Golden Age (CCXCIX)

by dschapman

Welcome to a Golden Era! Enjoy it while it lasts, for it will not last forever (and you will miss it when it’s gone). Enjoy the eternal early night of starlight, the racing arcs of sound and color, an atmosphere of cool and splendor, the silent farewell, the wonderful fair on the island of Festival under the fireworks. The table is set with a bountiful feast, and thankfully we have empty stomachs. Enjoy the rides, and the games, and the chance to feel good feelings, in your chest where still beats the softly silent heart! Twice-over; twenty-one grams lighter… I have heard it isn’t true, that twenty-one grams means nothing. But I believe it nonetheless… Imagine, the way you were dancing, the time that you danced til your shoes were worn through and your hair fell loose from its holds; sleeping alone in an eloquent loft, blue lights passing over your ceiling, fog crawling slow through the streets; imagine the slow-moving moment of realization, of passion, of self-actuality, the moment of honest collusion of truth, fearless, absconded with the soul into all of eternity, and even at peace. I liken it to a beautiful snowstorm, because snowstorms are all that I know, they are what I remember as beautiful most. Although – not beautiful – not snow, not exactly… but something tremendous! Isolated instances of an all-knowing wilderness, a cosmos outside of, within us, of very cold floorboards under very pale feet… We have the right to call ourselves lost, because we have earned it, and so we are free to be wandering lost as the best of them, the generations lost before us… Did you leave the world behind, or did the world leave you? This is a strange and terrific place, still the same as it’s always been, and filled with so much moving light… We are able to dance, if we wanted to dance. No one dances any more! We are able to look down on dancing, on the animal lows of a misguided cause, of animal magnetism and painted steel air balloons that bob up and down through the air as they are spun into circles by big piston arms… Golden Ages, all before us! We have made it this far. We almost didn’t make it… But here we are. Capitalism has won, it has defeated labor. The deepest reaches of man’s own internet is the new human frontier. Humans have come true, have been absorbed into the wholeness of a mystic totality, have become a race of benevolent, self-serving bands of wavering light, enshrouded in light, are masters of a magical, colorless abstraction… We, who so loved abstractions… Whole universes, dreamt up in a moment, and forgotten in the next; whole entities, swum up from the depths of conception, dredged up from the depths in a bountiful harvest…

Take a drive further South, over unwavering narrows of tar-black, crackled asphalt, under the motherly clouds of a sky nestled safe many miles up high, life burning quietly under the tempting purple glow of a further horizon, even further still, a city spread thin like a mist over half of the distance… As far as the eye can see, intense and fading skylines, angels descending, ascending… Across the water, going so fast, water flowing slowly beneath you, you who can finally see things, bright and clear, who is not afraid to love and to be loved by others, who loves and admires many different things, things being sweeter than anyone knew, more comforting than anyone realized. Later, in the streets, you see a familiar face – when did you get here? Where have you been? The water under the bridge… the pigeons under the terraces… And people, under the towers – what we were doing, there, under the towers? High upon towers – rooftops full of starstruck people, sleeping beside telescopes, two people and a single blanket… I beg in the streets for a dollar, to go to a show, and I run into a good, close friend. My friend says, let’s go get some women. I don’t know what he means, but he is my friend… Purple lights, untorn clothing, searching beams of ambient light, lights that blind and pierce the sky; towers of lightness and darkness, colors of change all around us… and into the basement we go! I am seen alone on a bench under a candle lamp drinking. My heart is beating fast in my chest and I don’t know what to do about it. Someone across the street is looking my way and I’m scared of them. Someone else is selling magazines. I am stopping in from the rain; the rain has stopped, and the streets are glistening black, like a Hollywood movie. I feel like being myself for once! It is a shame I cannot be myself. I am cloaked in shades of purple light. I wonder how many years I lost… tortured, by the six-fingered man… yet I never stopped to wonder. They served me something strange on a plate… it was not cake, like I’d asked for, but something black, something erotic, something trembling… It is enough to get over the rest of the world, but to get over the rest of the self? My tulpa got away from me, and God disemboweled himself with a straight razor. What is the year? Has the twentieth century already past? Faster than the rest of them… and they are only passing faster. Time passes faster, year after year, through the life of a man, as years become lesser and less. Does time pass faster, century by century, through the movements of world history? Are we running out of time, or are we empowered by unprecedented momentum? What century is this – does it matter? Look at the world around you! Time is passing by. And then you turn on the light again… and infinite worlds are revealed to you. We are truly entering a crisis of meaningless symbolism… Linguistics is a frail creation! All will be amended, in time.