Life is not pretty here in the Forbidden City. We live our life in daily chains, longing for the free world our aching eyes may view but never enter. Deep inside every soul lays the dream of Eden, where time is never wasted. Some call it magic to search for Eden. Some call it folly. But the desire is universal, a living thing - even if sometimes we fear to speak or seek it.
Many parts of the City have been deemed Unprecious. In the Eyes of Man they have no worth. They've been drained of minerals or lost power to rule or simply don't fit the agenda of our false reality of mythical profits and imagined borders. Those who do not suffer hole up in their homes, hiding in fear of the torment that may one day come. To them, knowledge is a dangerous thing. But I do not trust the Eyes of Man.
These "unprecious" places have a truth of their own and only in truth is there salvation. "What do you see in an abandoned rusting factory, you fool?" I see us, what else. I see paradise lost. I see a people running away from themselves, injecting the next favored illusion into their veins. Yes, I see many things and I'm hungry for more.
Eagerly over the years I have searched and explored such places but even I hesitated when I saw a dusty road leading out of town across the ridge to a place I could not see. I knew the road did not lead to freedom or they would have forbidden it with tolls I cannot pay. Settling down in a crouch I espied this curious path with wary eyes. Maybe I had reached the point of no return, of knowing too much. I decided I would defer to the Fates (so I could have someone to blame).
"Dear God, give me a sign if I should travel down this road." I say that knowing God never gives a fucking sign. She's always too busy getting massages or whatever the fuck She does up there. Besides, what good has my truth ever done me? Who do I think I am? A superstar? How wrong I are!
Satisfied in my defeat, I turned to walk away. Suddenly, an angry Wind stirred up, blowing dust in my eyes if I turned any direction but down the unknown road. I fought until I could fight no more, resigning myself to my destiny.
"Shit, now You fucking answer me! How do I get this sort of attention when asking for winning lottery numbers?"
God, just another fickle bitch I can never understand. For better or worse I was headed towards uncharted territory. On one hand I felt excitement I'd never felt before. Daring to live outside the city! Who were these brave souls? How is it I'd never heard of such a colony of free thinkers? But that excitement was cancelled out by an equal feeling of inexplicable dread. Once the knowing starts, there's no going back.
At first, I jumped in elation. "Oh, how wonderful! Every little shop is unique, flowing with personality and creativity. I knew it was real because I felt pangs of jealousy and marvel. The street was lined with small little art galleries left and right that I knew I would love to explore! Silently, I mildly chastised myself for projecting my own fears onto this journey of delightful discovery.
I immediately rushed into the first place that caught my eye: "Da Stinki". And immediately I stopped dead in my tracks.
The Mona Li, a painting unfaced
All along the watchtower walls the words of unholy prophets were scribbled. "What do you think you're doing painting for yourself? Keep going and find out forever just who you are!" "What a waste of time! Is this your Eden?" "Why don't you get a real job, you fucking loser!" Fear became me.
My mind panicked in overdrive gears. Who can see me? Is anyone here? I didn't really see this. I can say that. I'm delusional, I am! People will believe that. I never saw this. Great art always wins out.
I stepped backwards out into the street. A world without the Mona Lisa? Who could imagine such a thing? Who could imagine the loss of community shared by the enigma of her smile? If only he'd continued on undaunted by the voices of the false prophets. I felt as if my own face had been ripped away, a piece of consciousness lost. Dare I go any further?
Pieces of great
"Prick Caso" said the sign. His diary said these fractured pieces are what he thought about, dreamed about and nourished his soul with. "A whole new way of looking at art! But who would ever accept it? I would be laughed at by the savage public who understands and respects no truths! It is beyond them and I shall not martyr myself upon their stupidity and the self-serving beliefs of mass cretins. But somehow I cannot make the final step to coalesce."
He could never piece it all together in a coherent way, blocked from the final solution by his anger. Deep in the middle of the night the pieces would all come together in perfect harmony, but to wake was to lose the vision. Never did his grasp reach his ambition. His diary read like a Jekyll and Hyde. One day praising himself on a magnificent breakthrough, the next damning himself a dilettante or "else I'd be famous."
Who are we without the advancement of art? I wondered. Take it away and the terror was palpable and sinking me to the center of the earth. Robot drone bodies labor in obedient woe, finding worth in misery and hope in ignorance - this did flash before my eyes, dropping me to my knees as I wailed in unheard terror between the tumbleweeds and sour sun.
Half driven, half repulsed, I staggered forth.
What's she staring at? I want to know! I want to know all of this! I want to know the rest of the story!
I found a book half written. Intriguing chapters began but disintegrated into the author's life. No, no! Keep the faith! Finish what you started. No man is as good as his art. We're all mad as a hatter and evil queens and so terribly late for very important dates. It's not just you!
"...only I am such a weird bird. I cannot risk exposure. I have no wife, no life, just jabberwocky words rife with strife. How can my vision of the world be valid? No, I should wait until I'm married and settled before sharing this with the world. THAT'S when I'll write true words, not these fancies of mine for fun. Yes, they please me very much - but that is just ugly me now, not then. My story is unfinished."
Off with his head! I thought. What man has the right to judge his art? He sits in ignorance and must blindly retain fidelity to his joy. Oh, how heartbroken was I to see my favorite book never finished. Who reigns down these woes upon Man? Where do these banana peels of life that slip us up so readily emanate from? Could we stop them even if we knew?
"Dung Beetles"? "Sergeant Heifers Bland?" Who are these bunch of wannabes? The plaque says they sold millions. But how? To whom? This is talent twisted for the masses without cheap sunglasses. I flip over the back for the song list to see puritan paradise.
"Godly On The Ground With Pebbles", "She's COMING Home, Repentant" "The 5K Charity Walk Being For The Benefit Of Mr. G!"
Oh, vomit! What a dishonest collection! How can anyone settle for such sell-out drivel? Is that all anyone wants? To be politically defensible? Says here this is their only album. "Dung Beetles broke up over disagreements over what their stance should be on the Ethiopian trade treaty of 1967 as regards to what assurances would be in place, wages for the natives and font type. "We take human rights very seriously! Well, at least some of us do!" stated their final press conference.
Price of the Silent Majority
Nothing is the same. I too now cower in my home in fear, my mind blinded by the light, beating the truth out of me. It's been said, "Go to the desert for freedom". I suppose those artists only made it halfway. They ran away, were eaten up with anger, lost faith, or found fame only as frauds. But who can survive in the desert? I can feel its pull to freedom but where are my assurances? Where is my safety?
I can find no answers to these questions.
No, I will just play it smart, look out for #1 for a change instead relying on guilt ridden decisions that solve or prove nothing. There's no cable TV in the desert. I can't live there! And as I now know, to even make it halfway there is ultimately same as washing out completely. I just had to know, didn't I? If I'm fucked anyway I'd just as soon die in ignorance. Time to join the world at last.
I heard the thud of the morning paper landing. This will bring me news of the world - my world now - the real world. I ain't gonna die for pie in the sky! Then I opened up to read the headlines: "Plague For The Poor! Who Can Survive In The City?"
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