The accident of opinion
That fateful morning. The sun arose fat out of the edge of the sea, for all the world like any other morning. The palm fronds waved in the mid morning breeze, the night creatures where bedding down, nature carrying on to the human influence around them. The air as yet unwarmed from the midmorning sun lay undisturbed, water like glass, all in all a very nice morning. Hard to imagine you where the last sane person alive. Does that make you insane or just very weird? You are a rock in the storming seas of the rest of humanity. The rest just don't see things the same as me, am I the rock that can see round the corners, peal away the mist of insanity and see the logic behind? Or just am I a teenager. I spend enough time around them, oh dear, Xander is rubbing off on me.
The stereotypes through and through, these silly stupid ways of living. Existing. Can people not see that we are dying bags of water and through chance are self-aware. Creating for ourselves stupid pointless entertainment that in the end is just like a clown on a unicycle cycling in never ending forever closing circles. Its unrelenting infinite hopelessness, never reaching its culminating cycle, being struck down when unable to continue on, only brief flashes of happiness. I see them, and also I see behind the stage production of our lives, jobs, loves and deaths. If you reduce our lives to our core, there is nothing but the shallow reflections that we create for ourselves, I see this and I wonder. I wait for a second, and with these flashes of true inspiration, then to avoid the bleakness that I myself cannot bear I throw myself back into the production of life. In the midst of all of this I do not fit.
I am.
That is what it all comes down to.
The key to all of this. Love.
So as I sat there on the beach, looking for all the world out of place, a letter in my hand, pipe in the other, on a deck chair suited for the British countryside. A living anachronism to the surroundings. A Very British imposed land. We the people who scream at the sight of anything worse than a thunder storm, but find nothing else but the weather to talk about. The British really are a race of opposites. Americans on the other hand they are a totally different situation, they have no shame, They will not leave me.
and although they have they say the most fair, western society we really forget that their history is steeped with bloodshed, inequality and generally messing things up for the rest of us.
Now love.
Where does this fit in. it is the force that can make or break people. Douse or ignite war, a concept that is closely associated with the Americas. Love. The power to give hope where there is none.
And mine is gone.
1195278.doc02/02/07 04:34hrsRichard Austin (M)