15 August 2011

Vega libre

a rumor about an old anarchist friend having been granted a government provided SRS crawls into my ear on a squatted street. laying on the hot asphalt I know this must be one of the last t shirt saturdays this year, because the fading heat of the sun evokes in me nothing but a feeling of us leaving it behind by thirty kilometers every second. the nature of that thought is also from where I know I have a hungover, again, first time in months - my mind works too slow to perceive anything but the deepest values in everything I direct my attention to.

the words mumbled around me tune down as I see Iggy staring down at me, blocking the sun. his enigmatic stare is still there, in his eyes not seen in years. my mind calmly reminds me of him, how he is, by flashing back memories of his wildest performances in everyday situations. politically incorrect behavior - the finest of acts - manifesting in things thrown down from balconies, insults and bad jokes. in short, I remember times when I saw up close craziness made socially acceptable through stardom. 

Iggy moves from blocking the sun, seating himself next to me on the pavement. my eyes begin to sparkle when I realize the immediate future bears a real joke of a conversation. flashing the widest of smiles, he begins,

“imagine de niro as a kid, a kid with hair like a lion's and the same sparkle in his eyes as you see in mine.”
“every time I see such a sparkle, I've come to think, it must be a sign of a very coherent mind, because only a coherent mind can perceive potentials so well.”
“if you want to go a little crazy, then think about how potentials relate to social norms. when you see a new opportunity open up in front of you with your sparkling eyes, there is a very small chance your inner voice says something other than why not. but norms? norms?”
“the scary thing is that, a coherent mind is not necessarily a perfect mind. if I take perception as an example, the guiding cognitive tools and principles behind it may work very fluently and logically, but still the individual may view reality through some restricting elements. from what I've seen, a very prevalent such restriction is the lack of confidence in asserting oneself to others. when seen in behavior, it manifests as an everlasting cockfight.”
“ah but a good cockfight is an absolute necessity for us! you know, the values, which I know you share with me and a bunch of nearly extinct men, are worth fighting for. especially now, when the organism of society is forming itself to provide for the most social. the definition of social capital is twisting itself away from values related to integrity, to achievement, to mastery. the logical hierarchical order based on values springing from times with more closer union with man and his land is being replaced by some other logical order. what, I don't know, but I hate it already.”
“last cries before everything falls to communism!”
“when you value life you hate everything reminding you of death, and do know there to be also individuals who love life yet hate the living, because the living remind them of their own decay. such views you can find from our kind who have become lost into social circles run by altruists.”
“fair enough. how do you define empathy?“
“after experiencing a wide range of human emotions, as only a conscious being can, it is possible to reflect and know from the being, and especially words, of another person what he is feeling.”
“I am not empathetic at all.”
“em, that's because there's something pathetic about you dear. but you'll grow like do all who gain the necessary experiences.”

Iggy rises up and walks calmly away through the fighting dogs of crust punks, and as I look at his posture and overall body control I wish to get to verbally abuse someone who has a negative generalization as his opinion on opiate addicts. what a perfect topic to use to argue for individual responsibility, and in the end, free will.

later, after loosing my voice confined me to solitude, I sit on my balcony, drinking green tea flavored with dried ribwort plantain, chilies and strawberries. my rusty voice reminds me of another time when I sat on a balcony over the rooftops. it was one of those rare moments when I knew I'd found a new person who I can speak to as provocatively as I wish. a person with no fear.

on that balcony, back then, I sung with my rusty voice only the sections of a certain poem my mind was able to remember in the light of the full moon;

but as all several souls contain
    mixture of things they know not what,
love these mix'd souls doth mix again,
    and makes both one, each this, and that.

when love with one another so
    interanimates two souls,
that abler soul, which thence doth flow,
    defects of loneliness controls.

we then, who are this new soul, know,
    of what we are composed, and made,
for th' atomies of which we grow
    are souls, whom no change can invade.

but, o alas! so long, so far,
    our bodies why do we forbear?
they are ours, though not we; we are
    th' intelligences, they the spheres.

and if some lover, such as we,
    have heard this dialogue of one,
let him still mark us, he shall see
    small change when we're to bodies gone.

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