The Electric Journal Entries of a Wandering Subway Wizard part 1a

Down casted despondencies, depressed and rendered crest-less without a sense of spirit left to fight for what we know to be right. Instead, now we wallow in the shadows at the gallows where one lesser evil is pardoned and the other is hung. Idle-handedly watching the time of our lives get referred to as a game while we remain played by the invisible strings of something we did not subscribe to.

Our reputation has never meant anything more than how many unfortunate events we were away from being thrown out onto the streets, and whether or not we would have a bucket to defecate in. Though at some point we might realize a true character of substance wouldn't care much for the bucket, nor would they mind the matters of misfortune. The one singular truth living in this demonstration of substance exists besides the honing of our skills and our dedication to the craft.

The freedom of becoming something beyond any and all previously assumed world views escapes us as we chase it; down the sidewalks, across the streets, through the double swinging doors, down the halls, and into the very wall we were just running from. Behind it sits these high-seated religious figures and politicians who share a table with carefully selected corporate sponsors, each and every one of them compete for the attention of our masses, one more successfully than the other. If we press our ears up against the wall and listen, as opposed to banging our heads on it over and over again, we can still hear them deliberating.

They talk of many things, like how to sell us wax appendages made to resemble wings with limits set by strings tied to the tops of these societal ceilings made of double-pane stained glass allowing us to see just far enough for us to be complacent about the unmet needs of our social demographics as we proceed to work on the more important stuff. Some of which may sound like space stations and more efficient power sources, but none of which has anything to do with our failing infrastructure or our impending potable water crisis. At one point they had a comedy hour where they joked about how population control would be more affordable than providing the necessary updates to transportation systems let alone restoring the naturally abundant resources suffering at the hands of a more marketable convenience factor in the supply and demand model fixed around our livelihood.

The tragedy of it all should make most of us angry, but alternatively, we've been taught to be more mature than that, so we just settle for this pseudo-sadness in a mid-life depression flavored by sprinklings of anxiety which pairs suprisingly well with a few unexpected panic attacks.

Eventually, after carefully listening to our leaders and closely reading these agreements or contracts that we've signed off on, we will begin to courageously question the conditional limitations we have been stuck in.

By the means of a greater than grand demonstration, we will be expected to command a momentous sense of independence as we liberate one another from the various limits set in place by those who assume relaxed positions on the outside looking in. We may even begin to wonder why we comply to those who do not know what it's like to be where we have been. Many generations have passed over this chance to make a difference, and we must have realized by now that if we don't care a whole awful lot about making things any better then it's easy enough for us to say, as far better things may get, we may not. However, saying something like: yes... all together at once... could ripple out in great waves of change that carry on all throughout history forever.

I'm still wearing that concert shirt covered in the same stains, marked by the same smell of left-center stage dirt. It's reminding me of how close we all were, how we defied the laws of tradition and petitioned the world with our grievances each and every morning only to celebrate our appreciations each and every night.

I've started to gather freshly cleaned socks from the public laundromat, once I find a good marker I will label them all with the word "left". Pretty soon I will have enough to start scattering the "left" labeled socks around all the urban industrial areas I know of. Perhaps I will come across some clothespins so I can pin them to entranceways of work sites, apartment buildings, and mailboxes. I already accept the very real possibility that no one will completely get the message, although soon enough we will all come to accept that the things we have been missing have been left right in front of us this whole time.

The strength of heart, the speed of mind, and the confidence of spirit are all waiting for something to shake them awake and break us free from our walking slumber, bringing us back to where we once belonged. The front lines, the shanty towns, the picketing rallies, the boycott meetings, the solidarity groups, the food redistribution centers, the communal gardening efforts, and the family gatherings. These were the things we were missing and these were the places we were meant to be.

Now things are a little more difficult and far more complicated than ever before. The clutter of our comforts have become a new form of decoration where the mess of our lives is hidden from the eyes of outsiders in neat piles just beneath the windows of our souls. Every once in a while we make visual contact with each other and wonder about how we are doing, or what we have been up to, but for the most part, we just pass each other by assuming no news must mean good news. But this was not apart of our original intention, to just touch antennas and carry on as though we were obstacles in one another's lives.

We came here to grow and be open, to explore the everlasting serenity of being completely empty so as to allow new experiences to take place. The visions of wisdom that we have been given were not for nothing, our perception is a living breathing thing, and so we must accept each and every connection for exactly what it is, a chance to forgive and re-live the moment we had found ourselves in as if we were just that, a moment in which we have found ourselves.

At which point we exclaim in affirmations, Yes! Finally, we made it! emerging from the subway tunnels after a nice long movement-induced nap. Refreshed, and renewed from one end of the line to the other. Though what I've always liked best was, getting on at a deserted station with no one else around, sprawling out in the middle sections riding-bench, and then returning to my conscious form with all these different versions of us sitting, and standing around me, staring, and wondering: what kind of help we might all need next.