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It is of the utmost importance to not be important. On my daily commute to work I see hundreds of faces on the trolley, all without a smile, hiding behind a persona these anonymous beings created over many years of over-exposure to Culture… or lack thereof. Appearance is now the reality in contrast to empathy. My aim these days is to enter the homogeny of egos surrounding me in the new Drone Economy.
Ah, the perverse joy I feel when my visual experiences are distilled as I carbon-date other people’s outfits! You can tell when someone was at their happiest in the ’80s by nullifying the pride with which they wear shameless copies of apparel staples in the magazines and on the telly during that decade. Such is my banale sport of late. Perhaps I’ve become just as boring and care no more.
My eyes are not hazel by coincidence because there is something behind them other than you, my former lover. I feel something more than a golden and rotten envy as I look out the window from my minuscule office at stunning bodies across the street from where we used to gape at the homeless.
Other people's stable lives are no longer Bourgeois to me. I’m an activist against homelessness who has lost brio and regained a tranquil lust for the uncomplicated sexual acts of the young adult animal. What makes me who I am? Desire.
No one can explain why it’s hard to write when happiness is all around me and no one has a bottle of booze at hand. I’ve tried to write my observations and epiphanies in the diary whilst very happy and found myself powerless, pitifully emasculated and certainly not in the mood to write dark prose. Shock and chaos usually pull me out of a depressive cycle and into anger, but what is left after the fury overwhelms my body and mind like a warrior’s thirst after a nasty battle. No writing for me this evening.
Well, what do I seek in earnest? Rebirth. For this to work out I need to meet a gently-used soul. I am in desperate need of falling in love with someone who is experienced in Life as I am but still optimistic. I’d like to fall in love one last time. I wish for this last love to also be my last story because nothing I live in those moments will be shared with anyone. Save me from the collapse of my faith.
© Text: Orlando Barahona
© Image: Vik/Flickr
This work by Orlando Barahona is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. 
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