Painted Black

29 Jun


If I were diabolically scheming to destroy a target, in this case a society, I would strike against its ability to react…to feel…to care. I would remove empathy and compassion from the equation. The rest is cake. The target (society) will then just kill off itself. Apathy leads to self-destruction always. It knows no other road to travel but the wretched path to desolation. I would feed the target poisonous information from so many angles it would not begin to know how to defend against the attack. The target would swing its arms at me wildly for a spell…on occasion it would get a blow in against me just by the law of averages…but over time…it would eventually tire out from fighting against an enemy it can not see or pinpoint…and then apathy would begin to work its wonderous magic. I would paint my target…black. (with all apologies to the Rolling Stones)

I contend this is where we are as a whole society now…painted completely black…out of energy…out of empathy…out of compassion…and out of time. Our enemy…the one we still fail to see or pinpoint…has filled our heads with incredibly toxic doses of this and that…a stewing brew of stench that has rendered us completely stalled out and worthless. Unable to act, unable to feel and for sure unable to care about anything at all…much less our own survival.

The evidence supporting my theory is overwhelming and everywhere. All one has to do is take a brief stroll in whatever the day’s headlines might be, and you’ll see all you need to see to come to the same conclusion…that is if you were still capable of such open-eyed actions at this point. Darkness smothers us like a cape of anti-heroism. The angel of death stalks around our lives like a hungry buzzard impatiently waiting for the carcass to finally die so it can get on with business. The scheme, so brilliant in design, not only leaves us in this state, it actually has us standing up and screaming to hurry up and consume us. Can you imagine? Not only do we refuse to fight back, but we actually beg and demand that it get worse! Now I’m sorry…but that’s pure genius on the behalf of our destructor. Job well done whatever you are.

HOWEVER…the one problem with this plan…the one little bee in the bonnet…is that it MIGHT not last long enough to finish the job. Like all psychological games…witches spells…magic elixir…there is a time limit to when the target finally comes to and wakes up. Some learn slower than others, but even rats in a lab eventually learn to run like hell when they see the men in the white coats coming in the door. Soooooo…it is ALSO my contention that an awakening is starting to take place. There certainly is hope here. Buffy and Susie are starting to look around their little perfect creation they thought was reality and realize that facades can be awful convincing. Like on a Hollywood set, people are starting to peek behind the seemingly perfect exterior and not liking what they see back there. Rotted wood. Debris. Overflowing trash. Buckets of black paint.

Buffy waking up is a nightmare for the destructor, and SUSIE waking up is a death knell. Afterall, Hell hath no fury like the scorn of a woman, and if they ever wake up in mass to just how much Mr. Man has played them…game over. Kaboom to the entire scheme. Such is the life of a diabolical destructor…one moment on top…the next moment…somebody pulls your screen away and finds out who you are. It’s tricky business. Not for the faint of heart.

Using condescending tags like Buffy and Susie to describe a giant portion of American society might be a little harsh, but necessary in this piece. Yuppiness is where it all started. Upwardly mobile and leaving everything and everyone in your dust. Drinking up the elixir as fast as it could be poured. Believing everything you were being told and living by the motto of “whatever is best for me.” That game worked so well, those that would desire such, decided to spread that philosophy to every corner of society. “Get yours!” “If you don’t take it, you’re just a chump, and somebody else will!” So now what do we have? Are we proud of ourselves? Do we feel justified in our actions? “Yes we can?”

No…no we can’t…no we can’t live like this anymore. Time to open up those little peepers. Pry them open…wipe away the deep layer of crusties…start hydrating up to squelch the hangover of the poison…get out of your lazy, selfish bed you made for yourself, and head to the nearest hardware store for a bucket of white paint. Buy a lot. You’re gonna need it. Throw that white paint over everything and anything you can find in your life. Say you’re sorry…to yourself. Look up. Say you’re sorry to your creator. Tell him you don’t want to be destroyed…that you want to live. Paint it white. Live eternally.

Gary Wayne Abernathy


One Response to “Painted Black”

  1. iraida June 30, 2011 at 8:59 am #

    this post was over my head, my intelligency level was low for this,though i can say it is a very deeep

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