Children of the future age

Reading this indignant page

Learn that in another time

Love, sweet love was thought a crime*


I read the words of William Blake slowly.  It from a poem called “A Little Girl Lost”.  These lines are an intense statement and I reflect on their meaning.  It is no shock to me since love is still in many ways thought a crime.  That seems a pessimist view but that is the sense I get.  There is gloom and depression filling the air. The reactionary times continue.  An ill wind follows me along this path.  I feel twangs of pain subdued by an opiated tincture.


Mind boggling frustration settles in the hearts of a myriad of young Americans.  The despair of this modern America is alarming in its frightening landscape of sudden defeatism.  Every battle is won or lost before the battle commences as the late Sun Tzu famously observed.  We are too engaged in blind pursuit of an unknowable dream.  What is the dream that goes beyond all human comprehension?  That is something worth delving into.


Well, what is it?  I’m sure you know.  I do but I’m certainly not telling.  The heartache continues.  It causes a persistent throb of pain.  That dense sorrow of this era echoes loudly.  I wonder what to do about it.  It has been a struggle and it will continue to be an albatross.


That is why I have such a cavalier attitude toward life.  There is very little you can do to change things.  It is an almost impossible task.  Trying is foolish.  There may yet be wisdom in Baudelaire’s statement “One must always be drunk.” Well, it’s just to escape this rat race for an hour or two.  Whoopie I’m intoxicated again!  But even the partying can be troublesome when you let it get out of control.  But there’s only so much you can do about it.


But of course, we shall try.  There shall always be noble attempts to be free of these shackles.  The poets and painters eternally seek nirvana thru Utopia.  The sweet nectar of the fruits lends clarity.  For a moment, the sun shines warmly & comforts our hearts.  The battle has to continue nevertheless.  And perhaps solutions are easier than we imagine.  Maybe the crisis is all enlarged by our own shortsightedness


In the thoughts of children there is innocence waiting to be corrupted or enhanced.  The perfection of influence has yet to be attained.  That much is impossible.  I can only look at my own limitations.  They are greater than a level to which I’d like to believe.  I always want more than I can get.  I always want to be better than what I am.  The ratings committee, however, has no compassion toward me.  They coldly shove reality back down my throat.


I don’t want it.  I have my fantasies to which I make a hasty retreat.  I shall not be part of the mass insanity sweeping the nation.  I see the murders & the oppression that occur the world over.  And people accuse me of living in my own world.  They’re right about that.  I do.  I live in my own world because it’s better than the one that I inherited.


Well, that’s just self pity.  It will achieve nothing.  It is defeat without battle.  That must not be too pleasant to acknowledge.  I was defeated without even a struggle.  God, I must be a coward.  I just go along with it and allow myself to be muzzled.  My silence is bought and sold.  That’s about all I can say.


But there will be no more of that.  I decided that it is time for one to take a stand.  I feel the time has come for me to take up arms (figuratively speaking).  My words shall not be muted any longer.  No silence or rest until we evolve further—evolve into an era when love, sweet love will not be thought a crime.


November 7, 1993








Author's Notes/Comments: 

Musings inspired by a stanza from William Blake.   *the stanza from Blake

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