signaling at noise

Hold me, he thinks, because no one else (we) will, all else (we) busy raising fists and shouting–and he’s done. He’s tired, given up knowing, given up, knowing that each rush of anger, each wave of hate takes away. Takes away the wonder and the dreaming and the giving and most of all, the love. What reason for redemption, he mutters to himself, watching the burning inside them (us), their (our) shouts a din against his deafened ears. What reason to seek redemption when all they (we) want is to be right, to be considered right when in the end no one (not even we) wins. He’s held his life to that flame before, smelled the sweet char of his humanity’s sacrifice for cause after cause after cause, felt the fiery embrace of a union against a union against a union and so on because that’s all it ever was. Sides, and he recognizes that the earth is round, that sides taken and lines drawn are nothing more than words (tools, symbols, else) for the occupation of conflict, for an easy route out of the world they (we) had grown to fear. Blame placed, fear adopted, not their (our) problem when it’s so clearly due to someone else’s way of living, another’s untenability. They (we) all defending against straw monsters, toting their (our) effigies in indignant parades.

Hold me, says the signal off the mountain yet to be ascended. Hold me says the signal, undecoded.


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