by Liam Scheff
You are free! To fall in love and then bind yourself to a mortgage locked into a suburban half-floor for the rest of your life and never experience that surge of feelings again that made you fall in love before you had a chance to ask yourself if the feeling of falling in love was something that was worth building a business partnership or child-raising business upon or it was just a passing whim meant to light your soul into flame to create a higher dance of passion which drives you to new creative discoveries – but no matter because now it’s doused and locked into a suffocating glass cabinet where you can see the flickering ember slowly die which makes you resent your partner and hate yourself because all you really want sometimes is to be a little freer and to go out on the town again and dance and sing like you used to but grown-ups don’t do that because God said so or Jesus or Vishnu or Shiva or someone or the Government and we all have to follow the rules or what would happen?
You are free! To be equals in a relationship, both getting into cars which you have to pay for over a 10 year period until they fail and you have to do it again, so that you can fill them with oil by-products paid for by Middle Eastern dalliances with imperial occupation stacking the bodies higher and higher – but we need the gas so what are you gonna do – and drive to the cubicle where you stare into an eye-numbing series of figures that have to do with somebody selling somebody else something that you claim to care about and represent and everyday you pray the boss is sick and the building burns down and you can just go to an island and smoke ganja and make music with your many friends and sometimes husbands and or wives – but it doesn’t happen so you drive home and you sit in traffic breathing carbon monoxide and listening to Terri Gross lie to you about something that isn’t really happening in the world that you know you’re supposed to care about and you might have to pretend to care about at the next dinner party when you get together with all the other prisoners of the half-floor apartments that eat half of your budget while food that you can’t taste that’s filled with plastic and pest control products eats the other half – and you cram it into your mouth and go to bed and don’t have sex and don’t even touch for the memories it jostles in you of when touch lit you aflame.
You are free! To go to the doctor who will peer over his fat face through the all-knowing eyes of whatever medical journal article is getting funded this week and tell you that if you’d just take the injection you’ll be safe against the galloping snail trots that are sure to be going around soon because Terri Gross said it on NPR, but you’re depressed about something God knows what it is so why don’t you try this new pill? It’s a fantastic new pill it has very few side effects and you can moderate those with this fantastic even newer pill so why not try both? It’s all covered by ObamaCare which you pay the third half of your paycheck to.
Because you are free.