[Thoughts on a54w4 k0.]

I listened to your voice message as you hit a pause before you said the saccharine-coated line, “my spouse” — I can picture a mental hurdle on which you needed time to climb, and cross over before saying it.

Meanwhile, a lingering tiny archetypal character stands on one of my shoulders hollering “jej jej jej jej!” policing that this line, was claimed by the group of people bathing in the lowbrow culture of society, of which I shouldn’t identify with. I know for certain this much isn’t true, this term doesn’t belong to any social class. Social classes are malleable structures of layered social constructs. It’s only that these people have been bold enough and have thrown this term around like cheap change, always finding another person to label it with just around the corner. Its value, reduced to nothing.

The archetypal character calling me out on this, is an intellectual bourgeoisie claiming its superiority over its recognition of the lack of sense in lowbrow culture, almost to a point of self-defense for its inability to fulfill its own ideology of exclusivity and purism of cultural capitals.

But everything in reality is just leaking out through the ideological seams we identify ourselves with, and dodging its recognition only leads to self-loathing, fear, and possibly violence — death..by the millions. The desired wholeness of one’s held ideology as superior to the existence of the ideology of other’s as superior to both lives of real men is at the core of zealotry.

I am thankful that under the lure of this magical phenomenon that perpetuates the population of humanity naturally through heterosexuals and offering a life of domesticated partnership and mostly adoption through homosexuals as well as other forms of life partnership, we cross these borders as hopeful refugees and accept that bits and pieces of it can be held and seamed with others, and sustain the harmony of our mental ecology.

Beneath the statement that took more than one held breath in order to spill beyond the mind, beyond the reverberation of how it sounds in reality, and perhaps only with the overflowing emotions asking mostly fear and a bit of reason to move away from this anarchic phenomenon’s course, is hope for a longer period of partnership.

Hope is desire not a promised certainty.

Albeit not a guarantee for the fulfillment of the desire, it is strengthened by its ability to produce the “will” to make it happen. A discipline that could entail fascism but not fascism entirely, a day-to-day “will”.

To this I say, my dear, for you, I will.

Through this anarchic phenomenon, is a binding of political ideologies, perhaps a recognition that we are not constricted in quadrants, but we exist more in a sphere of beliefs that points inwards and connects us to each other, at some points — and then at all points.

And although these labels and brands help us gain solid grounding of our identities, a fact abused by capitalism, we mesh towards other ideologies, one that doesn’t require a consumption that perpetuates the survival of a society where the medium is money.

We have crossed the borders. The archetypes begin to diminish cartoonishly, and we begin to become more of the living beings as we are, brandless and pulsing creatures, and we begin to feel and remember deeply. We live as we love.

In the core of this diverse oblique sphere of ideologies termed Earth, represented physically and metaphysically, is us, my love. We find sense and non-sense. We find meaning and non-meaning. We find everything and nothing.

We find it.