Prayer For The Ages

Buford Youthward

Culture is charging us back. The cinematic reason for existence showcased on large surfaces is always prophetic. It buffers pain, preps and conditions for the future.

The medium is our massacre. I sit and type, I write. Our level of commitment, our involvement equals sensual reward. The best things linger, haunt like in jazz -- "junkie beat, junkie beat, everybody on your feet."

Documentation is such frustration; being able to filter experiences can be a blessing and a curse. Navigating through it all is another whole issue. But we come out on the end. Now we are reading this.

The future picks up, lets us down, comes back around. We learn to live with adjusted liberties, conveniences defined by regulation and legislation. We are free to obey, to subscribe to systems; better living through bureaucracy.

Commuters channel-surf the environment, seek stability in transit. The Illiad is no myth, no dream, it's everyday life. Everyday is a safari. Every one of us, demonic / angelic, compete for that magical dosage of oxygen, that speedball for the soul, some signal to send our antennae radiating high on inspiration.

History is criminal and we are guilty, all of us victims. Subjected to reality hellbent on control, conformity, adherence to policy. Hail the personality willing to gut-check individualism.

Sometimes the diligence is dug and audiences happen. And we are forced to swing to the businessman's bounce. The reluctant hero gets caught in the throes of life imitating mythology.

All the time the graffiti is there. Inside us. An unescapable past, a forgotten future, the will of ego and the ego of the will. If it's not mystery it's nothing.

And we are who we choose to be. Hallowed be thy name. Amen.

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