Love Child

Imagine your impression of the world, apprised from the sidewalks?

Have you seen couples living on the streets? Hippies, you'd call them. White folks with dreadlocks, in tie-dye clothing they've likely patched themselves. Sometimes you'll see infants in bulging papooses.

Imagine you were one such child? Picture such a point of view.

Would you remember, in years to come, how your mother danced bare foot with ankle bracelets of bells?

Would you think fondly of your father the musician with his handmade lyres? Will you think of him at all?

You might be brilliant, possibly even a genius. Does the chaos whence you wound drag you down? Will the hardened scars strangle you as you query the circumstances? Now older, jumpy, quick to anger, your heart languishes in a low-grade but permanent state of trauma.

By dint of your experiences you can only evolve into a taker. You will effortlessly justify your behavior because you are convinced you were dealt half a deck of cards, therefore, by your reckoning you are helping yourself. All your life you will snatch at what you consider yours. Your life will be an extended Easter egg hunt. Precious orbs to be collected. Exciting until they crack.

You take, you grab, and you would never consider this a theft. But it is, if only in the fundamental human contract of trust, thus breaking the social order. Each time you think you have gained in truth you have lost more than you know. There's no doubt you'll succeed but that's because you're shooting for the middle.

If you are born into a game, by definition, you are programed to aim to win. Meantime, the half cracked peppercorns live amongst us. Look out, but more importantly, look up.