Reflections of Phaedrus…

It is a rare human characteristic that we so blindly commit ourselves to impermanent things in this world. And when those things which so dramatically capture our attention in rapturous delight, eventually confront us by their fickle and predictable impermanence of choice and very existence, we are overwhelmed by disappointment, knowing all the while it would happen. Despite foreknowledge of the end, we still cling to that poetic disease of the sublime… Hope. It is the utter denial of what we know to be true. That everything is temporary and nothing, not ourselves, not even the things we love are static and unchanging. In the end, some of us jaded few who believe tragically in the liberal ideals of individual rights, will ultimately be corrupted by what we can only view as a treasonous world, and we will dismally live by one law:


"I would rather betray the world, than let the world betray me."


How unfortunate we can't live in peace, you say… If we could only be so selfless as to enjoy what we have without craving so desperately for it to last into the future; something we have no guarantee of seeing. It is the present that always confines us to the prison that so many Americans can't seem to enjoy with any satisfaction. We want permanence of fame and happiness. We want to live forever with the things that make us happy. We are hoarders of pleasure, disdainful of any circumstance which dampens it. We wish to be gods upon Olympus, free of any serious consequence that s never-ending life can guarantee a chance to always reconcile among the fantastic odds infinite time places in our favor.


How do we fix this? Fuck if I know. I'm human too! I guess all you can do is write a poem or romance novel that eloquently demonstrates your strife in the world. ;)

 
-Phaedrus out!