when josh looks out the window, he doesn't see the world as a clear image with distinguishable qualities, he used to though. he could pick out the individual leaves on a tree and compare the greenness of each to one another, a simple leaf would appeared as a complex structure of not only colour and texture but of a efficient working machine. he could see the leaves shiver as a cool breeze rippled though the bushels, still swaying once the wind had left them rest. the ants climbing up the tree, their two way trails twisting along the branches to the smaller branches to the twigs and finally the flowers from which they returned to their home deep in the earth only to climb the monstrous tree again. josh used to wonder about what the concept of family was to these ants, whether they even needed a concept or if family didn't exist because they were all one in the same. except when it came to other colonies, the "us" and "them" instinct hard wired into their millimetre thick brains. he would laugh at the comparisons to humans and how often they were used, as if by making a joke about it would make it any less true. skeptical his outlook may have been, he could always see the distinction and much more, but after years of mockery and observation his eyes have grown tired of the repetitious input and have shut it out completely. thus leaving josh with nothing to look at outside the window, only the real people inside who were more daunting than ants and more diverse than the colours of the leaves. it would have been nice to say that he tried, but everytime he spoke it rung of hostility and arrogance, pushing himself further from the already distant world. unable to function in such a social environment he is reduced to introspection, the past tense mocking his inability to do anything outside himself, a depressing endless cycle of "i could have", "i should have" and "i would have". reoccuring thoughts spinning around inside his motionless head, back and forth, back and forth, much like the path of ants as they climb and descend on a rewardless mission, just doing what they can to stay alive.
Monday, May 12
"The products of imagination are most often seen as deformations or distortions of the real - distortions conceived in the service of wish, and created through the sleights of mind as condensation, substitution, negation." Mary Watkins (Invisible Guests, The Development of Imaginal Dialogue, 1986)
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1 Comments:
nicely written. i m looking forward for a finish.
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