Deep Dark Places
Freedom is a word not usually associated with locked doors, but we live in a world where, at least for the common folk, those making up the bulk of humanity, most have never seen through even a crack, let alone had access to a key.
Can’t see the wood for the trees... There are so very many distractions, and the distractions are nurtured by those that know and those that know not. There are traditional values stretching back into antiquity, arising for the same reasons: to exert control, managed and conditioned by modern skill into something more resembling an art form. These values are leashes, chains, described as morality, sensibilities, normative imperatives, but they are just mechanisms, now so ingrained, and so managed, locking us into the larger machine, the machine that stabilises existence for those who enjoy the status quo, for those who require such control.
The whole mechanism can be divided into many constituents: there are those who see ‘the big picture’; the picture of those who see no picture at all serving those who see ‘the big picture’. The masters live in fear, and their fear is translated into ten thousand cruelties. Any who question their methods, their castles, their enclosures, are directly threatening their potency, and as, deep down in places their conscious will never dare explore, they are essentially impotent so such threats must not be tolerated.
Architecture soars to the sky, as often as not stocky and imposing. Legislation locks and bolts all motion, for motion suggests change, and change suggests the new, and the new is unknown and unpredictable, thus threatening and terrifying. Communication is regulated, restrained... reported; anything contrary to the sedentary existence, the cycle of same, is an enemy, and an enemy to the masters is an enemy to the people, for they represent the people, or rather they represent what they force the people to be, manipulate the people to be, and their thinking has so convinced itself it is correct in all assumptions, they know their thinking to be flawless, and around and around go their proofs..
It wasn’t that I didn’t know what shape my prison, it went further than that... I didn’t know I was in a prison. Even as I write this, feeling emancipated from the limits I’d previously suffered from, I know I suffer from all new limits, but I could only infer them, for once more I couldn’t know them until I had again extricated myself from their suffocating expanse, managing a peak at their irregular dimensions from without.
Walls I see,
And they see me,
See me sob,
My choice they rob,
And hold me down,
Stern, they frown,
Not to see...
Find me in the forest, for I have found myself a little taste of freedom. I am happy here. Sure, other people have a roof over their head when it rains, but I have my principles. Ok, maybe their dinner is hot, and their beds are soft, but I know I’m the lucky one, for I have seen with eyes no longer clouded with myopia. I will admit, I would like to see a film, play a game, spend some time with friends, but I would never trade all the for knowledge of what’s truly important... would I...?
They came for me in the night – perhaps they thought I would run if I saw them coming, but where was there to run to? They sent so many to subdue me – did they think I would struggle; what would struggling achieve? They backed up all their accusations with endless reams of proof – maybe they needed to assure themselves, for did they really think I would change my mind, admit I was mistaken?
I was not wrong, but I should not have spoken out; speaking out was as useless as running, struggling or arguing. In the end I got what I deserved! Not for the reasons they forced upon me, but for the depths of my own stupidity.
Once I believed, when I was much younger, that one voice, spoken with clarity and reason, could sway the world. Ah, the sheer naivety! Now I know the truth; the movers and shakers want nothing more than the world to remain the same, and any single voice must be swatted like the annoying mosquito buzzing at their ear.
No, I thought I knew the truth, but once again that foolish optimism had come bubbling to the surface, and now I had to pay the price, the price of understanding and stupidity.
So I accept their verdict, what choice did I have, but one tiny, all but inconsequential, choice remains to me... I shall accept their verdict under my own terms, rather than theirs, and while to outward appearances there is no discernible distinction, and there’s always the chance I delude myself for the sake of my wavering psyche, I believe in the truth of my own understanding, and I believe my understanding is what saves me from becoming their possession.
Where’s the grey?
Hard to say,
The black is wrong,
Their proof is long,
Well, that’s just right,
But grey is deep,
Shakes off the sleep,
The clouds complex,
Enough to vex,
Those whose route,
Small comfort... but I have my integrity. That thought lasted until about the third rib snapped. I gritted my teeth; there was no way I would wail and cry. That determination went on for... maybe a minute, but when they started smashing my teeth with their batons I wailed and cried. One absolute would never be moved from my indomitability; I would not plead! When they started cutting me I begged, I craved, I implored, but to no avail; it turned my stomach to hear them laugh and mock, but then... what good did that do me?