Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Don't Leave Me

At the dispersal of a party, be it family gathering at holiday, friends for a drink, a dance club's closing, or any occasion there's a sensation of emptying in the revelers. Neural rows of connections between us snap off. Like series of usb ports unplugged.
It's hardwired in us to crave company, to love society. Some are satisfied with the gathering and look forward to the next. A remainder of the last party stays together to continue elsewhere. Singles split off to return to solitude. Some stay at the place of meeting to clean up or 'cause they live there. Maybe to linger and admire the setting. Some work to counter the flow of the mob, convince people to stay, and sometimes have charisma or new events enough to hold onto most of the crowd. On the greatest of scales: this last role in the party is fulfilled by politicians, bankers, and bureaucrats.
In the context of mingling, lawmakers are party-planners. Lawyers referees for our games. Cops and armies bouncers who decide who gets in without sneaking and who stays without wanting. Executors are hosts who won't give dinner to guests who repeatedly refuse to play. Then oppression is the neurosis of someone who fears the band he has assembled hates him and takes every measure to keep as many people as close as possible. Of course "The Man" in his manor is not inviting the rabble into his house but he's touching us through his currency, military, and infrastructure. He doesn't want to let go. The shame is these types seem to eventually become the depraved bully. The madman who hits a woman if she tries to run away and then will say how much he cares while stroking her face. Like that chick from the Stephen King movie who breaks a guy's legs...

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