Another Monday Night: Psychological Voyeurism

Immediacy-saturated: cell phones, incessant jokes, the exile of silence, the celebration of stimulation.

"O.K." -- a boy left to himself thus branded by a child of a soul: a girl, barely twenty-two years, her sarcasm attempting to conceal itself, but not completely -- with just enough for the fetters of the preconscious to grasp what one could not have the heart to bounce beyond the comforting castle of insinuation. The coward strikes with two letters; these two letters themselves a parable for her cowardice. Perhaps at heart she's fearful? I hope, I hope, I hope, I hope.

Incredulity spewed at eccentric self-expression -- conviction with incomprehension. Derision is here; derision is judicial bedfellow to incomprehension. No willingness for adaptation -- to the different, the eccentric. The self that breaks and leaves the cookie-cutter is bound to do it alone.

At heart: a general unwillingness for eternal love (love that works beyond feelings; love that has a will to it) -- but almost there. Pushed and pulled by one winning percentile: spontaneous love wins, though at times seasoned with spirit, at times christened with eternity, ultimately -- irrevocably -- destined for downfall.

And -- and -- and: the greatest irony is unspoken; the greatest irony is potential -- the greatest absurdity: that if this critique, so carefully hidden from the eyes of these few individuals here -- this modest concern fueled by a desire for clarity, lucidity, for edification of the entire world that cares -- were found out, the disease would be claimed on the side of the silent critic. No desire for convalescence, no prophylactic in sight.

Men have forgotten what inwardness means. And where there is no realization, there is no cure.

All I have are my books, my poor crippled words (never sufficient, never fully grown), a mellow guitar, nature, celebrating crickets; once in a while a person who understands -- best encapsulated in mutual laughter -- never a person who understands duratively. And what? This is paradise in contrast to the above (the above, so more worthy of: below). Three billion cheers for solitude.