As the music traverses the distance around me in invisible spirals, set to an inaudible beating of the heart, I sit and wonder what do I write about? There is so much to say, the same old stories, about the same old joys and the same old fears. Re-runs mostly. But I do not want to write about any of them. I have said enough. There is a whole lifetime explained in between the thousands of lines that have been written here. But, why? I must admit I have no clue at all. Honestly, I'd hate it if all you got the precise thing that I am writing about. That should explain the abstraction.
I really have a good mind to disown all this. Stand in a corner at the street, point at me and say "oh hell that is not me okay?". And run like hell, faster and faster to another corner where I can set up the whole scam again. It would be nice actually to have an option like in one of those fancy thriller movies to assume a new identity and a new life elsewhere. Where is the opt-out button? Then again, the problem with scams is that they all meet the same end.
And I have to tell you I am sick of this "do not expect" crap. I am as human as they come and I will expect all the time. Is there something wrong with it? If you can sit under a godforsaken tree and expect to spend the rest of your life in the same manner go ahead and do it. But hey, there too you 'expect' that you spend the rest of your life in the same manner and sorry, but I am not game for such a deal.
It is ingrained into us to expect, it is part of us, it was what makes us what we are -- living, breathing people who feel. It is there in our impulses even. You won't take the next step if you are not sure of the ground, you take it only when you 'expect' the ground to hold. If that was not there I could spend the rest of my life swooning over a bloody lamp post. Why can't I? I do not expect it to love me back. I do not expect it to care for me, I can just give and give and give more and become a part of some fancy philosophical folklore.
Yes, there is the fact that you do not always get what you want. The expectations are not always met and we always want to believe that we are at the receiving end of a bad deal all the time. But that is a totally different matter and it sucks really bad for the ones who happen to get particularly sour deals. It hurts then and it hurts unbearably bad. Sometimes you get used to it, move on and maybe find better things in life, sometimes you do not.
The sad thing about precious things is that that they are rare, that is what gives them value they possess. If each of the billion people on earth were to have the prefect solution it would be so imperfect. If all the people whom you love happen to love you back, they would all mean nothing to you. If you happen to be lucky enough to get loved back the way you want to, grab it, tie it up, hold on to it, be it even for five minutes, because everything will go in the end. With time everything touches the mundane, there is really nothing called as special, it is just the five minutes of purity and a lifetime of mundaneness you paint with nostalgia and expectations that you are left with.
In the end we all have our little selfish agendas to fulfil. We all have our quota of a set number of comforting words to be served as the holy sacrament of every relationship to consume and feel good everyday. The five minutes have been consigned to the pages of memory, to be flipped and gloated over every now and then when the selling price of the mundane becomes too low to sustain life by means of emotions.
By then it is not the same anymore. The same words have lost their shine, look carefully and you can see the fakeness of the metal underneath, it is too flimsy a coating. Still it sells well, the market loves the product and in today's economy the consumer is king and when it grants the seller his five minutes of clandestine purity why should he not take it? And everyone is happy.
Well, not quite. Our dear friend expectation has to feature somewhere in the scene. You need more of the five minutes but it can't be. Remember, the consumer is king and not the seller. The existing market conditions can only be determined by him. Unfortunately, in this script not everywhere walks hand in hand into the sunset and the parts are already fixed and being played out. I pity the unlucky sod who bites the dust in the end. Even the credits do not mention his name as it scrolls up the screen with the crowd hurriedly heading for the exit in the foreground.