Choices

It is always just a matter of choice.

After the implications, and the complications, and the accountability are all stripped ruthlessly away, there remains at the most fundamentally intimate core a lasting, indelible imprint of an initial decision. 

Sometimes, choice is born in the sweltering cauldron of a random moment pulled unexpectedly into focus, hitting unpredictably hot and hard on a blindsided turn of fate’s fickle timing.  Or maybe it comes at you in painfully deliberate increments, creeping in slow and invasively targeted with determined precision.

Either way, it will inevitably find you.  

It does little good hiding inside a bottle- that soothing numbness is at best just a temporary stall.  The solutions that splash and pour into a dirty glass are just cleverly distilled liquid lies, meant only to deceive and postpone as an unfocused ambivalence begins coursing addictively through broken veins.

There is no point in disappearing inside a blizzard of white pills, either- that pharmaceutical-backed gallow’s dance that far too often ends in tachycardic, adrenaline fringed disasters.  And that is nothing more than a weakened coward’s final surrender.

Camouflaging wanton desire within the interim bedding of glistening, dispassionate sex merely blurs the lines of intamacy and forestalls the unavoidably predictable collapse, as rationality and common sense spurt and splatter out into meaningless complications, leaving behind an emptiness that no number of random hookups could ever hope to fill.

Every single day is an unavoidably exhausting avalanche of choice and decision- who to love…who to ignore.  Who to trust and who should be questioned.  Figuring it all out for yourself is what really matters most in this protesting and infected world, as the television and internet scream and rage and lie and manipulate in a 24 hour cycle of noise and deflection.

Despite the impending collapse of this little flyover state, and the unified choruses of disinformation raging out, I remain stubbornly firm in my convictions.  And it really does not matter if I choose to make my final stand here in this fetid and malignant City of Wayne, or down across a border I do not yet fully understand- the time is still coming.

And I have already made my choices.

I am choosing:

imagination over fear;

tolerance over subjugation;

artistry over darkness;

transparency over division;

and conversation over indifference.

But the biggest decision, and the one that I hope will eventually lead me free from this crushing quagmire of guilt and isolated depression, was actually the easiest one to make.  Despite all the hurt, and the lies, and the brutality of a disjointed humanity that I simply cannot comprehend, I will stand up strong in the face of a nation’s fracturing storm of blustering politics and I will forcefully choose love over insignificance.  Every single fucking time.

Because that is the only kind of world worth living in and the only legacy that is really worth a damn.

About Grey Fox

...author, fighter, lover, typewriter fanatic, and unrepentant Fenian bastard. Known to few, hated by many, but still typing the good fight.

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