Captives of the Sun

In the City, rubes, intellectuals, and other dimensionally impaired people will jump into the jaws of the obvious, and leap into the arms of the apparent.  (And just look at the money they save on playground equipment.)

Amidst all the talk about Man’s “multiple selves,” within the morass of descriptions regarding all of those inner alternatives, his conscious-self, his unconscious-self, his subjective-self, his objective self, his mind, his body, and so on, while up to your neck in such talk just remember this – you’re in there somewhere.

Heard a guy, last Friday, I believe it were this time, cry out in a loud, although piercing voice, “humility sucks!”  And I decided to correct him, but just as I started to do so, he was struck and killed by a low flying lottery number.

A certain “let’s-have-it,” would-be philosopher in the City, proclaimed that his charge was to “find the key to tomorrow.”  And a nearby Revolutionist seemed obligated to think, “To what purpose, when all your doors are made of yester-wood and fitted with hesitation locks.”

And here the certain Few be: neither total captives of the City, yet neither babes-of-the-Bush. Here, yet neither here-nor-there, and dealing only in things that for some reason, must be said.

No matter how cocky and independent they may sound, all shadows remain captives of the sun.

J.