A Small Crash In The Night

Well, Furious Faithful — where to go from here?

As established by last week’s post, things have changed around here. No more weekly links. I have put on the blinders.

There is only The Mission, from here on out, until the day Sophia The Great is loosed upon the world — because Sophia The Great is my greater contribution to the task of doing what I feel needs to be done, saying what I feel needs to be said, here and now. To make the damaged world we live in a little more recognizable. So we can start to talk about it, together, with a little more honesty.

That sounds dramatic. It should. I’m about to spend the next few years of my life working to shepherd the creation of a story forged in fury, fear and sadness. The script feels done, which is always the hardest part, until the next one comes along.

Now, we begin to work on strategy. Planning. We begin to seek help, we pursue collaborators — we do everything possible to provide the story with what it needs.

So, where to go from here? What happens to this space? Can it persist, without all the links, that lead to the latest news of American social dysfunction? Can our relationship persevere, without the complementary links that shine a narrow light on small beacons of hope?

At what point does it all become a distraction? At what point do we ask ourselves — why all the chatter? Why don’t we just fucking do something about this already?

Well, it’s not as simple as that, unfortunately.

We live in strange times. We live — a few steps outside of life, don’t we? What do we experience more viscerally than our entertainment? What is more important to us than our television shows, our music, our celebrity culture, our businesses, our devices? Is it our families? Our friends and lovers? Do we even experience ourselves, on average, in a direct way?

I don’t know. I feel often as if it’s a chore, to live a life kept in one piece. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I feel compelled to craft a story about a podcaster — about a lonely, disaffected young American who turns to a medium where you speak out alone, or with a few friends, to an unseen audience of other lonely disaffected souls wandering in the dark along their own fractured timelines. I think we arrived at this pre-condition through a series of civil failings. The individual in America, in my opinion, is in certain ways more alone than he or she has been in a long time, tracing back through our history.

We are so often…so very isolated by our divided lives. I do not know that we are yet completely capable of mounting the sort of action that is needed to change those things that so desperately need changing in our country, in order to rescue the present and future from the iron grip of the past and those who own it.

But I think it’s worth noting that I, and I think a few of you as well, believe it’s possible. I think it’s worth recognizing that there is a desire for a better world out there, here in America and throughout the globe.

Power is power, and to fight those who wield it unjustly, we must foster an equivalent power of our own. This cannot be achieved without community action, and community action cannot be adequately empowered without enough empathy and enough courage and trust to render obsolete the divisiveness that keeps us, in so many different ways, split from each other — at the same time that our plight is for all purposes the same.

We need to talk. If we must start dumbly, then we must start dumbly. If we must proceed carefully, because we are afraid and because there are real consequences to revolt — then we must proceed carefully. Fear diminishes with time and distance. It becomes less grave when shared.

I’ll go first. I’m afraid I’ll fail. I’m afraid I’m not strong enough or smart enough or lucky enough to see my contribution through. I’m afraid I’m wrong, or crazy.

But I’m fucking going for it anyway. Because they want us to be afraid. It allows them to hold onto the power. It allows them to keep shouting down the truth, smothering it with money and lies. And that pisses me the fuck off. Life needs breath. If we smother it — or allow it to be smothered, consciously or unconsciously — with so many blankets of falseness…well, what happens then? What happens to the animus of life? How do we move freely and without fear when weighed down, and suffocated? How do we adequately reach out to each other for help?

By calling out in the dark. By feeling around for a hand to grasp.

Where to go from here? Anywhere. Wherever. Just not here. Or backwards. The Furious Romantic isn’t going away. Never again.

I’m making Sophia The Great because I want to talk. I want us all to talk. On a large level, about large, uncomfortable, difficult and delicate subjects. I want to talk to you. I want to help you. I want and need your help.

I suspect, if we succeed even a little, that something special will happen. I don’t have particularly high ideas of what that might mean. The film may end up nothing more than a small crashing sound, heard in the distance in the black of night. So be it. At least they’ll know — on all sides, in some small way — that we’re here.

Revolutions have been started with less.

Perhaps that last part is a little dramatic. What can I say? I’m a dramatist.

Thanks for reading. I love you for it. Have a great week.

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