McKayla was my seventeen year old yoga partner. We met in the mornings in the park. She was very pretty and I wanted her - something, of course, I could never reveal lest I be marked for termination as a dirty old man. Still, our relationship as fellow yoga-ists was innocent enough even though the world we live in is not. And only the innocent do not live in fear.
McKayla was away on a summer mission trip but I still came to our spot to exercise. Then I saw a gang of policemen heading for me, trouncing the early morning dew. Were they coming for the truth? No. They came to ask about McKayla and was she a sympathizer. A group of her teenage girlfriends had been killed, slaughtered by Homeland Insecurity in a burst of automatic fire. The girls had been wearing forbidden beige, thus threatening national security.
The usual debates followed on who was right. Beige is the color of the world's most notorious anti-terror group, hoping to spread peace and harmony throughout the world thus destroying our socioeconomic system and way of life. Everyone agreed it was a horrible tragedy "but the girls had been warned. They have to take responsibility for their deaths, not us killers!" Their suburban mothers suddenly changed their minds on what it means to be safe and went on talk shows saying the insanity has to end now that they are the ones feeling the pain.
I too was outraged by the out-of-control Homeland Insecurity assassins and listening to the political people talk only made it worse, saying it's OK to slaughter our own children just like it's OK to slaughter the children in foreign countries with our kill strikes. Gosh dang, we hate doing it but it's a necessary evil, they claim. We were lectured on how we need to grow up and face the facts on what needs to be done to ensure the safety of our greed otherwise we'll all be living under Sharia law.
Be afraid - be very afraid!
At that point my brain was boiling in rage soup. It made me want to kill. I just couldn't think of who to kill that would make any difference. No matter what happens, the tidal wave of fear trumps our actions. But then I realized my true fear, that I had no one to be nice to in between the dark and the light. The feeling was overwhelming, like trying to repress a volcano. I was scared I was becoming like the guy who shot the cops here in Dallas last year. He was unable to have relationships so he shouted "Black lives matter!" to cover up his motive. Again, the usual debates followed so nothing would actually change.
I went to a coffee café after my workout with these things on my mind. That's when Anthony Bourdain blew smoke in my face. He ranted about how his rights as a smoker had been violated by an intrusive government. I told him I wouldn't be able to hang out with him anymore if he smoked like that. He said I had no moral right to judge him and that he needed to be free and anyone who wants to boink teenage girls has no moral ground to stand on anyway. But I simply explained to him I can't stand having my clothes smell like smoke and it makes me sneeze incessantly.
Anthony then launches into this rant about how the government is making hypocrisy great again, selectively enforcing drug laws as suits them. I pointed out that was happening before except that was in a way that suited him and if real change had occurred they would not currently be in a position to inflict their damage. The groundwork of what's going on has been laid out in the past, that we'd yet to admit we invaded a country unprovoked, raped and pillaged it for own profit, and still all the while we wonder why bad things are happening to us. He agreed.
On the café house TV the news showed a story about the Great Luxury Car race, a charity event to raise money for rich people who feel guilty about screwing the poor. It made the news because their course had to be altered due to the fact a crime scene had been created where the beige wearing girls had been massacred. The participants said despite this sort of cruel inconvenience "we won't let the anti-terrorists win!" They said their hearts and prayers went out to the families of the dead girls but that they were victims of war and we mustn't let incidents like these change our course or convictions.
I staggered back outside sneezing in my smoke drenched clothes. I had no place to go, hungry in my fears and desires. I listened to those with Answers, certain of their uncertainty. Many agreed with my own concerns just so long as they didn't have to mean it. So I just stopped listening and talking and looked at the faces of those around me in mute observation. It's easy to see the cover-up, hiding what they know about themselves. Their eyes are constantly darting around wondering if anyone notices, perpetually looking over their shoulders. Yes, the fear was here, the fear was there. The fear is all around.
One Of These Nights from c3bool on Vimeo.
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