The Black River
Today marks the second year in a row I’ve been left behind by someone I generally regarded as important on THIS fucking day.
I’m starting to see a relatively unsettling pattern setting in. Of what I can only consider as myself lost in this apathetic storm of pitiful aimlessness, I’m attempting to hold it together. The only question relevant though remains; how do you face down those whom you try to reassure, and lie to them by informing them that things are going to be okay. It’s the worst, most shameless display of dishonesty one can bequeath to another. What’s left, is a festering mess of horrific “what ifs”, “maybes”, and warm feelings that something somehow or another was remedied by the slight fluctuation of energy from negative to positive.
I’ve now taken down a readily available collection of logic from those of whom around me believe it a necessary action to shield themselves from any and all shades of gray. As it would seem; there is not enough of a supply of apathy in this image driven, avariciously fueled cestpool. This is why, they’ve deemed it appropriate to use every excuse in the book as to why it’s perfectly fine to quit, and give up. Why it’s important to give advice, and never take it. Why it’s fine and dandy to presume the role of the mentor, but when asked to show for their efforts, they shy away so fucking swiftly you’d think they weren’t there to begin with.
I’m going to publish the collection of shut-outs, passion plays, futile pseudo-shame, and pathetic copouts in an anthology called “Sorry”, because it seems to be the last word you get out of anyone in that situation. It doesn’t mean a thing, nor should you bother yourself to think that it does. Sorry is the word most commonly used by people who wish to convince you that they actually gave a fuck in the first place. They, as well as the well-oiled machine that is propelling them always strive to ensure that you know how “sorry” they were to begin with. Sorry means everything is better, and when everything is better you can go back to forgetting exactly how well everyone treats everyone else around them.
As it appears, I care too much. Of course, I tell every single person around me I don’t. You evidently have to, because it’s an unwritten rule that people who care are the first to be picked off. I didn’t crawl out of middle and high school, just to come out morally superior. Those days are long since gone, and I’ve tried my damnedest since then to make a worse person out of myself that way I can finally get what I’ve always desired, which is to slowly devour the tears of those around me who can only metaphorically represent those who did the same to me so long ago. This process is a vain, tireless exercise that never ends because by the time you’re done watching out for all of those bad people, the good people have already gone and turned you into Julius Caesar. They stare, and try to feel some sort of emotion that could be described as empathy, but they’ve never come close to it. Empathy is reserved for people who have ACTUALLY been where you are now, and are now visualizing the recurrence within themselves.
So, what have you got now? Let’s see. You have a short list of disappearance acts, shrugged shoulders, cowardly shadows, and the world’s longest list of excuses swiftly followed by “I’m sorry…but”. I have all but absolutely lost my zeal for that which I love. A flag once waved by multitudes who understood, has been carelessly thrown to the dirt without a second glance. It can’t be construed any other way. There’s not a viewpoint behind this shit anymore. There’s not a “well you don’t understand” situation left. I can’t even begin to think that I’m STILL over-analyzing and exaggerating as to the details of how little those around me actually pretend to care anymore. I can’t even receive a confirmation of action from people at all now. It’s nothing but ideas that are whispers lost on the wind, and ambitions crushed beneath waves of forceful disregard. No one has informed me of what they WILL do in ages, only what they’d like to do. With such blatant neglect, and with an all but blind-eye to their task, I don’t even bother counting on people who say that anymore. They wait for me to act, or for others to step forward. It’s not a good move, nor is it admirable or a sign of reliability. That’s a sign of weakness, and every moment that people tell me what they want is another moment of tribulation as I scream inside my own head.
What’s worse, is that now I see that the most endangered species on the planet isn’t a sea creature being rapidly poached; it’s not a bird being slowly eradicated due to deforestation. It’s not a rare predator, that has been viciously hunted for its scarce and precious hide. No, the creature most in danger of disappearing from the face of the Earth forever, is the leader. Whether it be the fear of failure, or the perpetual need to constantly maintain a sense of insanity in the face of all opposition; the leader population anywhere is swiftly approaching zero. Look around you. Name the last time you had someone you could honestly look up to and know that they are taking charge while others retreat. My group of friends used to BE those people. We weren’t just a circle of those not wanted by others. It was the joy of knowing no one else would be stepping up to do what we do. We would more than excitedly stretch our long arms out, and embrace the children who appeared at our doorstep. It wasn’t about figures, statistical evaluation and the sake of trying to be something that was the husk of an entity.
We never sat idly by and wondered what we could get if we tried. We made that happen time, and time again. People were envious at how close we were; the idea of how driven we were to accomplish any and all goals was an inspirational mind-fuck to our generation. We lived by our code, and understood it perfectly. Without faltering, I ushered forward every step of the way, certain that we were heading for rough waters but it was alright, because I had the best crew any captain could ever desire.
All apathy aside, my group now faces the outmost crossroads. They must either wither and come to accept this, or stand and become the final resistance. There’s no more simple way out. It won’t be easy, or enjoyable. Will we be able to cross the uncertain waters of ruin? Will our name become an echo in the museum of leaders?
Great peril awaits us, beyond the black river;
sounded by the beating of drums.
Our number is few
Our errand is dire.
We do what must be done.