singalong

The glory days were long ago, the halcyon and hallowed days when things seemed possible and real. We follow the dots we are offered, bread crumbs from tycoons and their cronies and stooges to lead us into the wilderness. We buy the lies that make us feel better, the ludicrous sports fan attachment to flags and false hierarchy that drives us towards the foolish and grotesque, divide and conquer their undisguised poison we readily lap up. Their goons and killers run riot, controlling those brave enough to resist through intimidation and murder, all the while bleating their crybaby anthem of how hard they got it. These cowardly gunhands haven’t got it bad yet, but believe you me, real consequences are closing in fast. 

These distasteful displays of fragility are always the loudest voices, projecting all their fear and lack of self out into the world, vomiting up this hateful bile all over the discourse. It is an human impulse older than the species itself, fear of the unknown, distrust and aggression towards the other now weaponized by the greedy scum that are always ready to turn fools towards evil and destruction for a couple of bucks and a few steps up the ladder. You never have to steal a soul from someone who is willing to throw it away to feel a little better about themselves. The we’re number one chanters, the flag wavers, the I might be x, but at least I’m not group yers— all being gamed with their weaknesses and the human need to belong. 

I never fit. I wasn’t one of the group that gathered around the campfire for the ghost stories and singalongs. I was slow, I was strange, I rubbed people wrong. You get disinvited enough, you spurn the invitations. You get gulled into enough pranks and jibes, you take every advance with a grain of salt. Nothing much has changed. Anytime that everyone starts mouthing off about whatever the latest dumb shit is at the moment, I start looking for the catch. The urge towards conformity is overwhelming, especially in language. We want to know what’s going on, we need to understand so we get to be ingroup and not among the dull and mocked. So they praise and guile and cajole you to do what they say. They call you to the campfire and let you feel the warmth of belonging. And though I do envy the gathered, their friends and affiliations— a luxury I have learned late in life I will not enjoy, I cannot help but look for the catch. Before I join a singalong, I pay attention to the song.