Tuesday, August 8, 2006

confused rhetorical tropes

To want to speak and be muted in your tracks – to want to scream and be silenced by your cries of despair. To want to lie with words of truth that hide behind dark curtains of deceit. To walk the path of the righteous in reverse – backtracking your steps to cover your footmarks in the cold snow of honesty.
It’s a labyrinth with only one way out – the same one that put you in. What will it be? Facing the minotaur in a battle for your heart or a futile attempt to fly away into the sun only to end up having your brittle wings melt and drown in the endless sea of tears?
The impossible reality that you dream of is nothing more than a hazy mirage invoked by a series of mirrors and shadows intertwined together to form your vision of life.

And sometimes I don’t know if agreeing with me is more infuriating than complete apathy. Things like “you’re right” or “you’re entitled to your opinion” are the worst of insults and there is a little razor blade cutting a little wrist in my brain each time you chose to use this tactic. I want some real, vibrant, blinding pain for a change. I want to feel the burn of the flame on my fingers or the dagger in my heart telling me that I’m not dreaming this badly scripted movie which you insist on making me live through.

What’s more hilarious in its own melancholically tragic kind of way, is your inability to comprehend my contorted way of backwards communication or respond to it in kind. The level at which I can barely bring myself to utter half a sentence containing anything at all at best marginally resembling direct communication is one that is so buried underneath so much innuendo and other equally colourful (yet most probably inept and misused) rhetorical tropes that I, myself, lose track of what little information I was trying to convey in the first place.

But alas, I am preaching to deaf ears. My disciples have all left me when there was no more water to turn into wine. In Vino Veritas and we’re all just a bunch of drunken liars. Where are all those hours and minutes and days and months and years that we pretended to be happy? Like auburn autumn leaves carried off by the winds of change, I suppose…

Happy travelling, wherever those winds may take you my dear reader. I will drink a glass for your health and light a candle in your memory. May your spirit burn strong and bright and may it light your path towards whatever it is you seek.

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