Somewhere along the way, I learned not to want. The needs within that once seemed so natural and yet so inconvenient to others descending into a tug of war that left me foolish and self inscribed to the taste of others. The double threat of being a target of passion and possession for both human genders leading to my own withdrawal into a solitary universe of general mistrust of the intensions of others. This animal motivation for the manifestation of physical elation through the struggle of hungry flesh leading to unintended consequences. So much easier to draw up a verbal contract of boundaries based upon carefully spoken words and heartfelt declarations. But, the plain view mystery of proper self-possession or propriety as determined by one’s liege interfering with the success of the venture. Advancing age toward extinction of one’s earthly self bringing a limit beyond which it would be too inconvenient to cross into without casualty. There cannot be no worse feeling than to be someone else’s toy or object that is employed mechanically without any consideration for reciprocation. To be simply an orifice that is there merely for hard use and then eventual discarded as transformed from prized possession to hated worn out thing. The proper definition of slavery a derision that I have inadvertently played out upon the emotions of others. Not with any pride at the gravity of deception but lingering sorrow for those that have like myself ended up feeling mercilessly cast off and thus being rejected. The art of same transferred by virtue of rote learning at too early an age as to accustom one to its innate value being ‘de rigor’ in one’s outlook of larger society. The only resort left after nothing but failure being self-imposed abstinence in the prison of my own far removed emotions locked indefinitely within chains of self-censure. The heart beating out its energy like a mechanical clock winding down to naught in solitude. If there is such a thing as sadness as can be accounted for in such tales then it must be directed at the futility of existence prescribed for one thus encumbered.
It seems that the passing years brings equivocation of one’s respective animus or anima in the most physical sense of same. One melts away like a candle into a formless puddle barely reminiscent of the capabilities one’s former self and then one is imprisoned by their memories of bad choices and former mistakes. It is here that organized religion steps in to offer an easy heavenly redemption through the repudiation of self as constructed by the sum total of one’s own experience. And like any other wish employed like a child, too patently easy to take up like a convenient cover to defeat recognition of one’s inalienable former progression to present tense existence. Truth bringing no particular benefit beyond simple recognition of one’s true nature and a constant sense of self-loathing for one’s inability to change over the long haul of accumulated years. This simple conversation held by so many with the same barren ceiling of their nightly soul. If there is no higher realm of self as part of a greater whole, then why this same nagging conscience constantly bemoaning the history of failure? The rambling narrative of insubstantial daily existence in virtue of a growing scarcity of viable human interaction a rent within the fabric of what it is to be alive. To live amidst a society of mindless cannibals that are taught that human desire is but another commodity easily employed and exploited then turned off by virtue of eventual wear and tear of too frequent use an anathema. The mantle of individuality torn off, soiled and then thrown into the street under foot to reveal the nakedness of a another easily replaceable cog gone bad through overuse. The essence of this hateful commercial cultural enslavement that plagues all.