"You're a respected man," he said. "Keep it that way."
Something someone said to me, that I haven't been able to shake off.
It's funny then. What about self-respect, and what if I don't 'keep it that way' regarding that?
There's a funny way of hating everything else, but loving yourself. I'm at an extreme loss of words, and I feel helpless. I want to, I need to write. Something, to take all this off my mind.
The gift of writing, someone recently said, I have a way with words. I can sell ice to an eskimo, I said.
When guilt and depression kick in, who do you blame? For you had no choice, you were held in a gilded cage. By yourself.
But then you broke free of it, and you're free to spread your wings. But with the wind blowing in the other way, probably because you cursed not being free once.
For it being too good to be true, now you wish you went back inside. But it's broken, and there's no way. And you're outside, but lost, still not having your way. You're traveling, yes, going places; but on a track, not your own.
Is there really a freedom, a choice of free will? Is it really about being clever, and not being held against your will? Is it? Or can two and two work together, can you take risks for yourself? And not be shunned by labels, by ghosts of broken dreams past. Of broken wishes, of jealous winds, and bars of status quo.
Where's the Shangri-La. Isn't fiction man made too? Then if we're meant to travel on the path that we're on, where exactly is our freedom, and where do we stand? Do we have a voice for our objections, or are all objections overruled; by you, slave of the system, by them; slaves of the rule.
Not by choice, not by will; by what was asked at birth. Set free at birth, to be thrown inside a bigger womb. Where spreading our arms is as easy as blinking, but spreading our thoughts is a sin committed against God.
I ask you, the slaves, questions directed at the wrong wall. The wall I'm looking for is mightier, not any man made foolish wisdom.
For you learned from the fool before you, and a fool is teaching to me. The world is, our teacher, is it not? But teaches us idioticy that has been passed, from your master to mine, and me to my student.
Let's not label, let's not objectify. Let's just tighten the blindfolds, and walk closer to the edge. Lose balance, we already have - the only thing left to lose is this being. Self, is already gone, now only the accompanying limbs and bones wish to evolve.
Evolve as if evolution is true. Think as if thinking makes us stronger. Create larger walls, hate even more; but where does that put us? Let's just indulge deeper into the maze that's been created, let's just row boats for the evil we've elected.
Succumb to sin, we all do, yet hush our thoughts before they reach our mouths.
Shouldn't think that way, God forbid we say it out loud. But no one's watching our thoughts, thank God, let's just keep it in our skull. Shhhh.
For he did it, and everyone knows, let's shun him, and feel a bit better. About ourselves, God help us, who else is there, Holy enough, to feel anything for?
You've wronged, and I am perfect, for I follow the light. No asking questions, not checking to see if it's true, this blindfold shall remain on. I'm not making the mistake of taking it off, but you go ahead; tell me what's on the other side.
And when the light turns you blind, for you made the mistake; be sure to let me know. I wouldn't want to be caught catching a peek - I'm too good for that. Too good for anything. I'm too good to be true.
And slavery will never end, not for you, not for me. For there lives a slave inside of you, and we're all aware it's true.
But no one dare try to set it free, or even ask why it's there. We've lived on for a million years with it, why fight the current and risk being washed away?
Let's all just close our eyes, and tighten the blindfold instead.
It's a lot easier that way.
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