This year was like taking the red pill, but waking up to no one outside the matrix. no Morpheus, no Trinity, just me staring out at endless rows of sleeping, dying batteries, hooked up to the machines that allow them to exist while making sure they never get to be alive.
And wondering how to wake them…
Not because I think that some objective reality is better than pleasant lies (I’m not that morally developed) but because it’s wonderful here. Being freed from anyone else’s opinions of what a good life looks like – what I should be doing with my time, what kind of things I should own, the people I associate with, the places I go, what I wear, what time to wake up, what to eat, what I should be dreaming of, what I should be thinking, what I should want. Nobody else’s opinion matters anymore.
I feel like I’m insane most of the time.
Plato’s cave was the first Matrix story, wasn’t it? I don’t have a reference handy right now but I think they killed him.
Well, that’s what you get for trying to share your vision with people who have become totally comfortable with what they have.
I saw people stretching out of the MRT station like a depression era bread line and wondered how many of them had left behind a perfectly good life in the province for the shiny lies of the city that is now sucking the life out of them.
My friends in unhappy relationships.
The people who remain in groups they despise.
People on the internet who threaten to kill one another over annoying words.
People who spend all their money on clothes and cars and makeup and bars and flights and wonder why the happiness doesn’t last.
I’m not saying I’ve discovered an answer. Just that I think maybe I’ve learned to ask the right questions. Like, “Why am I hanging out with these walking chimneys?” instead of “Why won’t these people listen to anything I have to say?” And “Why am I with a person who detests me?” instead of “How can I adjust to her?” And “Am I psychopath who should remain alone for the rest of her life?” instead of, “What do I seek in a partner?”
The word “person” comes from “persona” which means mask.
The word “animal” comes from “anima” which means soul.
Person is the one with the name and the labels. Female, young, bipolar, maltheist, upper middle class, average build, homosexual…
Animal is the heart that knows nothing except what it wants, which is true and necessary work, and spaces to breathe and run free, and someone to give and accept companionship.
Anima is the soft part behind the persona that moves it through the world. My soft heart could never go very far.
I’ve found no one, but maybe that’s because I’m unable to see through the personas. No one has seen through mine, no one who recognized what was behind, anyway.
I’m having some trouble accepting a paradigm wherein
you vs. not you
is not right vs. wrong
But only right vs. less right
“Love is dying, the system is killing it.”
I just need to find a space for us. Between everything I could trip over, all the landmines I could detonate.
I’ve worked so long to hide everything, I don’t know how to explain myself.
Every chance I’ve taken ended in disaster. I don’t know how to make it different this time.
I think I’m a psychopath. I should be alone. But I get too lonely.
I thought if I never say the words the thought would also not be true. But there it was, and I think it heard it all too, like echoes passing back and forth between our bodies.
I think I’ll soon only have more questions – but maybe they’ll be the right ones.