|
| Home | | | FICTION | | | PROSE POETRY | | | POETRY |
Return to Oasis
EzinesAndanteBeliefnet Blue Ear Central Europe Review Context Exquisite Corpse FrontPage Gadfly Killing the Buddha Mighty Organ Nerve PopPolitics Spark-online Spike Web del Sol Offerings! Laughing SunResources!
|
-
[
When the Villa started to feel like a grind for him he began to plan his exit. But he discovered that would be much more difficult than he imagined. For one thing funding would be cut off. He would be thrown into the horrific contingency that had driven him out in the first place. “Those never change,” he thought to himself. “What good would it do me or anyone else to become another confused and dilapidated stick in the world completely alienated from my own true self?” It didn’t make any sense in any tradition of freedom he was familiar with.
He discovered that the person can get tired of even the best of things after awhile, surrounded by the best of things and toying with them all the time. It was the possibility of losing everything and being thrown into a new and dangerous situation that appealed to him as he worked himself out of the grind.
So many words had been broken over the backs of nothing. Their beauty and meaning had spilled out into the muddy air that reminded him of a road in the southern hemisphere. “They want words that will load them up with goods.”
“Oh well,” he thought. “I hope they get what they wish for.”
So much hatred in a well-meaning face. So much frustration because the powers he thought he owned had long gone away and so the world was a menacing detail of embodiment. It was an invisible army of powers he had lost or so he thought.
|
