i-woo

It is true that life seems to stop being fun once certain events start occurring or, even more, when we start losing that part of our soul which made us feel the world at a much brighter, warmer, more colorful scale in all those years of our youth.

I think it has a lot to do with the way the world is condemning us to a life of silent, slowly developing oppression, as we grow up, pushing our vast majority into that semi-comatose state that can be observed just by looking in the eyes of the passersby, in the eyes of the humans at the subway stations, or those of the ones pointing at the ceiling from the club’s sofas, in the eyes of all beings crammed and transported like sheep in buses and trams, or in those of the ones staring out aimlessly in the dark from behind the glass of their mansion’s windows.

We are slowly becoming cattle in this senseless trivial pursuit of “happyness”, replacing all the features that once made us feel alive, in love and unique with this sort of aware slumber in which the best we can do is surround ourselves with inanimate objects of all sorts, shapes, values and utilities, all whole range of pets and an even greater number of individuals more or less similar to us, just to diversify our search for something which was suppressed and beaten down into submission by our very own kin throughout a lifetime of the same brainwashing, or to be able to better lie to ourselves in this never ending self-denial that starts with the first moment we wake up in the morning and not even look at the world outside our own glass bubbles anymore .

Thus, we become less and less connected to life itself and start descending into that gray world where we end up spending our meaningless lives, with the exception of some rare moments when the repressed life in our hearts still finds the way to burst to the surface and then less and less often we get a little window of opportunity to break free and live again…until our addiction to lifeless possessions, that fake sense of security that lies behind the glass wall of our daily bubble, the plastic-coated relationships which keep us running in vain until our body’s complete deteriorating and dissolution of our souls, all these end up in pushing our heads back under the murky water, our own pools of despair, more and more and more until finally we give up and then our hearts and heads start forgetting life as we lived it, until our dreams become pale, fading black and gray graphite engravings of a former colorful existence, our memories start coming back as shreds of images of a less and less recognizable painting, faceless works of art of a decaying spirituality.

I might be one of these carcasses…

By vali | 12. May 2010 | necategorisita | 1 Comment »