You know how they say time heals. Some even say time is an illusion. Pain is an illusion. Well…I still remember. And it still hurts. I wish that guy Adam weren’t so gullible, and he never took a bite of that apple. Now all kinds of associations and charitable organizations are trying to collect money and find cure for cancer. Nobody even cares about finding cure for knowledge, for memory, for love. You don’t see mushrooms stressed out and depressed, fungus with a headache, goldfish agonized by scary thoughts. Tanita Tikaram had the right idea. Wipe your brow and you wipe the miles away. Everything you know vanishes. No attachments, no feelings. The world: just a horde of strangers. But instead, you suffer the loss of a person you love and your whole life is scarred. I want to turn up the music in my car and not hear my thoughts. I want to blink and forget.
I still believe in the white swallow. Rows and rows of telephone poles, the wires heavy with swallows, none of which white. And I’ve never seen it. Nobody I know has. But hope is the last to die and I still believe. I choose to have the faith of a child. I don’t need logic or reasons. And I still believe it exists. It helps you, they say. Whatever hardship you have it goes when you see the white swallow. My eyes, still the eyes of that five-year-old girl looking up. Searching for it. Praying to see that bird, an embodiment of my entire hope. What I needed the white swallow for twenty-five years ago is now irretrievably lost. And I’m still searching. It’s a force of habit.
I keep hearing: Don’t be a victim of your own bad decisions…Don’t be a prisoner of your own freedom. Change it. Change yourself. Change your lifestyle. But pollution, traffic jams, abortion, cigarette butts and empty beer bottles, collagen lips and silicone breasts, frozen microwavable food and big busy malls. It’s all part of the industrial revolution and human decadence. Priests who dare put their hands on little children, cults and sects, and churches, divine wars and religious conflicts. The whole whirlwind of low morals and newfound virtues. Ozone friendly deodorants and global thaw, zoos and overpopulated globe. Ridiculous concepts and abstract ideas. There’s no such thing as a winnable war. And I’m scared. I’m scared of everything. I’m scared of not being scared anymore.