portland independent media center  
images audio video
newswire article commentary portland metro

arts and culture | human & civil rights | political theory

I write; A fiction for the times

A Short; Prose.
I write; A fiction for the times.

Anonymous

I am looked upon as a danger to society. Insanity is my disease.
Anthropologists call it the disconnection from society's mores, living without adherence to the same customs that are embraced by one's surrounding civilization.
I am a loner; not always by choice, not entirely out of desperation.
When I step outside my front door I confront a blithe largesse that perpetuates the fašade of intolerance. My life plays out within the environs of an exceptionally inadequate stage.

I travel with uncommon citizens; my relations are exceptional and misconstrued by the median. I am weak.
My faults are as ultimately or as simply encapsulated as anyone's. My faults are mine in aggregate--my practices are simply routine to my life;
devastatingly abrupt and unwholesome to others. I make no claims of superiority.

I live my life as I choose, always attempting to walk a path the guides me through the perils of anger and hate. I cause no harm; willingly, I sacrifice for the benefit of others.
I rarely experience a reciprocity of intention.
So I am strong. I reject the coercion of mentality that comforts most.
To me it is a cancer.

When told to hate, refuse to strike. When told to flee, stop to forgive.
When told to obey, do not.
Freedom is the holiest of elixirs and choice is my last defense; it is my conquered and unrepentant vision quest throughout a hot blowing desert of lost souls and mindless automatons.
I seek only love; a willingness to distinguish; to conceive.

I understand the pangs of agony that drive madmen as massed lemmings towards irrational claims of sanity and acceptance. I acknowledge the desperation and hurt that will inexorably exist in every human heart that beats warm blood.
I have lived the gauntlet;
I am become the mail.

When I step out into the sky the gates close behind me with a slow pneumatic sigh; I compose myself into a parallax existence to confront the blind reality of unknowing.
I refuse to exist in ignorance.
I breathe to embrace an inimitable paradigm that endures only within those that live without,
unattached to fears of erudition, of evolution.

To embrace this undertaking is attempting to walk without cavalier and callous judgment.
this is no longer expected in return.
I am become shock, disappointment.

The glory envisaged within my mind's eye combined with a wealth of unseen potential in blinding my most earnest optimisms;
conspiring, conniving, sadistically exchanging my beliefs for the prurient realities of greed and mistrust, industriously interweaving their unified front before my path, they preyed
that I might stop and rest.

So humanity stumbles onward, unseeing and desperately grasping for the hordes of carbon that await its arrival.

We've been dreadfully anticipating an eventual unveiling as meaningless manna for a jaded society.