I'm like a Vulcan when you aren't around - logical, distant, evaluating you like a product with my friends. The consumer with a lifetime of buying.
But near you I’m a prisoner of some consciousness independent of thought, like a fever or the dreamer, with the merest semblance of control.
You are light and loose, hair like Spanish moss and skin like cedar resin, all laughter and agonizing beauty. The way you lean across the table I only think of kissing you.
I'm sure at times it must show, like a red stain on a white dress or some inconvenient *******..
You have some license on me, a key to a place in me I keep hidden and close, you fit some interior template of desire.
What good is freedom if I can't tell you!!?
Oh, the ragged vagaries of loves games. 1000 emotions and I am deserted to silence by some rule of thumb - by a faltering consumer confidence or some feeling of inward nakedness - when all I want in the world is an open kiss or to give you an intimate scented something...
Vulcan = a race of aliens who show no emotions (Star Trek)
Doomsday clocks lurching Our salvation diverges Shouting to the twilight sun We share but false elation.
Entire regions' designated Means of production No new doctrines allowed All hail consumption.
Ever directionless, at a loss Regressing into violence: Revolutionaries' proudest Of our failed revolutions.
Living out our dreams Of solitary bliss, Live alone in harmony Or die in the abyss.
What piece of work is man That chooses inhumanity A species in a chasm Led by mere savages.
"And in time there will come a generation that has got beyond facts, beyond impressions, a generation absolutely colourless, a generation seraphically free from taint of personality" ― E.M. Forster, The Machine Stops
The greatest mastery of self is to do nothing. We are doers programmed to do, to solve, to be busy creating problems just to solve them rewarding ourselves with ever more destructive prizes. We congratulate ourselves for our compulsive expenditure like an addict congratulating themselves for turning back to the needle.
We are all addicts.
The true anarchist does nothing.
Originally published at https://www.douglasbalmain.com/anarchy.html