With the clarity of one who had never been attacked, they proclaimed that we ought to get our minds in order for the execution of our dirtier and more disgusting bed fellows. This was to teach us to be strong. Our strength would be in our all-embracing sensitivity, which had to be instilled in us, or otherwise we were liable to go off-track and writhe in our own shit.
The way forward was to embrace diversity, especially the diversity of children, whose minds being as yet socially unconditioned were much purer. We'd received the contaminating effects of social experience and now we were wallowing in it. A child can teach the lesson of the open heart.
The point was to not so much focus on our own desires for tumbulations but to find ways to make ourselves useful and stand-in mothers and wet nurses. I meant this was to be our symbolic role, although it never could be explained to us with any precision, for then the task would lose its charm, which was essential to it. We tossed in cockroach infested blankets in the mean time, waiting to be allotted our role, the rehabilitating role.
Being tossed around in your own disgusting mess in the middle of tumultuous nightmares is revolting, but it's what adults turn into, we are told. You are mad. That is adulthood. Not the distant lights of the historical past when we knew no better than to run around and kick the shit and act with impunity. None of use used to care in those days and it's certain many died whilst we were stirring up a storm. You've got to behave like a reasonable person if you're going to earn respect.. After learning how to live all over again, we may not be given wings but we would be angels.
I prayed to Noni to keep her distance because I didn't want her damaged in any of this. There must be still some vestige of the wild. The further she remained the better. Then I would be able to recall her when I needed her, and should she still be there, I'd feel the warmth of her wild, black paw.
The days dragged on and melded with the nights, so that everything seemed the same. We couldn't remember anything. We forgot how we used to fight, slithering on our bellies in the infantry stage. And to be frank we'd hated it back then, but that when we still had hope. Now we had the brighter promise of a cradle bed, but all that was brought to our attention was our excrement. Had we never fought, we would never have been attacked and our minds would have been cleared of all the dirt and filth we now found inside of them and like the infants' minds we were being trained to serve, we would have clarity. But it felt like a cockroach was ripping across my mind in the undergrowth and being shot at too.
The way forward was to embrace diversity, especially the diversity of children, whose minds being as yet socially unconditioned were much purer. We'd received the contaminating effects of social experience and now we were wallowing in it. A child can teach the lesson of the open heart.
The point was to not so much focus on our own desires for tumbulations but to find ways to make ourselves useful and stand-in mothers and wet nurses. I meant this was to be our symbolic role, although it never could be explained to us with any precision, for then the task would lose its charm, which was essential to it. We tossed in cockroach infested blankets in the mean time, waiting to be allotted our role, the rehabilitating role.
Being tossed around in your own disgusting mess in the middle of tumultuous nightmares is revolting, but it's what adults turn into, we are told. You are mad. That is adulthood. Not the distant lights of the historical past when we knew no better than to run around and kick the shit and act with impunity. None of use used to care in those days and it's certain many died whilst we were stirring up a storm. You've got to behave like a reasonable person if you're going to earn respect.. After learning how to live all over again, we may not be given wings but we would be angels.
I prayed to Noni to keep her distance because I didn't want her damaged in any of this. There must be still some vestige of the wild. The further she remained the better. Then I would be able to recall her when I needed her, and should she still be there, I'd feel the warmth of her wild, black paw.
The days dragged on and melded with the nights, so that everything seemed the same. We couldn't remember anything. We forgot how we used to fight, slithering on our bellies in the infantry stage. And to be frank we'd hated it back then, but that when we still had hope. Now we had the brighter promise of a cradle bed, but all that was brought to our attention was our excrement. Had we never fought, we would never have been attacked and our minds would have been cleared of all the dirt and filth we now found inside of them and like the infants' minds we were being trained to serve, we would have clarity. But it felt like a cockroach was ripping across my mind in the undergrowth and being shot at too.
No comments:
Post a Comment