*I used to think I was weird... < ! > ...and that it WAS only me.*
I still think I'm weird...however, I look around and I see a lot of signs and symptoms that indicate...
...it AIN'T jus' me afflicted with the malady.
From what do I seemingly suffer? From that which has become pandemic? What abhorred vacuum has Human Nature filled? It's the empty space created when we require a focal point to sharpen our hate to crystal clarity...
...it's that primal need to shape our fears, a mental sculpturing of a target at which to launch our fiery brands.
*It's the conjuring of a visceral enemy.*
So many people, so many, many people...wandering directionless, their intellectual compasses spinning madly whenever they are without a guiding star to fault-light their way, showing that which calls for a hate filled pointing finger of blame.
I feel it in myself, too, that need for a name-of-blame to shame and rain my soul-deep turmoil down upon...and when the inner-broadcast of propaganda finds itself out of copy...
...the searchlight begins its hunt anew, crisscrossing my darkened skies, until target-lock activates and auto-fire begins in instinctual bliss, happy to be at war...once again.
*You see...if the cannon could talk, it would tell you of its severe dissatisfaction at becoming dusty.*
People...people like ME...have built up an arsenal of self-defense mechanisms...and so much, soooo much of what we feel inside, when our call-to-arms lacks a foil...
...is that we can never trust to peace. For to trust is but an invitation to disaster...
...and the repercussions of laying down our mental guns is fear, fear of reaching out in our time of need...and only there to find helpless rust.
*You walk so long on the Watch-wall...and soon, it's all you know. < * > You forget how to enjoy the good you think you're protecting.*
I wish I could give you the magic let-it-pass word that could release you...and me...from the sense of duty which keeps us at our posts...
...that keeps us ever hyper-vigilant.
I think that hope comes when we surrender to the fact we live everyday of our lives sharing an existence with a shadowy figure called The SuperUnknown...
...and that brandishing our readiness and screaming out our searing contempt does nothing to ease that burden.
It's easy to see how Human History has went off the rails so badly sometimes. It happens when the unfulfilled void in people begins to join together, en masse, forming a massive storm system of blame, one heightened by a protracted period of precursory, fear induced stress.
The whisper on the storm winds of a nameless enemy becomes the roar of voices calling for the destruction of a towering menace...one built by those who fear it.
I'm going to try to change... < * > ...and it's not going to be easy. From now on...
...whenever I look at that place inside me, the one where the visage of an enemy tries to take shape and from...
I'm going to do my best to think of that dusty, unhappy cannon...
...and I'm going to plant flowers in its barrel.
**************
I still think I'm weird...however, I look around and I see a lot of signs and symptoms that indicate...
...it AIN'T jus' me afflicted with the malady.
From what do I seemingly suffer? From that which has become pandemic? What abhorred vacuum has Human Nature filled? It's the empty space created when we require a focal point to sharpen our hate to crystal clarity...
...it's that primal need to shape our fears, a mental sculpturing of a target at which to launch our fiery brands.
*It's the conjuring of a visceral enemy.*
So many people, so many, many people...wandering directionless, their intellectual compasses spinning madly whenever they are without a guiding star to fault-light their way, showing that which calls for a hate filled pointing finger of blame.
I feel it in myself, too, that need for a name-of-blame to shame and rain my soul-deep turmoil down upon...and when the inner-broadcast of propaganda finds itself out of copy...
...the searchlight begins its hunt anew, crisscrossing my darkened skies, until target-lock activates and auto-fire begins in instinctual bliss, happy to be at war...once again.
*You see...if the cannon could talk, it would tell you of its severe dissatisfaction at becoming dusty.*
People...people like ME...have built up an arsenal of self-defense mechanisms...and so much, soooo much of what we feel inside, when our call-to-arms lacks a foil...
...is that we can never trust to peace. For to trust is but an invitation to disaster...
...and the repercussions of laying down our mental guns is fear, fear of reaching out in our time of need...and only there to find helpless rust.
*You walk so long on the Watch-wall...and soon, it's all you know. < * > You forget how to enjoy the good you think you're protecting.*
I wish I could give you the magic let-it-pass word that could release you...and me...from the sense of duty which keeps us at our posts...
...that keeps us ever hyper-vigilant.
I think that hope comes when we surrender to the fact we live everyday of our lives sharing an existence with a shadowy figure called The SuperUnknown...
...and that brandishing our readiness and screaming out our searing contempt does nothing to ease that burden.
It's easy to see how Human History has went off the rails so badly sometimes. It happens when the unfulfilled void in people begins to join together, en masse, forming a massive storm system of blame, one heightened by a protracted period of precursory, fear induced stress.
The whisper on the storm winds of a nameless enemy becomes the roar of voices calling for the destruction of a towering menace...one built by those who fear it.
I'm going to try to change... < * > ...and it's not going to be easy. From now on...
...whenever I look at that place inside me, the one where the visage of an enemy tries to take shape and from...
I'm going to do my best to think of that dusty, unhappy cannon...
...and I'm going to plant flowers in its barrel.
**************
