I close my mind and imagine the mismatch of an imaginary bed partner as we both decide to stand, hand in hand, naked before a full length mirror. Me, with bowed legs supporting a paunch of an overindulgent middle age and she thin as a rail by birth. The classic Laurel and Hardy motif twist on American Gothic. In a land that would prefer to incessantly pour asphalt over unsure thoroughfares rather than just replace them with a good ‘Roman’ road, the outside is supposedly the defining statement on our characters. A social judgment, ‘Pax Romana’ of implicit membership in collective values. After all, one might recall that Rome was an empire built on conquest and the unequal parity of slaves making up the bulk of its population. Thus we are all bridled under the increasingly prevalent one meal, one pot, one size fits all! Who after all looks for fidelity in an obvious mismatch as it is to be assumed that the larger industrial ‘WE’ are merely seeking ourselves out of a hopelessly indifferent lack of empathy with any other part of our own species beyond the occasional dog or voluminous litter of aging cats? The mirror is there to scourge all who dare look in it with the fact that one is never properly fitting and therefore not fitting in. Perhaps like the Indio’s of Brazil, those of this society have been conditioned to melt before statues and effigies signifying earthly pain. The agnostic saccharine substitute for any religion beyond that of the one secretly practiced by those who account themselves as masters?
There seems to be no stomach for attempting to find a solution for the insoluble mystery of life, of man and woman, or the ultimate reasons, “why?” Better to be found wanting in a safe insulated manner as the staunchly immovable pinion of disrespect for some past marginalized designated ‘minority’. Constantly designated to suffer institutionalized lifelong self-doubt so as to unthinkingly seek out politically correct counselors serving professionally as false prophets who sport their hearts upon their sleeve or lapel, extolling individual insignificance before the supposedly unified herd known as man. Consider the scissors of trumped up Hollywood directed society trimming away the hard corners of life’s unsteady existence to fashion an extended row of endlessly uniform paper dolls? Every indictment ever reaching lower but prevented from ascending, the fact of same suggesting immunity for everyone indemnified by the prevalence of the rule of universal commercial code. Value versus principles. The law of the freebooters of the sea versus the law of perpetual husbandry of the land. One is presented forth as destined eventually for the cattle car, stripped of everything earthly and sent off to gross anatomy of the ashes of a faraway Potter’s field. But what if Garbo was allowed to speak for herself over the crass trumpet of a thousand publicity agents? Who then has the right to spy and surveil, as a matter of course, upon everyman? Are we to be picked apart by a faceless crowd of the indifferently bored for the sake of further boredom and more indifference? Are those hands that tear at the robe covering the unfortunate fact that we are not but animals born of a common species that must be industrially dealt a death blow at the appropriate time as defined by statistical worthiness to the larger enforcement of a common goal?
The mirror hides our undeniably awkward uniqueness that the rest of the world must take or leave but cannot change. The energy spent upon that stare when powering our own two limbs supports more than the insecurity wrought by abstention from the potentially mocking gaze of strangers. What then is so undeniably terrible about falling off the conveyor belt into the pile that is rejected for sale? And why should the supporters of the home team quietly endure the jeers and verbal abuse of those who are their natural adversaries so as to feel like they fit into some media fiction of a larger international universe? Is not this weakness of spirit nothing more than the lingering hubris of a dying empire. The ancient Greeks, sacked and pillaged and mass murdered without the slightest hint of shame over an equal shared readiness to expose their insubstantial privates as if almost a taunt. One can never betray the mother that made them without strangling themselves upon the umbilical cord!