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Saturday, August 05, 2006
The Faces of Chicanery
You've told yourself a million times that this is the logical thing to do. You've gone through the steps, you've completed the program, you are on the path to the hottest destination spot of the century: success. And yet? You can't stop your mind from wandering. You can't seem to tear the sticker off the spot on your shirt that rests gently on your heart that so simply explains it all:
"Hello. My name is Kitty, and I'm addicted to all things chimerical."
Perhaps you're foolishly addicted. Perhaps your addicted out of comfort. Whatever the reason, it's the type of addiction that is codign to getting through the day-to-day, your day-to-day--the day-to-day that marks each and every incremented step towards that destination hot-spot people would kill to be destined for.
You have the minimal intelligence required, you have the education, you have the ambition to make something of your lackluster life, and you have the competitive nature to hop through each and every hoop.
You rarely hop out of your own desire.
And that is how it is. You do what you have to because it's the logical thing to do and because it's the way things are and the way things tend to go. Society dictates and you follow, and you do so with an exact precision that makes onlookers green with envy and jealousy. You meander the path with a swiftness and exactness that anyone passing by would think that it was your goal all along to achieve what you've achieved, to oblige the entreatments of the Aristotelian.
You've beaten the illogical into wanton submission, and yet you find yourself skipping along in the plains of the faerie when you let the proverbial guard down long enough to let the real you venture a miniscule look at the world you've erected. Sometimes you find yourself lost in the idyllic realm of everything that once could have been before abandonment took the center stage of the seriate journey to ever so fashionable enlightenment.
Sometimes the trek is painless, sometimes the peregrination leaves you in an emotional coma, and every step taken towards the glowing aura of guaranteed stability leaves a mark. Every step. It's inevitable. Even the most amicable of abandonments, the most constructive of re-directing, even the smiling face of spectators who don't mutter a word leave you a little more dead inside, a little less you, and vying for a breath clear of expectation.
Even still you embark on the journey and consent to living in a world of torrid dichotomy that transmutes into the subconscious alter ego that stealthily creeps into your thoughts and slaps you two steps back. It garrotes you in an attempt to abscond the logical. It stares you in the eye and with a sigh of determination and a shrug of preseverance and avouches with the most ethereal voice you could ever auscultate:
"No matter how far you get, no matter how much you surpress, you cannot escape who you really are." You've convinced the world that this is what you want and nothing will stop you from securing the highest price for your efforts and the greatest amount of esteem to compensate you for the sacrifices you've made.
You've sacraficed yourself. You've never convinced yourself.
There's no other way to make your audience happy, unless staying true to yourself can yeild some modicum of success. It could, if given the proper effort and time to flourish, but you've extended your subscription to "How To Be All That You Never Wanted To Be in Eight Easy Steps," because some things just aren't worth the risk.
For better or for worse, you're all in. You'll gladly cede your reveries and eschew your beatitude to protect the plebeians from a tiny glimpse of who you really are. You'd rather be a marionette who is lifeless without a masterful pull of your strings, than confront the you you callously left behind.
Your happiness never really mattered much to anyone, anyway, why should it matter to you?
kitty kat spoke at 9:51 PM
and
0 people united to combat the evil fucking care bear stare
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