate trying and scrabbling and hoping for a home that could house our hopes. Because there is no structure safe enough amongst the muddles we have made to build upon.
But, there is still hope. Still aim in this duprass. Still a shot worthwhile in this dark. Still a chance that we might still make it into the night alive. Still a hope that we might even make it through in time.
In time to tear at the walls like rats in the gutter, trying desperately to make a big enough hole to let the wind back in. So that with the wind, we can breathe the air again. And with the air in our lungs, we can know the way back home again. And with the way clear, we can bring the others along.
But that we were standing, cold against the chill, in a field filled with darkness. And sorrow. With the crows and the doves of this world. Just trying to scrape by on whatever gets left over.
That we are the dead. The last and the lost. Ineffectual and stone cold. Hopeless already before we ever began. A generation of those hit with the debts of our forebearers. A generation without the benefits of happiness and re-creation. A generation with the weight of the cost. A generation that will, in effect, not be able to bear up.
Let us not forget.
We should not forget.
We cannot forget.
Only push aside the means of the numbness we are pretending not to partake in. Only push down the price already on our heads. Only close our eyes to the ends our modern lives instill. Only shut our ears to the screams our current lives now feed. Only cut ourselves off from the raw reality of what our desires have done.
Only pretend that others are not just populating the road beside us, but travelling in the same direction. Seeing the same lights. Reading the same signs. Knowing the same way. Only pretend that it is not the dead walking alongside the blind.
Should we try to forget, we will eventually see the truth again, and the disappointment when the others diverge - the weight when the others do not come along - the loneliness when the others leave, will be terrible and heavy. Like lead stones hung around our necks. So that we will be tempted to sink into the bottom of despair where an end comes quickly to our dreams.
So instead, let's you and I spend our lives singing a song based on the terribleness of the loneliness that is inherent in this model, this design. And in singing it, remember: despite the number of others around us, we have no reason to hope in an end to the loneliness upon this road. In going this way, in walking until our feet bleed and our hearts stop, we cannot depend on anyone to follow us that far into the night.
Then, we can be prepared, expecting at any moment to be alone again - just the two of us against the world. Huddled in the sorrow and the void, watching the spiral spin itself down. Watching the Weft unwind. Watching the world collapse.
Perhaps wondering why, but knowing still the inevitability of the fact. That the way we had gone was a terrible one that had already lead us to the door of death and destruction. And that there was no way out but going through it.
So then. Let us keep watch for the collision instead of hoping for the a bend in the road - a place to settle in - a little valley to huddle in against the cold. And let us stand watch over the others instead of trying to turn them - trying to change them - trying to re-invent them. And let us keep our eyes on the last light instead of on this desperate trying and scrabbling and hoping for a home that could house our hopes. Because there is no structure safe enough amongst the muddles we have made to build upon.
But, there is still hope. Still aim in this duprass. Still a shot worthwhile in this dark. Still a chance that we might still make it into the night alive. Still a hope that we might even make it through in time.
In time to tear at the walls like rats in the gutter, trying desperately to make a big enough hole to let the wind back in. So that with the wind, we can breathe the air again. And with the air in our lungs, we can know the way back home again. And with the way clear, we can bring the others along.
2 Thought(s):
Why did they shut out the wind?
It is so hard to stay alive when the wind barely even makes a sound and the lightest breeze blows through in tiny cracks, so light it's like a whisper on the back of my neck a handspan away. Or it's just my mind tricking my into thinking there is wind blowing.
Yeah, we used to know that hope was false and I think this city tricked us in many ways. I think it has managed a cathartic inception on itself.
We need to find a better way. There must be a way that we can find that really is wearing at the foundations.
What is this fortress made of? Stone? Metal?
If it's stone, we could join the plant life in slowly but surely tearing into it with roots. Or act as a stream, wearing away microparticles at a time. Or find the wind, if it's still blowing, and do the same. If it isn't blowing then maybe we should start it blowing.
If it's made of metal, we have less options. But the salty spray of sea water rusts away at metal eventually. A hot enough fire can loosen joints and bring the structure down on itself. But that hot of a fire is hard to reach.
I don't know, love. But we can try and try until we pass out.
It is made of metal.
A heavy steel and wasted gold.
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