Saturday, July 21, 2007

under the weather



Conformity. A grip that holds many of us here. Follow, tow the line. Listen and shut the fuck up. Conformity. Shaped by traditions, manipulated by the ones in the seats. Justified for keeping the status quo, weak as tea diluted by time. We watch, with envy at the imperfections of our neighbors from around the world and wish we had their problems. We look into their gardens and say, yeah at least they can put up signs that say, “We will walk on the damn grass if we so wish.” Conformity. The death grip that does not allow for any slack. Conformity that promotes fear, be afraid that your choice of walking on the grass could get you into deep shit. Fear that manifests into allegorical tales and ramblings like this one. Sad, but true. Nothing motivates better than the threat of harm and trouble. We list the goodness of our ways and hide the flaws behind gags. Decent is never on the menu. It makes for a really bad side dish. And so we eat up what is served. Choke it down even if it kills you. Indigestion is, after all, not deadly.