Reflections

Elasticity

Thembakazi Matroshe, South Africa:

Do you like this new age? This fast paced life nobody can keep up with or do you prefer 'old school' South Africa because if you do we could play some of my mom's old vinyl records. But you see the thing with these damn old records is that they tend to get stuck, repeating the chorus or vamp tirelessly. Isn't this the same case with you and me sometimes? We grow older and then we reach a point in life where we just stop and make the same mistakes over and over again.

The thing is with mistakes is that they can never be eradicated nor can their consequences thereof. Immense amounts of physical pain are one of the manifestations of mistakes that could be possibly numbed with a high intake of morphine; to take away the pain of your internal wounds with the hope of getting euphoric elation. Euphoric elation apparently alleviates a heavy heart but the question is, to what extent? So, perhaps you are distraught yet you are simultaneously “ecstatic” and growing tired of the futile misuse of pills, inhaling powders and drinking silly concoctions. A paradox such as this would probably lead one to seek a greater 'fix' to subdue the insuppressible.

Hatred finding its imprint patterned onto your neck while your arms are stamped with resentment. Your wrists baring slashes of animosity and your palms having scars of spite. You spread them out in admiration. Beautiful henna don't you think?

I am in awe! Threadbare as you are, where do u gain such elasticity? Where do you find it within yourself to become her, him and then you again? When do you become yourself?  Or have you evolved into a chameleon, with immense versatility that is scary but also intriguing?

Perhaps my 'small town' perceptions and ideals do not coincide with this 'new school' of thought and life. A world which appreciates a frazzled and worn out 'you' – who keeps on applying facades of coats that conceal you. If one were to stop and look at your reflection, one would be astounded or retreat to denial. For if the forces of reality were fully exerted on you, an epiphany would occur.

Your inner being is like Choux pastry fragile. The concrete jungle clutched your soul and created skeletons you are afraid of showing the world. Crushed bones turned to powder and powder turned to blood trickling down your being. Blood stains are a mark of a blood stained era. An era that cannot be eradicated.

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