If I have lost my belief in myself, and if I don’t believe, then who will? Your point of view shifts the world’s interest in you, no doubt. Continue looking through the lens of the down and out and see closed doors everywhere in your path. Diffident attitudes abound perhaps? A collective vision of popular consensus derived of similar viewpoints may mean something? Or in some other inexplicable manner hold sway. Yet a new coat of paint over old wood or a pair of recently shined shoes still suggest that the will is there even if the way ahead still remains unclear. Like it or not, we are all anchored in the fiction of a time of our own making. Perhaps being that one individual that can revive the notion of male desire being able to spit forth such outrageous disparities as one enters a room of strangers, “I’m here to make your cunt ache!“, and despite this antipersonnel era, get away with it. Where then is the joie d’vivre so prevalent in former times?
Like it or not we are anchored in these time by the point of commencement of our own most earliest memories layered over by the playing deck of initial experiences that framed the picture planes of our intellect. A perspective that is all too unappreciated by successive generations stuck in the commercially assisted fantasies that massage their own era as being prime above all others. Initially, one accepts their immediate surroundings at face value as the boundaries of their known universe. The few questions posed being how to better understand the rules and limitations of its conventions. In time, or rather as one is matured by repetitive experiences, they begin to relate to how things actually operate in the world as being driven by other individual anonymous personages rather than some mystical form of heavenly imposed magic. They begin to see that they have been imprisoned in the conceptions of others that once seemed undeniably true and universal but now are revealed as simply thinly veiled self-serving opinions. The exercise now being to separate the wheat from the chaff in deciding which maxims best apply. Then make positive choices between the players and the actual truth sayer’s and of course, the real good from the many undeniable evils. Life then becomes a game of brinkmanship of official hide and seek as to what one needs to steer clear of in terms of belief and the usual social pitfalls.
Since humans have been engineered by their creator to eventually atrophy at some pinnacle to suddenly go into decline it is inevitable that a appreciation of what one will lose grows within. Lurking within the wings of the path of successive experiences is a never ending series of goodbyes. The sadness and frustration of slowly losing the world as once known gives way in some to a necessary tacit acceptance of things no longer being the way they once eternally seemed to be. Perhaps the severity of this break is driven in great part by the incessant worship of fantasy as reality by this media obsessed era? A commercial paradise of misperception of one’s own alliance with a favorite commercially distributed superhero defying the notion of death in endless recombinations of big budget sequel based appearances and generational rebirths. To those caught up in such a dimension the idea that one will age and all that they experience directly will drift away and die is horrific. That anathema of a realization that all the wealth that one has worked tirelessly to amass along with all the possessions hoarded will all too soon tarnish and lose their value. The only survivor in one’s life being the impression that they leave in terms of their character. Who they were and who they tried to be.
I see the once young and proud of my own generation hobbling past in a stilled arthritic quiet contemplation seemingly ever measuring the degree of their experiences up to this point and how that relates to ones in the present to the certainty that little future remains beyond today. Some things remain as they once were to some degree. The passing of many volumes of water vapor against the blue haze of sunlit sky. An atmosphere of whimsy and timelessness that one can oft lean back to enjoy. The general direction of the mental conversation centering around that point when all has been taken then what if anything will remain? What is the good of life, one might ask? Perhaps nothing beyond a very personal sense of simply being alive. The artist tries to become the savant of society by gaining the ability to through his art freeze time. The writer to capture a communal nod of agreement from his audience in diggin up some all encompassing universal truth. The aged by still realizing that they are still reasonably functional and have yet another day. Water drips down in the wake of a massive flood eventually coming to a stop. Yet inevitably, it is renewed. The enigma behind all this being that so many unimaginable species of different awareness’ coexist all of them patently ignorant of the struggles of the other.