Capricious

59 - Promethean

"There is no easy walk to freedom anywhere, and many of us will have to pass through the valley of the shadow of death again and again before we reach the mountaintop of our desires."
- Nelson Mandela

Where am I now? Feeling so confident yet still so scared. Enjoying too little too much, with no sustainable future in sight. Productively lazy, playing games with myself, forgoing passions to run in circles. At a constant crossroads, do I invest in my dying education, plan the road ahead, or enjoy what little freedom from responsibility I have left? All I know is I'm still learning, I'm not ready to face anything yet, but I face it all the same, and settle for less than perfection, to play in all these worlds, and keep my mind afloat. Loving life more than ever, and yet spindles of fear are clogging their way through my heart. I don't know if what I am doing is right, still I question every move, but I jump and jump again, proud of how good I've become. So let these chances come my way, let there be fear, let there be obstacles, I will forge my road, turn nothing into greatness, or die trying.

But when we open ourselves up to pain, when we must unexpectedly accept our perceived injustice, the illusion we have brought upon ourselves begins to fade. We begin to realise the violent truth of everything once more, that things are truly hopeless, worthless, beyond us. And a wave of panic washes over us, we drain away from the world, until love brings that illusion back.

Minor mistakes resulting in serious setbacks, my body betraying my mind, all intelligence and effort left to waste. Loose tongues being washed away, forever feeling I'm forgetting something, stumbling through whatever chasm does arise with a complete lack of grace. What is there to learn from errors such as these? I need to find another way, and a way to vent built up anger and lust, or else fall short and be tied into oblivion. And yet throughout such torture I'm surrounded by intense little pleasures caressing me with joy, for the times I fall in love with life, for being as perfect as can be.

I'll live through all as intensely as I can, I haven't time for anything less, why sacrifice opportunity just to take things slow? It makes no sense, all my most magical moments, my most perfect creations the result of pure improvisation, for that is the only way to be original. I'll live my dreams, even in this realm deemed reality I shall live them, not quite as planned, allowances must be made, larger dreams trimmed before they die beneath their own weight, but they will be lived all the same. I'll live as free from the shackles of oppression as I can, bend the knee I must in time, but for now I am a rebel, completely my own person, honest without shame, shouting my mind, bending rules that confine to my fair reasoning, for when you have nothing you have nothing to lose. Though so difficult to be entirely my own without a following, that results from selfish fame, that I cannot adhere to, for I will never be who others want me to be, such is the paradox that few have mastered, visionaries with the tools to burn holes in the illusions that we hold, or else long dead before their dreams see the light of day. Yet masters learn, stealing opportunities to acquire such tools, such that however strong, however confident, however intelligent I become, the chains that hold me get thicker, the weights I must bear become heavier, the distance I must travel becomes longer. This corrupt system of inequality, of political charlatans and mass ignorance, a world run by hypocrites who impress so much fuss over nothing, strategically ignoring everything that truly matters, playing with our hearts and minds, misdirecting our anger from the true villains to the innocent, and such slaves obey in kind. It can't be changed, it simply carries on under a different name, a different façade, martyrs fade and dictators reign, we become what we hate or die trying, some order there must be, or else we all lose. There must be a balance to this system, what one person gains, another loses, for the inept reason of circumstance, for that's where power lies, in all ignorant enough to believe they deserve such a thing, played up by their environment and their nurturing. And with whatever advantage that comes from synergy there too comes waste, spent without thought by those who can afford not to think, the very energy for others to live rotting away. All so obvious, and all so ignored, made to think there are those better than us, when in truth they are no more so, and yet we worship under false impression, killing ourselves in pathetic envy, only supporting our own persecution, for in truth we are our own oppressors, however much we rage we will not change, will not make a stand, and so injustice drags on, and only the unjust profit, though never with joy.

Losing my labour for less than my worth, I am yet a slave to commercial vanity, lazy in that I remain on such a level, little idea which way to tackle the world from. There must be a way to exploit my gifts for a living, if I can just find it I may escape, I may live the life of my dreams, however foolish that may be. Instead left to orbit occupation, with little idea how to enter, no doubt I will impress, but these choices that approach seem larger than any others before. I may have forged pieces of the puzzle, yet too many wrong pieces remain, so difficult it is to put the right ones together, being distracted by my weakness, or deluded by my madness. What if I have it all wrong, what if I'm not seeing the whole picture, these patterns in the very stitching of the world, what if they're not real, what if I'm not the thinker I believe myself to be? Then I remember it doesn't matter, for I control my world, whatever I believe can come true. If I can accept the pain, if I can somehow wade through the shadows, it is only just that I may rise a phoenix, and impress my mark upon this tiny little world, or else remain a hypocrite forever more.

It is like another sense, seeing the deeper meaning of something, seeing into the soul of a person, a concept, a piece of art, I can feel something more, an intensity, a beauty that goes completely unnoticed by others, I know it, and that is how I have become who I am, that is how I have travelled so far in heart and mind. Yet I fear that the older I grow, the more my power shall fade, all hope I'll lose, residing to the inevitable purgatory that every adult I know lives. But I still believe, I am not the same, though if I do rise I fear, how lonely I may become again.

Blank spaces through my time, in a rush and then a wait, as the seconds melt around me, drifting off to psychedelic rock as the striped sunset surrounds me.