Life In The Ditch

‘The Filth of the Mass Mind spills out from all directions,’ I declared forcefully, beginning my latest diatribe against society in what might be called my customary fashion. It occurred to me however that I was going over old ground here and I faltered mid stride. I faltered in my invective and having faltered, I fell. I lost my footing and fell off my high horse, landing ignominiously in the ditch. ‘Ah the life of the ditch,’ I began, but sensed immediately that I was not going to get anywhere with this. I sensed immediately that I was not going to get anywhere with this. Was that déjà vu, I wondered, or am I only repeating myself, as I often do when I am playing for time and don’t know what else to do. I decided it was the latter – not only had I fallen into the ditch I realized but I had also fallen into the error of redundancy. ‘Is there any fate worse than the fate of falling into the error of redundancy,’ I began, before thinking the better of it. I had been here before. I had been here many times, in fact – it was well-worn territory. There had been many times in my life when I had found myself wondering if perhaps I hadn’t actually always been here and had only fooled myself into thinking otherwise. Always here in this same spot. Like a kind of smelly armchair that I sit in. At this point I must admit that I stopped caring about the Filth of the Mass Mind, Infinitely Repugnant though it was. I had my own problems and didn’t have time to be thinking about the MM and its perennial tactics of flooding us all with its garbage-streams. I’m here in the ditch and I can’t get out. I keep on making little forays but they’re forays only in my own imagination. I’m in the ditch imagining what it’s like to be not in the ditch only I don’t know that I’m only imagining it I think it’s real. I think that I’m actually saying something meaningful! Instead of merely spewing redundancy. I run as hard and as fast as I can but when I get to the end of the corridor I’m always there waiting for me, a sad expression on my face. The saddest of expressions. I’m defeated before I even start. “Hey you,” someone shouts, standing over me, “Why don’t you get out of that old ditch?” But when I hear him I’m frightened and I cower even lower in my ditch, hoping that it will swallow me up. I duck down and hide in my ditch for all I’m worth. I’m afraid to climb out of it because when I do I know I won’t be there…

 

 

Art: Rolando Cyril

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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