blazeofglory
01-12-2008, 09:36 PM
(This in point of fact is an endeavor to write a story, and this is incomplete and of course deplete with what you could expect of a good story. Indeed this is an amateurish effort. I will be highly excited if I get some comments, no matter they are positive or negative. Positive and I will be highly inspired to further the work and negative that will work as a vehicle for getting over weaknesses).
Voices of the aggrieved:
Do I herald a revolution? No my presence is subdued, and my voices hushed up. I am sidelined, for I am not part of the system. I was of course not in sync with the ambiance. And as a matter of fact alienated in a land where they were preoccupied with a culture they reckoned superior to the one I came of. I was a country folk, and as such live a life of gullibility and naiveté wherein I knew little of the protocols those in the city. Rural settings have of course chiseled my life, and now in a new environ in the city I live downbeat with nothing that appeals to me. Indeed there are bigger things that are inherently tantalizing, yet they are out of reach in substance. Big and mammoth mansions, sheened and glossy four-wheelers are unsurprisingly commodities all opt for in a country like ours that in point of fact add to prestige and define a class of distinction. If one is assured bare minimums it is natural to opt for something glossier and grander. Mine is a situation where the basics is an ideal, to put bluntly I was hemmed in a situation of the hand –to- mouth type. This is sparsely definable in a country wherein no air of poverty has swept the people, maybe the type somewhat discernible in the Victorian era wherein the gulf between the haves and the have-nots was cavernously deep.
I was thronged all the time everywhere; the hullabaloo enfolding me is nauseously intimidating. I dream of the pastures and the bucolic love, for it is often said that the subconscious in us forms bigger parts of our babyhoods and youths. Indeed things then were very intense and our minds too were very incisive and trenchant. In point of fact all we do, or the patterns of behaviors we proffer are a projection of what we were in early years. Psychologists are tired of arguing for the impact of all that we did and thought on the kind of acts and counter-acts we have at our disposal in later years.
Now I am of course a city dweller with a family totally urbane. They are urbanites, and their mental setups are more of a world which lives in the here and now and remains glued to all that go in perpetual fluxes, that means they keep on updating themselves with the latest. Everything latest is a thing of appealing, the latest fashion, the latest technology, latest actors, the latest films, and the latest mode of living. I am outworn and of course I fail to accustom myself to their values. That is why there is friction, and I know this is not the exclusive plight of mine, and the great many who abandoned their cities are anchored in the same traumas that hem me in.
Of bourse I am one of the incalculable faces, an unknown citizen fighting for identity, after I lost one upon abandonment but to be at variance with everything in a new milieu. For ideals and values clash here and I get plunged into a situation where the meaning of living and existence is called into question. Hemmed in dire straits I belong nowhere. I am an outlandish refugee, soreness and disharmony incarnate.
I am herein out of no choice, a runaway with recourse. Here I am in for abnegation, gullible indeed to all. You can canvass a portrayal of me to put on exhibition as a pastoral hard nut to crack, a misfit. Or you can versify me; you can beautify me; you can sanctify me; you can vilify me; you can petrify me; you can pacify me. You can impersonate me for a joke or use me to provoke a cause through me, my vulnerabilities I am the one, a drifter neither of here nor of there, in an unrelenting fix. I am of a waning genre in a waxing city and you are at liberty to put me to subtraction or subjection.
A citizen of a city wherein I can be led anywhere, misled, go astray or betrayed. Annoyed and attritted I orbit the counterfeited philosophy of life; stultified and detribalized I am down with life.
Voices of the aggrieved:
Do I herald a revolution? No my presence is subdued, and my voices hushed up. I am sidelined, for I am not part of the system. I was of course not in sync with the ambiance. And as a matter of fact alienated in a land where they were preoccupied with a culture they reckoned superior to the one I came of. I was a country folk, and as such live a life of gullibility and naiveté wherein I knew little of the protocols those in the city. Rural settings have of course chiseled my life, and now in a new environ in the city I live downbeat with nothing that appeals to me. Indeed there are bigger things that are inherently tantalizing, yet they are out of reach in substance. Big and mammoth mansions, sheened and glossy four-wheelers are unsurprisingly commodities all opt for in a country like ours that in point of fact add to prestige and define a class of distinction. If one is assured bare minimums it is natural to opt for something glossier and grander. Mine is a situation where the basics is an ideal, to put bluntly I was hemmed in a situation of the hand –to- mouth type. This is sparsely definable in a country wherein no air of poverty has swept the people, maybe the type somewhat discernible in the Victorian era wherein the gulf between the haves and the have-nots was cavernously deep.
I was thronged all the time everywhere; the hullabaloo enfolding me is nauseously intimidating. I dream of the pastures and the bucolic love, for it is often said that the subconscious in us forms bigger parts of our babyhoods and youths. Indeed things then were very intense and our minds too were very incisive and trenchant. In point of fact all we do, or the patterns of behaviors we proffer are a projection of what we were in early years. Psychologists are tired of arguing for the impact of all that we did and thought on the kind of acts and counter-acts we have at our disposal in later years.
Now I am of course a city dweller with a family totally urbane. They are urbanites, and their mental setups are more of a world which lives in the here and now and remains glued to all that go in perpetual fluxes, that means they keep on updating themselves with the latest. Everything latest is a thing of appealing, the latest fashion, the latest technology, latest actors, the latest films, and the latest mode of living. I am outworn and of course I fail to accustom myself to their values. That is why there is friction, and I know this is not the exclusive plight of mine, and the great many who abandoned their cities are anchored in the same traumas that hem me in.
Of bourse I am one of the incalculable faces, an unknown citizen fighting for identity, after I lost one upon abandonment but to be at variance with everything in a new milieu. For ideals and values clash here and I get plunged into a situation where the meaning of living and existence is called into question. Hemmed in dire straits I belong nowhere. I am an outlandish refugee, soreness and disharmony incarnate.
I am herein out of no choice, a runaway with recourse. Here I am in for abnegation, gullible indeed to all. You can canvass a portrayal of me to put on exhibition as a pastoral hard nut to crack, a misfit. Or you can versify me; you can beautify me; you can sanctify me; you can vilify me; you can petrify me; you can pacify me. You can impersonate me for a joke or use me to provoke a cause through me, my vulnerabilities I am the one, a drifter neither of here nor of there, in an unrelenting fix. I am of a waning genre in a waxing city and you are at liberty to put me to subtraction or subjection.
A citizen of a city wherein I can be led anywhere, misled, go astray or betrayed. Annoyed and attritted I orbit the counterfeited philosophy of life; stultified and detribalized I am down with life.