Apartheid is on the sign board above my soul. That’s how deep it goes. Deeper still. I feel the crushing weight of thousands of generations of social misfits. That’s how it feels to be mis fitted. Ill fitted.
I’m attempting to write this is in prose. A stop start motion. Because I keep on thinking of a rhyming word. No one nose. This characterises my life at the moment. Everything in rhythm. And then a long pause.
And in that long pause is much toing and froing. A fair deal of second guessing. And constantly worrying about the rhythm. And then back to equilibrium and she’s off. But perhaps this is simply the pattern of life.
All life. Not “off the beaten track” life. Or “born with a silver spoon in the mouth” life. All life. Human life. Well, it has to be because I haven’t seen the spider above my in-folder, contemplate this deeply.
And it’s petty. Not life. Just the people who perpetuate it. They can’t call that living. That’s perpetuating. Perpetuating hate. Self hate. I’m trying to find the words to describe this base.
I find it shocking, that despite the advances the human race has made over millennia, there is a sizeable proportion of the world population who believe that they are super human.
I am human. Plain run-of-the mill. Emotional issues and turmoil’s. A sizeable chip on the shoulder. But perhaps, the racial dimensions of one’s mortal coil are purely subjective. Maybe it’s not all relative, or perhaps it is.