unplugging


“There are things in that paper which nobody knows but me, or ever will. Behind that outside pattern the dim shapes get clearer every day. It is always the same shape, only very numerous. And it is like a woman stooping down and creeping about behind that pattern. I don’t like it a bit. I wonder—I begin to think—I wish [he] would take me away from here!”

(from Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s “The Yellow Wallpaper”)

the pattern of my life seems to have come into focus recently and as i grow bitter… er, older, and recognize the place once vacated by naiveté as enthralled by the art of disenchantment, i realize a certain disturbing truth about reality … more specifically, mine.

life is unassuming. reality isn’t.

i have an unbounded and deep respect for life and have been known to often proclaim that Life is my religion, for it is self-sufficient, self-loving and self-evolving. only life has the most unrestrained respect and utter adoration for all living things. now, if you knew the glorious mess in which i find myself you’d probably gasp at such audacity, for the general consensus leads to the implication that life in the pits must be a life well despised. i say, such asinine assumptions belong in the heads of the defeated. death, pain, destruction, sorrow, abandonment and loss are all life’s useful tools and while the power they carry brings me to my knees, i find myself full of awe at the magnitude, the timing, the irony and the questions answered. it is during these heart staggering moments i casually look up, as an attempt to address my goddess Life, and proclaim: “you smart bitch!”

life is modest. unassuming. blind to judgment. life just is and it is magnificent!

reality – the one created by us – is a bloated, self-centered, money-hungry, power-starved, label-producing, drama-craving, drug-inducing, status-longing, judgmental whore-pig! it drives me apeshit! someone called me an idealist for owning such thoughts. the contempt with which he accompanied the word idealist was meant as a clear sign of insult. i took the “insult” and *ahem* my drink to the other room because at that point it had become clear that my idealism would shed no light in the dark and narrow path he had chosen to take. perhaps i am just that: an idealist. but we have met the enemy and it really is us.

i don’t believe in this reality. it has taken many of the things i once deemed good into compartmentalized rows of severed minds. it’s a reality that insists upon the cutting off from the whole and my itty bitty idealistic mind quite strongly, albeit politely, disagrees. no, fuck that. not politely. the person who shuddered at the sight of an idealist also felt it necessary to make the following comment: “with a dress like that you would be blown to pieces in the middle east!”

i swear, i heard an explosion. it was my brain.

when are we going to pull our collective massive head out of our collective amateur ass? will this charade ever end? patterns of the self (read: mine) are only appearing slightly visible now! how does lucy, benny, james and fucking penny pretend to know about me? forgive the passion darlings – don’t know about you but i get quite spicy when i read the verdict fitted for a crime i haven’t even committed.”he that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone,” said the master. jesus, the man, the divinity and the myth, wouldn’t have survived 21st century for a second! i imagine entire forests would have to be annihilated, too. come on! one cross would not even begin the bear the sins of our fathers and those before them.

i’ve gone off on a tangent again, and now i can’t even remember the point of it all. i was simply re-visiting “The Yellow Wallpaper!” and now here i am, pissing-off one idealist-hater at a time. oh technology, how i love thee.

Klodi

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