We live among monsters. None of us could survive unless we were one of them. Like Snow White's nemesis we are each the fairest of them all. "Gospel according to Tony Day, if I had a girl, he'd take away." David Bowie.
Conscience, remorse, regret. Definitive monster-like characteristics identifiable in every reflection, yet denied by the full head of receding hair, the crow's feet that become laugh lines and the darkness behind a pair of eyes given sway to a once brilliant blue that reflected an innocence wrenched away when we became like everybody else.
There was a time when personal ambitions, inherent responsibilities and self awareness were innocent discoveries of a maturing child, a naive pubescent and a grieving adult. The mysteries of life gave way to unreasonable platitudes: "Life isn't fair." "That's the way it is."
"No way," we retorted as children.
"Bullshit," we responded as adolescents.
"Fuck!" was the only response we had left for the inevitable truth as adults. And at that point we didn't care if our parents were uncomfortable with that language or not. It was a relief to inspire an incense for the betrayal.
My personal bitch, you could have lied to me well into my adulthood and stringed me along throughout my eulogy. No one would have been the worse for wear.
But monsters do not reside in closets alone. They live and breathe in the light of day. And all good parents provide such armor as it takes to survive the onslaught. And even though, my naiveté lasts still well into adulthood and even now I cling to bits and pieces of the fear, I find myself responding "No way" when I read a child has exploded himself in a suicide bombing, or "Bullshit" when I discover a man may seriously think seventy-two virgins await a murderer in Heaven, and "Fuck" when I realize this is more horror than one should have to deal with.
I have come to understand now that only good monsters live in closets, because the world outside is unbearable to them and only fit for the monsters that can tolerate the mirror.
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