Monday, April 04, 2005
: I.D.
I do not recognise the lock on my gate. Someone has changed it since I’ve been away, but what bothers me is that I live alone. There are times when I am unsure about the beauty of my possessions and their significance in my life, but at this moment of clarity, their worth comes flooding back to me. I am my garden of manicured flowers. I am the bevelled edges of my door. The cement beneath my feet is the cracked foundation of my existence. How is it that I have become a stranger in my own backyard? Have I been evicted without notice?
I consume the grocery store down the street. I breathe the summer air manufactured on my front lawn. I know the books that adorn the shelves in my study, or at least, their titles. I am happy for the protagonist I always imagine myself to be. There is an endless train of thought, but no light at the end of the tunnel. My existence could be meaningless, and I am entirely comfortable with that thought.
The furniture has changed – or rather, it has all been rearranged. Scientists call this a paradigm shift. My paradigm was in the living room and now it has been moved on to some other higher plane. I am experiencing a minor inconvenience. Normal service will be resumed shortly, I hope. No? The defects are inherent in the source? The screen continues to flicker so I switch off the television.
The photos are of strangers. I loved them. I adored my friends that I think that on more than one occasion, I actually became them. I thought their thoughts and stole the words right from their lips. Eventually I realised that I no longer needed them around to feel their presence. Their entirety became my own – and I began to resent them for being so very much like me. I let them go in favour of others whom I could love and ultimately, become. I have no enemies, and more than anything, it is this that I am least proud of in my life. It hints at the depths of emotion to which I have never been.
Though I do not recognise this house, it does feel like home. I do not feel the emptiness I would come to expect from sudden disassociation. Home is not always where the heart is. It is where we least expect to succumb to fear. Fear is not a cowering soldier, shivering in the cold as the artillery shells explode around him. Do not be mistaken. It is the fear of not having it in us to reveal to all who we really are, that I write of.
We are what we love, and that is nature’s blessing and curse upon all creatures.
I consume the grocery store down the street. I breathe the summer air manufactured on my front lawn. I know the books that adorn the shelves in my study, or at least, their titles. I am happy for the protagonist I always imagine myself to be. There is an endless train of thought, but no light at the end of the tunnel. My existence could be meaningless, and I am entirely comfortable with that thought.
The furniture has changed – or rather, it has all been rearranged. Scientists call this a paradigm shift. My paradigm was in the living room and now it has been moved on to some other higher plane. I am experiencing a minor inconvenience. Normal service will be resumed shortly, I hope. No? The defects are inherent in the source? The screen continues to flicker so I switch off the television.
The photos are of strangers. I loved them. I adored my friends that I think that on more than one occasion, I actually became them. I thought their thoughts and stole the words right from their lips. Eventually I realised that I no longer needed them around to feel their presence. Their entirety became my own – and I began to resent them for being so very much like me. I let them go in favour of others whom I could love and ultimately, become. I have no enemies, and more than anything, it is this that I am least proud of in my life. It hints at the depths of emotion to which I have never been.
Though I do not recognise this house, it does feel like home. I do not feel the emptiness I would come to expect from sudden disassociation. Home is not always where the heart is. It is where we least expect to succumb to fear. Fear is not a cowering soldier, shivering in the cold as the artillery shells explode around him. Do not be mistaken. It is the fear of not having it in us to reveal to all who we really are, that I write of.
We are what we love, and that is nature’s blessing and curse upon all creatures.
Saturday, April 02, 2005
: Idols
We held these figures in such high esteem, but we have deceived ourselves. We listened to their songs, their sad lyrics, we watched the pained expression grow on their faces until it devoured us all. We lived their lives. We lived the music we heard and now we carry their burdens on our weary shoulders. The media valued our right to be entertained but now that we are poisoned, we have become the subject of their latest exposé. We are in the spotlight and like any frightened creature would, we will retaliate. We will go straight for the jugular.
