With all the smoke I could muster in my vocal chords I wanted to express how basically these themes keep reoccurring…
It’s like, lest I ever get too caught up in my delusions of personal joys and daily rituals of carefree ease…there will always be the world’s largest wagging finger…whether it’s in this case family past ghosts of personal confrontations with them, or some other form of boss, an innocent bystander, a cop or anything else, they want so urgently to remind me that this world is theirs, but it is not mine. That Amerika is the country we live in, but it is not my nation nor the nation of people like me who see no value in subtly arrogant domination or amassing as much bullshit as once can accumulate over one wasted lifetime.
Some people in my demographic (twenty something, weirdo artist city dwelling suburban transplant types) tend to ignore this tension. They seem to think that the crumbs we get constitute some sort of veritable meal or sustenance. But I am constantly barraged with the fact that though I can maintain little instances of happiness, love and personal freedoms, the world is full of property that I will never own, don’t really want anyways, but my lack of it gets lorded over me like a muzzle. What little I do have I steal (my house), or my parents have given to me (my car) under the delusions that I’ll live some straight life of common aspirations, dream dreamless sleep, believe in a banal god, ignore my angst or dreams of stirring love-for-life in the name of keeping it tucked away in a little property. It is so clear to me that nothing will be mine, for I inhabit the realm of the abstract, of endless nights of rage and improbable dreams of clench-teethed freedom far away from the common amerikan conception of freedom that makes the word stink unbearably, (anyways, most concepts we know and should cherish have been impossibly perverted by those that claim to own the world and use the words to farther their domination over those who dissent).
How do we get it back? If we just fight harder and push farther what would happen? Are we not trying hard enough or are the mechanisms way too vast? Who knows but when my guts get knotted up with awkward anger at the mention of bullshit responsibility that I’ll never feel an inkling or kinship for I just know that it means something, that some part of me still stirs with the desire to claim a stake in demolishing a world that was never meant for me, and do something, anything else.