theanti

I dont know what I want by any means,which is fine - because I'm not
concerned with wants, or needs. As desperate as I may sound I'm confronted with
the desire for something greater. Maybe it's just the generation, but I feel completely
disconnected. I think I see the reason. I think it's being recycled in my thoughts
the same way it was felt so strongly in the 60's. But it's growing in momentum now, as
it is being completely ignored, and left on the idle shoulders of numb zombies
that see no reason to move, nor concern themselves with such subtle callings  as
tides in need of change. Nor the abrasive nature of evidence that would refer us, in our most promising of minds, to our ability to step from this room of ignorant bliss to a much more demanding state of co-existance. As ridiculous as we seem, we are even more so. If we fold our hands over and inside each other and relax our eyes with time enough to focus - we could see things as they are .. with hints of struggles, and the scent of timeless beauty in the open air.. and in that same scent breeds the toxic conundrum facing all life on earth, including the unborn eyes of tomorrow's children.
We could care and do more. We could share the knowledge we've gathered in books and stacked on our floors and against our walls with the covers closed and pages that have become as useless as wind for a boat without a sail.

We could level the density of those tides still shoveling the grains of earth to make mounds that mask their faceless features, and teach them of things we could each do, helping move the frozen feet of our statue-esque existance.. They can't possibly be more proud of themselves, for conquering something so big and beautiful as the earth. And destroying her just as surely as she gave birth to the tree that dispersed our various seeds among the lightless days before we could be so bold as to stand on two feet and face the day.

Every deaf ear repeating his own poorly interpreted version of truth is saying the same shit
that got us in this mess. Naming the problems to avoid dealing with them. Negotiating the
finger appointed blame. Selling out their children for whatever is left to waste - sitting
in their imagined thrones. Clones of clones, of clones; bags of wrinkled flesh and dusty bones.

I remember a time when I was surprised by the rolling tide and still mesmorised by the
bright white lines flowing from the horizon. Days of climbing sand dunes and holding close
the promised night ahead, and the golden days to follow. Even terrified children feel the love
of their youth. The blinding impossibility of aging and laughing all along the way. We never
noticed our parents sitting idle at the tables, never talking beyond the weather, trying so
desparately to forget what they became. I never wanted to be that. I've witnessed their rapid decay for years.
And it's not the fault of passing time - it is in their own closed eyes. They choose not to change,
not to become untamed. Even if they did think it was the best life for us, how could they still not see
or feel the disgusting mess of their over indulgance that surely burns their belly, as it does mine.

- jsr