This is not about love, not about broken hearts or sad dreams. It’s about forbidden thoughts. Of fornicating frogs in the rainy season and doves that copulate round the clock i.e. they would if the sun shone through the night. It’s about discarding the sense of belonging to a place, person, loving a person.
People suck your energy. They want to learn. And when satiated leave you naked – standing on the road like a beggar. Then they go away.
Truth is an imposter, a prostitute, and one that sells itself to the highest bidder. Rome’owed what Juli’ate. Or vice versa… .
Life is for living; Death is for the ugly, and purgatory for the scribes.
The journey of the last five years has been one of solitary confinement amidst rampaging social enigmas. Colour-blind images of extremities touched up by a pen and displayed in groups of words juxtapositioned between foolhardy actions that have precipitated reflux.
Banality is good. It has an enchanting emptiness. A reassuring feel to it that coats dull minds and nurtures a comforting sense of mediocrity that keeps one cocooned in self-induced dreams of a happy life.
Someone once said that paradise is always somewhere else. Good idea, bad thought for it attempts to convince one that paradise exists when it doesn’t.
On the road for so long has brought about a deep feeling of being alone…not physically but mentally. Alone or exclusive, who’s to say? Whatever may be the formula for life one thing is certain; humans are like dogs…pack animals. They need the power of the pack, the hierarchy and the silly sideshows of politicking. It gives them a purpose, a direction, something to work for and to.
If religion is the opium of the masses then love is like ice cream, sweet, cold and melting on the tongue; the sensation lasts but a short while then ennui and lies take over.
Why love, why belong and why betray? Can’t existence be a process that navigates the thin lines of supposed morality: Sharing knowledge, sharing human desires, sharing unspoken intimacy and then walking away free of encumbrances?
It is when we essay to possess is when rumbles begin in the jungle. The natural order of things gets disturbed. The world becomes smaller, contracted and like a dead star ready to implode.
Is there anyone out there?
Or, am I alone…a dweller on the threshold.