Revelations
There's a certain satisfaction with the known, a certain confidence that arises at knowing the parabolic path of the cannonball. A tinge of pleasure inebriates our brains with subtle shooters of dopamine as simple similes replace understanding and predictability is taken for granted. In the drunken haze fantasy and reality are mixed, shaken and strained, until our pleasure is poured into a pristine tumbler, and our pleasure is served up neat. The 'tender smiles, and we're happy to partake, pondering an adequate tip. But the metaphor is wrong. The jazz dies away and the images melt, because a new piece of this puzzle has been found, and the fantasy no longer fits. Beyond black and white, beyond good and evil, there is much more detail that breaks the story down. The discovered piece reveals the existence of the infinitely possible unknown, with all its potentials and disappointments. So the fantasy is gone, in the most unsatisfactory of ways, and we find complacence was time wasted as we were only just beginning.
No comments:
Post a Comment