Surely, one must realize that our world - that is to say "human existence" - is a life dedicated to the preservation and evolution of convenience; a means by which this happens of course is through the very means by which one may read this essay, though quite antiquated by the rapidly approaching end of human contact. One can not go about the day without gawking at the expediency and clarity of applicable technology at everyone's senses - most of it not for the sake of betterment mankind, but of entertainments, personalized and bejeweled in apathetic discourse and avarice.
Formerly, part of the human fold was the respected aged-fellow, who spoke truths and tales to the young and naïve in the hopes of carrying them on to the next generations. He reminded them of the cycle of life, and warned them of the coming apathy - to steer away from the many faces. He spoke these in a soft deliberation and calmness – each word chosen wisely, a picture, animated and colorful to remember the darkness, which to some was the light. He taught the significance of the bonded tribe, of battles won and lost, of love and hate, of learning and ignorance, but as time progressed, the latter of each became more significant and more revered, and the aged-fellow, dribbling and weathered felt their cold embrace of indifference.
Sadly, the means by which it was shared - in a patriarch's voice or in gnarly-scribed text - with one's hands and experiences became far too difficult in both understanding and construct. And the darkness was vilified and made human, as though defeat were possible.
So they were built. Altars, made by the hands built by the hands of man to make light of the darkness; they were raised in parasite-filled palaces encrusted with millions of shining, tiny, glass trinkets and cheaply bred sycophants, designed to bleed the aged-fellow, who in turn was ushered away, placed in the wilds that no one ever visited, and left to rot. The altars of the many faces were traded for souls. They were given life through malleable roots, dressed in authority and jewels to breed more sycophants. They were sent to the comfortable asylums of the young and naïve, and were placed in little palaces constructed of regurgitated wood-pulp, abdicating the place where once sat the aged-fellow.
The tribes became smaller as the tales of old were altered and tailored for each. The tribes gathered daily. They knelt in front of the altars of the many faces, basking in the cool neon glow. They knelt on the soft tissues of animals they could not catch, and ate food they did not make. In provocative imagery, the altars of the many faces reminded the tribes of how insignificant and foolish the aged-fellow was. It instructed them to not miss a moment of discipleship; and so it came to pass that the altars of the many faces, reproduced and reproduced again. They were placed throughout various chambers of the asylums where the aged-fellow once visited.
“The fool.”
The altars of the many faces advised each tribe, now separated into small and separate selves, which were found in even smaller sterile chambers, to find and place worthless baubles as sacrifices around the chambers and themselves. The selves ostracized and separated from each tribe. They were ushered away. And the young and naïve selves were given authority in so much as they sacrificed their souls to each altar of the many faces.
The aged-fellow wept.
And so 'twas the altars of the many faces became brighter and more beguiling; the more the faces spoke, the more the young and naïve selves desired. Their commands grew more boisterous as demand called them to be. And with the same souls of the young and naïve selves, who were of certain no different, more were bargained for as the desires of each altar, for greater attention, became louder. Were one to move, the altars jealously noted, the less time could be devoted to them; this displeased the envious altars of the many faces. And they grew smaller, becoming prized idols, and they were lovingly embraced and worn as clothing by the young and naïve selves, who divided from each other - senses numbed by the neon glow.
And the aged-fellow watched.
All around the young and naïve selves, life – once spoken of in truths and tales by the aged-fellow - teemed wildly, but they could no longer see it nor did they desire to. Life now appeared to them as in a dream, where the realities, displayed by the altars, showed it untamed and dangerous; a place where the darkness lurked. It was most assuredly only seen from a safe and uncaring distance.
The aged-fellow, alone in the reality teeming with life, nestled in the wood, his face and hands, made by experience, furrowed, and his hair, the splendor of his struggle, a peppery-white. His eyes now dull; he built an outlawed fire for warmth, with a light, acrid smoke and flitting orange fire-flies that cracked from the fire billowing boldly into the sky.
“The fool.”
The darkness – far older and far wiser than the aged-fellow – witnessed this and came to pass over the reality; and never having enough to consume, the darkness took the outlawed fire, the wood, the teeming life, and the aged-fellow.
The altars of the many faces showed the passing darkness. It fascinated the young and naïve selves, who were assured by the altars that the darkness was yet another dream no different from the others they had seen.
But the darkness – far older and far wiser than the altars – witnessed this foolishness and came to pass over the young and naïve selves; and never having enough to consume, the darkness took the division, the neon-glow and the altars of the many faces.
Now in the wild reality, the young and naïve selves sat chilled by the northern cold. They discarded the altars, whose many faces were no longer. Finding warmth the closer they got to one another, they mourned and longed once more for the aged-fellow. The ashes of his outlawed fire fell coldly between their soft fingers.
And the darkness – aged and wise, and never having enough to consume took the young and naïve one by one.
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