You've got another thing coming

Every second, another bundle comes out of the womb. Which womb? The womb of the world, I should say. In the 21st century we proclaim to be at the pinnacle of human progress, at the heart of liberty, whence freedom is no longer a word but a reality, a solid, touchable reality, and that reality is an identity card.


We thought that now that so many aeons had passed, so many men had lived, so many had died, so much had been thought of and so much had been forgotten we would have reached the sky and the heightened ethers where we would have been snug in our comfortable reality. But I guess not. I guess that they are trying to pass off this moment as an age of enlightment, an age of reasoning, an age of understanding.


There were men who, long ago, believed that every man was free. They were naive and they were candid but they believed every man had the right to his own will. They believed that we were born by our own means and that we were free of our doing.


Not long ago, someone I knew, someone I didn't know that well and who didn't know me much now that I think of it, as a joke or as a truth, I will never fathom, told me that I had no future. He told me that I could never be able to achieve what I wanted to achieve and that I should rather give up now. I thought, rather naively or rightly, I can't quite remember, that if that is so I should rather drop on the spot. Was my existence worth living? Was I confined to these walls?
I thought and I still think that we had a right to our own dreams. But I also ask myself, why should we have dreams if we can't realise them?


I stumble and painfully walk home on a wet, pouring day of lashing rain. I walk the slope made by the hands of those who once had dreams. I see the walls of those who had once dreamt. I see the faces of those who still dream, so young, fresh and unscathed, but I can only see the heavy reality of fate looming over their soft heads.


It's as if the world was a competition. When you think of it, it kind of seems so: you were born a racer, born a dude with a tail, racing through the womb and hopefully jumping into that narrow gap. You first lived as a survivor, as a bunch of flesh who clung to life and to your mother with a rope hanging you on. You walked on four hands, prone to whatever life threw at you, because you didn't really care. All that mattered to you was how you should colour Mum and Dad's house, what a monkey looked like, if your fingers tasted good and what you were going to do of your day. You spent your days in leisure because you couldn't think of anything, anything at all, until one day, one day you learnt something that opened your eyes. You learnt that what surrounded you wasn't what you thought it was and since then you've been asking yourself questions that might or might never be answered, thought about doing things you had the will to do but you you didn't have the means.


Now we walk the streets marching on cold, humid and unhospitable ground, hotter than a thousand coals, colder than a thousand seas, wearing down your shoes more than a million times anything else ever could. They want to walk on us, they want to ride us like cattle, they want to bind us to what we see and not question reality, reality we are so accustomed to. We have the will, we have the hearts but we don't have the rights, because we're nothing but an economic subdivision, nothing than groups of individuals, masses of singular minds, dull-eyed cattle the way they see it.


They push us against each other, they make us programmed “individuals” just so that we could bounce off each other like electrons in an atom, making one whole, making something they could handle and recycle. They laughed at our projects, they envied our courage but they wanted what was right for them and not for the other mass of unworthy idiots.


What do I have to say to that person who tore me down? Nothing. I rarely forgive such errors, even human ones, but I do not wish to share with them the knowledge of the initiate, because I can see the future. I can see what I want, I have my eyes on my desire, I shall have it because even if there are forces that make us move like muppets, the stage is in total chaos and the spotlight is ripe to be taken.

Don't think I'll sit around as the world goes by...
Red

Mike

Today was a sad day, the rain kept on pounding down, today four more illegal immigrants were killed when trying to get a better life somewhere in the state of New Mexico along the Mexican-American border and yet the rain kept on pounding down. Today somewhere in the West Bank along a fence yet another Palestinian was killed, killed for no reason, ohhh wait maybe there was a reason actually he was "an Arab". Today in Iraq mothers lament their lost sons once again, sons that left broken families, sons that left little brothers with nothing, sons and just sons, once again. Today yet another Native-American committed suicide because there really isn't any hope left for him, all he's got is a half empty bottle of beer and a broken shack for a home, yet we say to follow the message of "God".

Those that died, will never see that valley, the valley of fraternity; they died just because they where different and in this society we hide differences in a dark corner. We try to hide them in the attic but they just couldn't fit so they died for no reason... Today once again a rocket fell on a Israeli town : it could have killed two young boys just because they where different....
I can't understand, and sometimes I think about all of this, I think about my writing and think probably I write for nothing, but this morning I saw on TV those same old, same old pictures of death and I just couldn't keep myself from writing this post... Once a long time ago I went north, far north, north to where all is woods, I went to a reserve, out near a lake, a big lake.

I remember, how isolated that place was, nothing but woods to the west, to the north, to the south and the east: that trip probably made me who I am today... We came by plane, landed on the lake. My mom was the new teacher up there, they hadn't had one in years maybe. The sky was gray that morning, the mist came in like to warn me, and yet that place was magic, a sort of like dream... There I woke up out of that thing called childhood; there they called me "whitey", I was the "whitey". I learned up there the most important lesson of my life, at least for the time being, the lesson that even if at the start we seem strange to each other, at the end of the story we are the same. I didn't stay there long, just the right time; I got a wisdom there that follows me until this very day. From every side the Forest invaded civilization, so one day, I went off into the woods with a friend, "Mike" , but anyway that's not the important stuff, that day was alike almost every day. Along the lake, abandoned houses flourished, a bit like mirrors that stood in front of the village, to remind them every day what reality was, what the real truth was.... that they where different, that actually no angel could come and save them, close, shut, in an iron box with windows to see the real world. Up there I felt that hate that consumes you like a punch from a parent: a hit that explodes inside and you stand and can't do anything... And I stood and did nothing, I felt my body fading away, I felt my heart, my lungs pounding like nuts, and I stood there. That day we went down to the river with the half-blood, we sat: he was a bit older than me, we knew very well that we were in hell... a hell that somehow looked like paradise... In the distance then came a rider, the wind lifted, and called his name: you know he was just an Indian, Mike was just an Indian.... I guess his life wasn't worth ours, was it? They took him away because of that...

He never got to be loved that Mike, never got to breathe that air of liberty. We had tried to get away, get away from that place, but it was as if wherever we went, wherever we tried to hide, anyway we ran that it always came for us, that it always kept on calling, calling for us. One night I remember well, it was the first night whence I saw Mike; he was sited, near the lake, behind a tree, like if he was half-dead. Mike always was like that, half-dead, I guess I was too; all the other kids said "don't go talk to him", "you know he's got half-blood in those veins and you know Niall that ain't no good, it just ain't no good..." But what did I care, I never really did ever care for anyone and the ones I cared for turned against me or were lost... I had a brother once, he was in everyway better than me, he looked up to me thinking that I was looking down to him, but I wasn't me too I was looking up, brotherhood we take for granted, but I know that it isn't a gift. I believed in my brother more than anyone. Together we fought the dark sky and those big red clouds, and yet the calling kept on coming no matter what we would do. We couldn't hide, or run , for it was the truth. We tried to hide but they broke us apart, we tried to keep the flame alive, but they killed it, now we are but two lost roaring souls, if we even have souls anymore. During those cold winters we fought and shared victory, but somehow that didn't mean anything, all of that didn't mean anything because we took it for granted, we took those times together for trivialities and today it's like they will never come again. Mike, deep, deep, down inside himself he was broken, he knew that there was no easy way out, because he was different, and I knew that too because I knew how it felt, how all of this felt, how being a stranger in his own house felt, nothing he told me surprised me. I fell again, and again in that cold, freezing snow again and again, we felt the same pain and we shared it, we gave it, and in doing so broke it, we broke it's back, come on. "Come on down to the river and wash those sins from your hands", Mike always told me, and then, "and then when we're in the water, we will escape from this tasteless reality, why must we live, what do we live for"? Life is but a joke, a bad one; it eats us up, it keeps us down and then when it's finished with us it kills us. Come on Niall, come on, come down to the river, come and wash those sins, ohhhhhh come on now, we don't care, do we? I promise you we will get to the promised land, we will get out of here, there must be a way out of here, and then when where down in the valley near the river bank, will go to that promised land together...
That morning near the green grasses of the valley, where we once sat, we saw the light, and God, Mike was so happy: he believed, he finally believed, that maybe there was a way out, but my brother he shivered in pain, pain of deception. Deceptions, we've had so many haven't we Mike? Right brother? We thought that life could free us, that destiny was ours, that it was like something we could model and change, but isn't like that saying Mike, change is but an illusion, it never really comes, it's just status quo, and against nothing we can do, the river is dead isn't it Mike tell me the truth, there's no way out, is there?

I hate to say so, but one day I left you Mike, I found a way out, I found a bridge, I found a path, I ran because they were after me, I ran, never to think of you, it was too painful, never again to think of my brother Kieran, who had always looked up to me: all I left was but a freezing cold, I had became the snow, that had burnt us to the bones, I had become death, I'm your death. Watch out, be watchful, watch out for me. I might come back I guess you believed to come and save you from the reserve, but I never did, did I, I turned on you, didn't I? I gave up on you, yes I did... Nowhere to go, no one to believe in, no one to go down to the river with, no river to see because the river is dry, the river's dead right? What's left? What is left?

Sorry this really is long, but I've got to get it all out tonight, like you told me, when you believed that a better life was possible, that maybe death was just a dream. Did you go down to the river that night? Did you try to escape the reserve that night, did you go to find safety near the watch tower? You went there I'm sure, trying to find me, but you found but darkness, you found out that finally no one really cared that you lived or died, because for those rednecks, a good Indian is a dead one right? If not Mike tell me, tell me why would they stock you up like that in a reserve, uh, Mike? And in the end, Mike, when you got to see that great bright light, for what did you fight? I'm sorry. I'm sorry Mike, I'm sorry, I'm sorry Kieran, I ran, I ran for my life just like a dog after a car, I had to. I left you. I see Mike, I know now the lesson, that you tried to teach me, I understand now, it's not about if what your doing is good for you or not, it's about doing right, isn't it? Mike, when you stood on that rock overlooking the valley, what did you think, did you think of me? Did you forgive me Mike? And Kieran, do you forgive me, do you?
Tonight I got a call. You know what? Mike commited suicide, just another victim of the reserve system.

Sky