Let’s begin where we left off. The notion being reduced to absurdity, its difficult to contend. I object, nonetheless. Freedom isn’t absurd, it is just no longer an option. It has been glorified for centuries and sought after in so many ways that now, nothing of it remains. If it stands that one feels free when they can do what they want, when they want; then freedom requires something more. Modern society makes it so. And even if you have succeeded to boldly demask the illusion and resolved genuinely to happiness in the most minimal and meager of senses, you are cursed by the age you live in. You are cursed by things you have no control over. There is no hope for the optimist anymore; even optimism has confused it’s priorities. Become victim to the misjudgements, moral confusion and illusory value systems; become slave. What’s worse, good deeds. Charitable acts, kindness and real love. These too, slave to no good.
And so it goes. Freedom has become what enslaves us. For this notion to be undone, and for me to outline how, I would risk all my privacy and be put on some list somewhere…which i’m probably already enlisted. So very briefly summarized, something huge. Something so utterly massive and tail spinning that it wipes our memories and sends us the opposite direction, must occur. Hurricanes clearly won’t do it. Nope…bigger. Drastic times call for drastic measures. I love that cliche.
Well the world kept spinning, even when New York City stopped. I feel so badly for those people and yet I can’t help this twinge of gratitude towards nature’s warning. Its more than a twinge actually, it surges through me. But then it stops because no one heeds such warnings. And they will rebuild their castle in the sand. With really no way out. Clausterphobia much? And if not to heed a greater warning from nature, you’d think we’d at least realize something of this election; like what really matters. People are so short-sighted. No, that would mean they could see a little bit. We are blind.
May memory restore again and again
The smallest color of the smallest day:
Time is the school in which we learn,
Time is the fire in which we burn.
– Delmore Schwartz, “Summer Knowledge: New and Selected Poems (1959)”