The Wax Conspiracy

Burn the Back Roads

A child playfully tosses a ball into the air and catches it unsteadily. He takes an inordinate, inexplicable joy from playing this little game.
Even when he drops the ball - a failure according to his own conception of the game - he still seems to delight in the diversion, as if, in some perverse way, the process is more exhilarating than the results.
Who can tell what magic spells he weaves throwing and catching that ball?

We sit and watch him play. We're - all of us! - monsters; and we sit and watch him play, not understanding.
Some of us are sad monsters, some of us happy; some of us are cruel monsters, some of us nice; some of us are pessimistic monsters, some of us optimistic - but, ultimately, we're all monsters, each and every one of us.
The horrible, honest truth is that we're just waiting for this child to betray the magic of his games and to take his (rightful) place amongst all the other monsters.

Back, back and to the left sit two pirates - both weary and disillusioned:
One is at a crossroads. The possibility of something different, of anything different, is before him, but he is blind and isn't sure which way to go or what to do.
The other can see all to well, and he sees that every path that seeps out of the crossroads lead inexorably back to where they started - the crossroads... those inevitable crossroads.

They're not stupid, these two anti-heroes; the first pirate knows that the second has no reason to go anywhere - the second pirate knows it is pointless for the first to attempt to do so.
They understand their predicament, and far from being angry with each other or their circumstances, they calmly accept their lot.

Ineffectively, and perhaps irresponsibly, they sit back and, unmoving, watch another child become a monster.

sunny day, go away

Belvedere Jehosophat

Written on Wednesday, 9 March 2005

The Wax Conspiracy

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