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Living between the lines

Short story By: Vapour
Other



I don’t quite know what happens between the waxing and the waning of my life’s lunacy. That said perhaps this place that rests between the disparate heights of the tides and is my daily bread fulfils its destiny as much as any neap or spring, which I seem to try to encourage or oppress.


Submitted:Jan 15, 2008    Reads: 124    Comments: 1    Likes: 1   


I don't quite know what happens between the waxing and the waning of my life's lunacy. That said perhaps this place that rests between the disparate heights of the tides and is my daily bread fulfils its destiny as much as any neap or spring, which I seem to try to encourage or oppress.

As a proficient larker addicted to the adventure that we call life I truly enjoy my fellow man. Not just those that concur with my aspirations or view of similar addictions or edify my past afflictions, but those that rage against my attempt to create at the very least an intriguing semidiurnal state of being. You know, where you strive to have at least 12 hours of a reasonably enjoyable existence per day. It is an ambitious quest, one that my society and mentors have all warned against. Alas I am the moth that believes it can beat the flame, can not only survive but be known as that moth that beat the flame.

But in the bulk that lies between unbearable light and dark vacuum, this is where we spend the purgatives of that which is our modern lives. Some strive for a state of equilibrium a state where the bulk moves to envelope both neap and spring and all thought or understanding of any state of ecstasy or melancholy have long been removed so that the this narcotic assisted mind is conditioned into the sense that this is it, you have arrived, you have got everything, you are safe.

The cost of being safe is high and we demand leaders who will keep us safe. In actual fact so important is our safety that we are unable to take responsibility for it. We contract it out to professionals. And should even they fail, we have sublimely insured that eventuality and corporate bookies pay out insurance for not insuring that you were safe. Yes it's a paradoxical bet where their loss is the death of you.

But the real cost of this striving for safety and aspiration of longevity is that it is killing us and it is killing the spirit of that which has always defined us as beings.

I have visited the so called age old homes and believe me longevity is not the yellow brick road the corporate bookie company tells you it is. There are far worse things than death.

Perhaps it is time that we get back to being a little adventurous, a little unsafe, and a little reckless. Experience the wonderful lunatic that resides in all of us and ensure that our daily bread is not our destiny, that we live as the great spirits we are who create our opportunities to get out there and just wax it. Or at least die trying.





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