While roaming around these catacombs of neuroticism, sometimes a light pokes out through the cracks. Even if there are no more mirrors, still one can imagine those walking above. And with a thought about their shopping sprees or fawning over the new restaurant opening – to know they’re talking of the next blockbuster and texting one another of the latest drama through the halls – suddenly so one is struck wondering whether these are the mine shafts.
Mine shafts, hoping to harvest something. Accruing tokens of guidance, if it would ever be asked, even if it’s a live burial. Even if there are no more words to exchange in the foreseeable future.
Oh, how much will we learn from our disjoint existences. How much the dirt keeps a distance. It’s unlikely understanding comes with your ever-present tertiary eye gifted since birth. Watching yourself fall into the shopping malls filled with nothing but an escape from a seemingly broken family.
What age will be your debut? What age will you break your heart first? False protests later to come, as though expressing yourself through any other medium is different. After enough years maybe you’ll feel stupid for not always making it about money. Scowl all you want; there’s nothing sacred anymore.
Fair warning: the pit is voracious. Every checkpoint comes with a satchel and some hooks for the next layer. If you miss one you’re waiting to be swallowed. Look to the middle with its sped vortex, its helix streams of abandoned bodies.
The further you dig into the walls the farther you’ll come to understand the brick streets above. It is a radio wasteland – antennas fashioned for a drilled-in hat.
You can afford some tears if you want. It’s a good way to snag someone.
You’re welcome to hate this world we created. You’ll learn to love it too.
Did you want to hear anything of the years before your entrance? It’s okay to discard the whole family tree if need be; that’s how a lot of history goes anyway. But there are some parts of yourself you won’t be able to rip away.
It’s important to remember there’s no real good and bad, only preferable sides. And that even if you sing for the cessation of world hunger so the ceaseless wars shall find another martyr.
Hopefully you understand how easy it is to be taken advantaged of. Only with a front-row seat to atrocity will you understand the callousness required; compassion preferred, though distinct from love and devotion. Far different.
Maybe you’ll come to love the underground too. Doubtful!