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Frankly, we looked like friends

Frankly, we looked like friends

 

The shadow self while significant in times of heightened psychic stress is not the main player in a material time of great import. God is in the shout of the street. Irony, while useful to calm one’s anxieties when at their zenith, is no creed to live by, less one is to give in to radical complacency.

 

I am no William Blake, Ben Okri, but at times I touch his light & Yeats says In dreams begin responsibility. & today, if I can’t see humanity in a lotus or eternity in a wine glass, should I be allowed to write of flattened moods? Are such angles useful or should one’s tongue be stilled? Do we need more noise in a world that’s deafening? With no sign of short circuiting. As Okri said, maybe the exhausted should get out of the way, because there are others who should be heard.

 

We all ate today, at a gathering of strangers. This is good. This should be guaranteed. It was just one place in a many placed world, but shit that’s where we were. And it was pleasant to see faces around us convivial, in a reprieve from a plague. & to forget about Right against Left for a minute, to ignore the tv. & perhaps from this margin, a new book was made? Cos frankly, we looked like friends.

 

 

©Malachi Doyle 2021.

 




 

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