Primal Progress and the Addiction: A Draft
“And you Mr. Speaker, cannot say you love freedom and permit this genocide to occur!�
“I, sir, do not compromise my belief in freedom Senator! Rather, you are the one doing so by not allowing such an action to take place. I am a patriot!� he said, with a strong hand to the desk to match rhetoric – which shook his gold trimmed pen from a gentle position on the paper bed,
where the head rest as another night comes to an end – after a long, long, day confined to specialized routines with no escape and no room for non-specifics, for ‘other things’. Around the room, hang the paintings of modernists. Life as a liquid, roll on the floor as the small, apartment dog, licks the wetness around the outer lip of the bottle – chasing it slowly around the room in a slow, methodical fashion. The tongue licks were counted in beat – one lick, two licks…
…three votes, four votes in dissent. [time elapses] seventy votes, [time elapses] the entire country has voted.
And on the news today a voice has dissented, and the popular motion has exploded and imploded as the individuals confront disunity.
“Why did you vote for genocide?� the reporter asks. Another one fires an arrow. “Why have you voted against these atrocities?� an angel asks another, and in the background the contrary argument builds again. Another sigh.
“And these students,� says the dignified teacher, “are both sides of the argument. I present no wrongs to you, the unlearned, so you may learn better,� she explains as she clasps both sides of the oversized teacher’s edition book and graciously closes it with a smile. “But why do they fight?� asks the innocence. A smile comes, and though tears are shed, time heals. Finally, Friday has come.
Another weekend passes, and the passion was good on the pillow where rest occupied last weekend. The sensations were better than the animal’s of last week which were heard while drifting to sleep – an advancement, yes – yet with no proof. Another day – greeted with a different smell but the same shallow sunlight and space to roll over. The brain feels lighter, the circumstances less complicated and simply eliminated… gone, through time. With a toll, the drink has mastered time travel.
Back to the Future was a lovable classic, and memories could thrive over and over in the mind. This wasn’t something worth watching at two in the afternoon though, besides, the ending never really changes. The news was a thought exploration for a minute. The remote raises. How does one confront the world around oneself?
And instantly the chemicals were dropped through the push of the button, extinguishing a culture and a whole civilization. Lives lost, destroyed – never to be remade again. Click - onto another channel.
Doctors say the brain loses thousands of cells which can never be replaced every time a drink is consumed. They all signed documents, proving their lives work which is made ‘available upon request’. After all, they couldn’t just give it to everyone could they? Would the document be ---
--- on the next channel, a reporter described the view of a Senator, walking out of the hall in protest of the lives lost – the highest move a Senator could have done.
Meanwhile, in the living room – the hand raises again, with a remote attached to turn off the madness. The dog jumped up to chance of connectivity and brought the leash over. “Perhaps a trip to the store would satisfy my needs… the dog could come.� The tie-out lay dormant in the backyard.
In the park, the dog procreated with another after a brief barking match, and he laughed at the speed in which the simple animal did such a thing before reaching contention. She laughed at the ridiculousness of their lives – the animals that is. Looking around, on the calm day, the mind recalled the experience last night as the breeze blew. He relived the intimacy of his meeting and he relived the grinding – the finger nails gently grasping the back of his neck, the drink, and the loss of time. She relived the care in his touch, the warmth, the connectivity and the repetitive merging with what they wanted, over and over.
The dog pulled on the leash, (the captivater) trying in desperation to sniff another blade of grass and see another piece of the big world… and the single, free human, followed.
0 --> 0ne <-- 1
“I, sir, do not compromise my belief in freedom Senator! Rather, you are the one doing so by not allowing such an action to take place. I am a patriot!� he said, with a strong hand to the desk to match rhetoric – which shook his gold trimmed pen from a gentle position on the paper bed,
where the head rest as another night comes to an end – after a long, long, day confined to specialized routines with no escape and no room for non-specifics, for ‘other things’. Around the room, hang the paintings of modernists. Life as a liquid, roll on the floor as the small, apartment dog, licks the wetness around the outer lip of the bottle – chasing it slowly around the room in a slow, methodical fashion. The tongue licks were counted in beat – one lick, two licks…
…three votes, four votes in dissent. [time elapses] seventy votes, [time elapses] the entire country has voted.
And on the news today a voice has dissented, and the popular motion has exploded and imploded as the individuals confront disunity.
“Why did you vote for genocide?� the reporter asks. Another one fires an arrow. “Why have you voted against these atrocities?� an angel asks another, and in the background the contrary argument builds again. Another sigh.
“And these students,� says the dignified teacher, “are both sides of the argument. I present no wrongs to you, the unlearned, so you may learn better,� she explains as she clasps both sides of the oversized teacher’s edition book and graciously closes it with a smile. “But why do they fight?� asks the innocence. A smile comes, and though tears are shed, time heals. Finally, Friday has come.
Another weekend passes, and the passion was good on the pillow where rest occupied last weekend. The sensations were better than the animal’s of last week which were heard while drifting to sleep – an advancement, yes – yet with no proof. Another day – greeted with a different smell but the same shallow sunlight and space to roll over. The brain feels lighter, the circumstances less complicated and simply eliminated… gone, through time. With a toll, the drink has mastered time travel.
Back to the Future was a lovable classic, and memories could thrive over and over in the mind. This wasn’t something worth watching at two in the afternoon though, besides, the ending never really changes. The news was a thought exploration for a minute. The remote raises. How does one confront the world around oneself?
And instantly the chemicals were dropped through the push of the button, extinguishing a culture and a whole civilization. Lives lost, destroyed – never to be remade again. Click - onto another channel.
Doctors say the brain loses thousands of cells which can never be replaced every time a drink is consumed. They all signed documents, proving their lives work which is made ‘available upon request’. After all, they couldn’t just give it to everyone could they? Would the document be ---
--- on the next channel, a reporter described the view of a Senator, walking out of the hall in protest of the lives lost – the highest move a Senator could have done.
Meanwhile, in the living room – the hand raises again, with a remote attached to turn off the madness. The dog jumped up to chance of connectivity and brought the leash over. “Perhaps a trip to the store would satisfy my needs… the dog could come.� The tie-out lay dormant in the backyard.
In the park, the dog procreated with another after a brief barking match, and he laughed at the speed in which the simple animal did such a thing before reaching contention. She laughed at the ridiculousness of their lives – the animals that is. Looking around, on the calm day, the mind recalled the experience last night as the breeze blew. He relived the intimacy of his meeting and he relived the grinding – the finger nails gently grasping the back of his neck, the drink, and the loss of time. She relived the care in his touch, the warmth, the connectivity and the repetitive merging with what they wanted, over and over.
The dog pulled on the leash, (the captivater) trying in desperation to sniff another blade of grass and see another piece of the big world… and the single, free human, followed.
posted by onyr at 30.11.05
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