THE SOUND OF INEVITABILITY

I wonder how long it’s possible to pretend that the trappings of life are real.  Those mundane tasks, the endless boredom, the crushing mediocrity, all spun around you so tightly that it’s impossible to discern what’s actually real.  And yet if you step beyond it, even for a moment, you can never be truly content returning to the fold.  A part of you knows that it’s just a game.

Then why do you continue to play?  Are you staying to oblige others or are you getting a perverse thrill indulging in the last of your fears?  Maybe it’s comfort.  Wouldn’t be easy just to pull the blankets over your head and wish away the boogieman under the bed?  But this monster doesn’t want to kill you with a chainsaw, he wants you to participate in the reality behind the reality.

You’d rather face the chainsaw, wouldn’t you?  At least when you’re bloody and carved up like a turkey, you won’t have to think about the choice you forfeited.  That is, of course, if your consciousness is hacked apart as well.

That’s unlikely.  Instead, you get to hang in limbo and wait for your next turn at bat.  Who knows how long that might be.  Does it really matter?  You can use the interminable interim to contemplate your weakness and invent new vows of perseverance.   Go ahead, bolster yourself.  You’re going to need it for the next round, when the stakes are higher and the fears more grotesque.