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RedOz
New Member
since 2003-06-29
Posts 4


0 posted 2003-06-29 05:59 AM


Hey, all.. this doesn't really have a title, hence the ???  I can't really explain it, or name it, so please just enjoy...and comment all you want! thanks
Chan
***
The forgotten remnant, the unshackled, unmasked emotion smashes itself against the inner shield of composure. It tries again and again, never succeeding and never giving up hope of an eventual outlet.

Frequently a barb, a spark is freed, thrown blindly beyond the mask. Frustration doubling, the relentless hammering begins again. The shield thins and stretches. Dents and scratches are seen. Perhaps a bar of light enters the prison, but by cycles end, movement ceases in each warring faction and repairs are begun. The barrier intact, the conflict begins anew, no hope of end. No end of hope.

Outside, not a ripple is shown belying the tempest beneath. The puppet smiles; Creaking, unused muscles scream. Functionary manners become the all. Crowd noise from afar: Within all are frozen, immobile, obeying ritualistic orders from an unknown ruler. Where is the master? The sideshow continues seemingly without purpose, or is lack of direction the path so desired? Patterns begin and crumble within a breath. This is regulated chaos;  An agony of robotic movement. The cloistered shackled mind, clipped nerves trained into numbness till feeling is made obsolete.

Further back and still the master does not appear. The bevy of pretense and make believe continues. Does the writer exist at all? Or did we create and tie these strings to ourselves and each other? Is it the search for the master that causes the immobile thoughts? Curtailing the rebellious, individual and expressive adventure that characterised the journeys beginnings?

If the search itself becomes ritualistic then the answers once sought are never found for fear of an end to the comfortable known. So, onwards to the unknown  and dive from the comfortable fire-pits of contentedness to and through the abyss. Maybe from there, the questions will be the correct ones to ask. We can hope, for there is no end to hope, the last flying moth freed eons ago from the ill-fated box in Pandora’s hands. Hope, flying up against the masks of immobility and sheltered norms again and again, until her never-ending job breaks her loose once more to continue the unfinished rounds of her business.


© Copyright 2003 RedOz - All Rights Reserved
Midnitesun
Deputy Moderator 1 Tour
Member Empyrean
since 2001-05-18
Posts 28647
Gaia
1 posted 2003-07-06 10:27 AM


I have no idea where to begin or what to say except:
it confused me a bit, but that's allright. Anytime you delve deep into the grey matter it offers multiple thoughts and interpretations. You have some very interesting imagery, and I did feel a hide-and-seek sequence between writer, thinker, observer/reader.
In short? You did a good job showing me a mask being unmasked, the brain's jumble of wires, and a peek into the world we never really see.

BTW, welcome!

[This message has been edited by Midnitesun (07-06-2003 10:28 AM).]

fractal007
Senior Member
since 2000-06-01
Posts 1958

2 posted 2003-07-06 07:15 PM


Nice series of observations.  I especially liked your comment, "If the search itself becomes ritualistic then the answers once sought are never found for fear of an end to the comfortable known."  

2+2=5 for sufficiently large values of 2
--Smit
My Creations

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