Spider Dreams: Chapter 16 "Family"

ghostfish (60)in #story • 6 years ago (edited)

“In numbers anything can succeed. A lot of trained individuals are frightened to die. Unless for a cause worthy and plentiful. The world comes in servings butter coated for people to buy to be later disappointed. Have a thousand choices, different colors, toys, soda in all flavors, endless TV channels, to be indecisive over the illusion of freedom. Every truly great accomplishment appears impossible at first. Look around. How the hell did all this become?”

“Kill the opposition my friend. If you don’t like someone’s opinion, do what has been scattered throughout history, bomb the hell out of them, erase them from existence and forget about putting them in the history books. Conquer and spread the seed of the supreme. Through violence authority is feared.”

“Fuck it man! Intellects are poets, conceited and always appreciating themselves.”

“Yeah, while the rest of this godforsaken world competes to eat, it’s the burden in being alive and then we are forced into choosing one direction over all others in order to try and solve this over-exalted problem: happiness, survival, security.”

“But, if there weren’t obligations would one truly be living or rather riding a preconceived program, blank?”

“What makes you think we aren’t already? What else would you fill your time with? I mean, if you were to be left alone for many years, in a desert, or cave, complete solitude, who would you be, and what would you be doing? Boredom is a grave we thrust ourselves easily into. Business is a fleeting attempt to escape the submissive nature of letting time pass. To be preoccupied implies being alive. What if the daily activities that fill the time and accumulate over the days were certain, predetermined?”

“Well, nothing would be exciting. I’d sleep forever.”

Our waitress finally arrived at our table. Over done red lipstick, 50’s style skirt, obvious mandatory dress attire, not her fashion sense. Cute and aloof with a ponytail protruding like a golden fountain from the left side of her head. It shook as she talked. Waving strands wisp through smoke-filled air.

“What can I get you two boys?” She started nibbling on the clicker side of her pen and raised an eyebrow. “Something to drink?”

“Coffee. Two.”

“You got it.” She whipped around sharp with a spunk in her butt, ex-cheerleader type. I watched, hypnotized by the bouncing ponytail as she frolicked away for our coffees.

“She’s cute.”

“I’d say.”

It seems these places always find a way to be around, hidden between heaven and the gutters. No one understands where they come from and nobody wants the responsibility that they bring. Inside the walls accumulate a rich saturation of people and their moments, like the art hanging on the crumbling red brick walls. Individuals collecting more dust than the window shades, smoke film saturating their thoughts owned and absorbed as part of the establishment. A bum sleeps in the corner gripping his warm cup close. Damp and dark days bring in the interesting crowds, but for the most part during the weekdays, folks come and go regularly. It is kind of a quick pick me up coffee and go. Otherwise, the wise and the homeless, or is it the homeless-wise, own the place. Spreading wisdom to those that listen.

The perfect café, it seems these days it’s either watery piss or dirty grime in a cup. Starbucks infecting the country with whipped cream latté mocha cheer, putting the hidden gems between old buildings on the endangered list, formatted service, corporate cooperation and subordination. Two dollar refills. These places are precious and rare. So is the business, surviving off the too cool teenagers smoking cigarettes, or the bum who spends his last collected bit of change for a warm place to still feel like a part of the human race.

Druggies and alcoholics working off their afternoon hangovers with a strong cup of black water, all with a rock star claim to fame within this social circle. Pretending to be revolting against a system they do not understand, a system that has rejected them, because they have rejected the system. Society has invisible laws and structure in place to maintain order for those in power. Resist and that power will crush and strangle with invisible claws. People who become the byproducts of a rejected generation: the unwanted children, the useless adult, the great unknown philosopher, the wasted poet, the artists and musicians trying to survive in a world that has no use for us. We congregate here, between these dirty loud walls, our new family, drinking from chipped coffee cups, smiling through yellow teeth. All the glasses here get washed and shared equally. Your glass today may be mine tomorrow.

We are family here.

We are home.