Leave Something for the Archaeologists
Dendara
2003-03-09 6:15 pm
Before Time may Commit its Cruel Alchemy...
Choking on my extreme mediocrity, I find that it is better to be a master of one thing, than a never-been with dots scattered across a character sheet. Once, I had thought my many talents, over time, would lead to a constant improvement - a new epiphany in every age - until I left this wraith planet behind for the distant heights of cerebral and spirtual spires-on-the-horizon. Once, I had thought that though I had reached a bronze technology, that time would allow for new cultural evolutions of my talent and vision. Iron, Clockworks, Steam... a constant moving forward until I could bend space-time to my will, until the universe and dimensions beyond were my proverbial playground... but somewhere, I ceased to progess.
I exist now in no-time as a two-dot wonder: drawing - but never producing Art; writing - but never capturing those words non-interchangable and perfect; composing - but never growing to be skillful; digging - but never discovering. I exist on display - "Come and see the Human Mediocrity! Just 5 cents - next to the Apple Pie Contest, and the World's Largest Pumpkin!" I exist in a never-ending Methodist Bake Sale, a cubicle office in Cleveland...A product of bourgeois society, a generic, centerless city, and a mid-range family with some generic protestant belief in an ephemeral heaven that corporeal hearts can never touch.
Unable to burn, I emminate light with the other dying embers - when once I thought I would be a raging, destructive fire, consuming dead-wood forests in my carnal lust for precious breaths of oxygen. For life.
But I am too cold now for even the tiniest spark.
But bitter seconds now to think on this. Bitter seconds until I am ashes.
