I am an Antique in my Own Time

It is a chilling realisation for a man when looking outward upon the ocean of time’s current and what remains to be sailed, he sees more of his nature in the oceans passed, the values to which he has become accustomed more in line with the elders chant than the songs of youth. To cast the words ‘Wise beyond his years’ or ‘retro thinking’ do not do justice to the acidic truth, eating away at my potential to advance in a world of constant change.

The truth is I was born into the wrong era, by decades at least, I should have been the loyal servant of a household destined to rise through the ranks to ascendant positions of responsibility, welcoming future replacements as the senior to whom the job of training falls heavily upon shoulders as rigid as the traditions he follows.

In terms of love I also hark back to days when matters of the heart were ruled evenly by the workings of the mind, when men and women grew to like each other, developed trust and intimate knowledge of one another as into the blissful arms of a relationship you would fall without realisation. Now the march of technology and lengthening work hours draw hopeless singles to dating websites, moths to flames is less cruel as decisions on compatibility and potential are decided on the few lines of a profile, a photo of the rare moment you will look as a dream, as opposed to everyday sighs of unwanted reflections in the mirrors.

So how to survive, adapt and thrive in the jungle of humanity when all you have is a spark of creativity and the diamond edged blade of depression, anxiety and stress stalking you as fevered running through the deluge of foliage for survival sake sums up your greatest achievement.

You use that spark of creativity to forge escapes to elude the predators of modern living, the diamond edge of depression cutting through all life has to throw at you, demons cleaved into two with ease, assassin’s blades shattering upon contact with pure forged negativity. Anxiety and stress keep you aware, awake, as with paranoiac darting your eyes spot the traps with levels of ease, motivation no purer than that vicious drive to one up and defeat our enemies with fiery rage.

And ultimately, the blind belief that in the wilderness of cruel chance that perfect other half is waiting to be found, that poison called love turned cure to all that seeks to destroy this antique.

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2 thoughts on “I am an Antique in my Own Time

    • Hey, here’s my actual blog – phatwiremarakeesh.wordpress.com.
      The other one is empty and is only there because it’s an ordeal to remove a blog in WordPress.
      Do visit. Cheers! 🙂

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