I walked on a lonely bridge in the middle of nowhere middle of winter. Whitescapes and grey feelings emanating, permeating, tingling tingaling body burning with the quest for fire, the need to find the living sensation, life-affirming brazen waves shocking deformed form into awakening.
I passed strangers in the night, living husks fiddling with their push buttons and addictions in the sensory world they inhabit for lack of opportunities and the right assistance. Hopheads and sniffing grifters, sex sellers and trumped up trampy damaged pandora’s boxes leaking earthly sin and corrupt desires of validation valediction. Suffering fools fooled by the bitter dark ones, tricked by the promise of life hanging low but bereft of upheaval and social mobility civility. Life-giving seeds sown in the upper classes shaving off little tendrils of substance to lower mortals cowering in the darkness of shielded light. When I walk in their shadows I feel the utter coldness of a forgone conclusion of being, lost souls huddling near trash bin fires in the wide eyed city that looks down on them and spits venom onto a failed state made by their own inaction. These better than thou fools blind to the whims of a growing society siphoning the energy from the tryhards to fuel the fire of the leaky cauldron, the melting pot devoid of reliefs.
The detestable Gotham City made real and tangible by wealth accumulation gone amok. Corrupt governance and justice systems lead by the tail by avarice and closed circuit suspicions eyeing workers and stragglers late to the dog races. Prim and proper devils complimenting each other on their refinery in the demonic status quo lumbering limbo that the denizens must face, slaves to the lifeflow of trickle down pipes. Some icy climbers make camp on the cusp of success and serve as examples of the prevailing wisdom that disadvantaged can triumph to the top tier. This layered cake picks up its base to share the richness of its bounty. What rot in this Denmark.
Wealth breeds wealth ever and ever more. Estates pass to blood ties, lump sums gorge the accounts of spoiled and clueless fops attuned to market variations like moths to the flame. We are all meant to burn. Humanity’s chaos looms large in its dealings with one another, the sick game of chance rigged from beginnings far from humble, the bequeathed ties that bind the wealthy to the proverbial trough they receive their succour from. Orwellian pigs grown fat and sated upon the vertical playing fields, corpulent in their accustomed lives filled with the bobs and bobbles of a unending Christmas celebration; toys for the greedy raising hands towards the sky, poories lacking reach and stuck in a hustle demanded of profiters of poverty, systemic pandemics fall in line with ideology bankrupt of morality and sense, thieves of plenty legislating their own innocence and debauchery in a cold cold world blue from omission.
And what lessons gleaned and learned from these perambulations in the midnight hour? What trifles have I made and molehills made mountainous? Is reason to give charity to society in line with the promise of the great city? We are born free and equal but we take and rob each other of fresh starts and chances. Plenty are born down in the dumps and dregs to never catch a whisper of greatness or fair game. We handicap and hunt our brethren with obtuse laws and toothy regulations finding marrow in the lower classes, gnashing and chomping on brothers and sisters in a robber baron system made to capitalize and ingratiate the devils with affluence and higher choice. Taster’s dilemma in a rotten world, gross negligence feeding off itself with the tourniquet set to stem uprisings and upstreams for fear of jumping salmon making headway. A running river overfloweth with indifference clashing with hope. Hope floats, hope nourishes, hope makes the suffering into underdogs whose time may have come. Which side are you on?