There was one time in history that must have been bliss, taken for granted. I imagine that time again, as we are- but without enemies, without fear. I am one of the few who do. Most have erased the past in their minds, the little we know of it. It doesn't hold any value except as wonderful old stories, the kind that hurt because you know it's only as good as your imagination. I suppose, then, that I enjoy that kind of sad pain. I enjoy my imagination.
My grandfather, Soloul, is well protected because he is so well experienced in life. He too has an imagination, but it is part of only one of the Grandfather Solouls that I know. The other is a trained warrior with a kind of mind that will hold no imagination-- it is the sharp, fast-moving sort in which delicate thoughts like past and imagination would be torn apart.
There are people everywhere. Do you ever think about that? Most of them are young, or babies. The babies are safe-- they don't go out.
When I go out, I go out in the daytime. Most prefer the night, and the protection it offers. I avoid the crowds. I stay alone as often as I can. People think they're safer when they're together, but the truth is, large groups aren't even as safe in their homes.
I went out about a week ago. I had to travel a long way, what would be twelve hours on foot, but I have a bicycle, so it only took about seven hours, resting along the way. We live in the middle of the desert. A dangerous place if you don't know how to live here.
We live underground, my father, my grandfather, and I.
We used to have a dog, a grey twelve-year-old, a few years younger than I. He used to open the door of our small house back before, and come and wake me up with his cold nose at dawn, when we would go out to the marsh and look for frogs, or whatever. Now I imagine maybe he learned the cry of a coyote, and I can hear him sometimes at night.
Our house is small and dark, built like a cellar. We get what water we can from cacti grown beside our home. They capture the poisonous rainwater and make it pure enough to drink. On the way to my usual food and water source, one of me was being vigilant and his mind was grinding like a sharp-edged machine. The other was kept far away from the first, imagining. He thought about accomplishments that could be made were they free of their constant fear, constant slaughter. We could do more writing, make more music and stories. People would use their imaginations more. People would be happier. We would travel the heavens where our tormentors had come from long ago. There must be better things among the stars, or at least less harmful-- as there are many animals on earth.
Rubbing my forehead like a .... thing that rubs its forehead.
I'm sitting here, wearing a red-and-white checked gingham dress...
No, I'm not.
I'm sitting here, reading an old livejournal of an old friend's on the internets, and laughing for five hours at the comicals... shut the fuck up and stop judging me and I don't even care anyway because no one even reads this one anymore and furthermore...!
Seriously, looking back, I feel a lot saner than I used to feel. This doesn't mean I am, of course,
OH SHIT I HAVE HOT CHOCOLATE
WHAT THE HOLY FUCK
THIS IS AWESOME
So anyway, a lot saner. It is better for me, and I really do hope it's better for other people and I'm not living in a happy delusion whilst destroying everything in my path. I mean, that would be lame and horrible. It would totally fuck up this thing I'm trying to have going here. With my life and all.
These things are mostly for my benefit, I mean, I put them on the internet for convenience and I also don't care if someone else reads it.
I would like to translate this feeling.
It is like pigeons.
They are very beautiful.
Spending time alone and in the cold, I figured out what I actually need, what the priorities are all about.
And this person that I know won't know for a while, probably, how deeply the emotions connected to them run, and how long my neural pathways have been subtly altered by their presence, and how much I remember and what I think about the truth. How it doesn't matter what kind of state I am in, whenever I see them, those neural pathways connect before anything else can happen and invariably they cause fantastic chemical reactions and spasms of face muscles that arrange my features in what I imagine, if I think about it, to be some kind of goofy wide grin. How that kind of brain program is integral to the system, it doesn't go away. It's there forever. It's like some peoples' visual response to cockroaches: before the image of a cockroach is even processed in the visual cortex, fear response is induced and the brain panics automatically. Except, you know, something totally different from panicking.
How some concepts that used to seem unfathomable somehow make sense to me now. And I always wanted them to.
But really, that's ok. I can tell them later.