The day is more a treasure hunt than a merry-go-round ride, Marcus. Clues to gather, theorems to decipher, then the grey web of words and commas and breathlessness. So we can locate the inflection points and steer clear of them. After all, why ride the icy slopes of reality when there are the hazy meadows of denial that produce fluorescent dahlias and perfumed butterflies at will.
Survival, he says, it’s how we’re programmed to be. The deer is not coded to appear in front of the tiger with its head on its palm.
That’s the problem with rationalization. It is tethered to a premise that somehow existence has a pre-configured larger purpose and the forced buoyancy is lending itself to its fulfillment. The minute life is equated to a meaningless continuation of species experiment, survival for reasons other than natural procreation must become a mirthful pastime, an elitist preoccupation, much like hunting- tiger or deer.
You’d rather let go and succumb than prove your worth?
Do they think I’m worthy?
The measure of a person is how he plays the game of life, how he navigates the board by the rules, how he wins over his adversary -not how he gets up and walks away.
I don’t know Marcus, see for the tiger, the deer is not competition, nor is killing it sport.
the gaze of the hunter
snagged on the arrow head