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 Canadian Male

Chains Of Freedom

Where am I going? Isn't this the question that
filters into most of our minds? I have spent my

life questioning the borders erected around me.
The chains of conformity rusted with the blood

of the soul. Neighbourhood reflects the emptiness
of the heart. Fences define property and keep out

the unwanted. A dog is barking somewhere behind
the house, its high pitched voice drowning out the

solitude of being normal. There is an intensity in
the animal that it out of place in the manicured

lawns and much painted walls. Glistening skin
that is permeated with the refuse of a million

different commercials pushing forged versions of
acceptance upon an unthinking world. I scratch

my back wondering which cream will make me
look younger again. I no longer hear the dog so

I assume it has either been silenced or is dead.
Yet, maybe it is I who have died as I drink a

cup of liquid some commercial insisted I must
love. It's good to the last drop, or so I am

assured. I fear not drinking it all for if I do not
do so perhaps I will not gain a prize. And of

course one can buy a piece of paper littered
with random numbers at any corner store. If

these numbers are picked you can move up
the ladder of life just a notch or so. But in

truth I wonder if the ladder is firmly rooted
in the ground. We live inside our cities, with

our magnificent accomplishments all around us.
Yet it seems odd to me that anyone can stop

the whirling of the streets with just one cautiously
purchased gun. When did I forget about the

sounds of freedom I used to listen to with such
excitement? At some point I put aside the marching

feet of progress and settled safely inside the
drone of survival. Lost for years inclined towards

messages that were sent but not opened. Freedom
of heart begins with a breath and yet to take this

breath one must unshackle the chains of suppression
that have been placed like ice around the ambition

of sanity. Would I ever understand the point of view
held so carefully by the members of the lower crust?

Bored, I pick up a newspaper. I am reading stories
of other boring people locked into their own sources

of disdain. And somewhere I hear the silence broken
by a television. I pick out the sounds of a popular

diversion and realize that this is how we have been
lost. Who has time to grow in mind when so many

false images are available to be defined? Where am
I going? I won't know until the corporate bonds of

the media sets a path for me. Like everyone else
I will rush to buy the latest toy and in this way shall

hope that I will fit in. Fitting in is important, much
more important than being me. I stop my thinking,

for it has become counter-revolutionary. I close
my eyes and look inside. I see only black clouds.

Relief. This means I am normal. I can now progress
to the next level of reality, empty perhaps, but at

least assured of my place in the scheme of things.
Like the dog, I am allied with the chains of conformity

that have been carefully placed around the mind.
I recognize now, with some amount of inner horror,

that all the chains I blamed on society are actually
chains I created for myself. I could break them

and declare independence, but I fear I will not
do so. If I did, I'd be alone and not normal and

surely being normal is more important then being
me. Sigh of relief, I have found my definition.

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