it’s
provocative to open wounds. disrepute is something we loathe. and speaking
plurality, no matter postmodernist grays, irks, unsettles, sparks aggression.
many are shy on being human. we’d prefer perfection. those that are human, are
quite popular.
I
sit feeling my heart. I love communion. I love the many in participation.
I
haven’t clues to each person; I chance a few names; this might be misnomer. I thought
osmosis universal. at times, I’m frenzied. she looks. I ask. she’s feeling
nothing.
as
a class, we commune. we are quite serious. our hats are on.
but
… I adore one, it can’t be; I love another, we practice plurality; I like one, I’m
not prepared. a large luggage bag; a dirty little clothesline; some people know
how to love.
against
subjugation, while we might need enthrallment, if to subsist in harmony;
desiring to feel tugged, acting against ourselves, for it feels radical. a
penchant for one, a negative attraction for another, a militant stance with my
cravings.
trust
is an issue, (speaking to self), where some have gone beyond normal. it becomes
pathological, to look at self, to place a disclaimer. it seems hard to be a
fundamentalist, practicing plurality, in a postmodernist world. pretty large
words, pretty vast meaning, essentially, the two are fighting against absolute
laws, morality laws, and absolute Truth. it becomes anti-hegemony, full
autonomy of self, self-government relying on individualism, insomuch as, ethics
are not universal. this might pose a threat to some, it might be liberating for
others, it might compound a fragile situation. (I’ve been in deliberation for years.)
