Its’ that season … the hopes of an approaching wonderful spring bluntly contradicted by the hopeless austerity of what remains of winter. Among the emotives this leads to considerations of earthly oblivion and rewards of an afterlife, typically this is done in theatrical (if somewhat artless) pageantry. An audience climbing up or pushing down over bleachers; apparent steps to a private small prestigious heaven made to their liking, and a merciless shove aided by gravity, sending lessers to perdition. As if assigning folks for eternity is an audience participation event.
He and She are somewhat puzzled by the art historic character of the rush up and the push down. Souls, wandering timeless souls, still hankering and hanging around for some divine attention; or, preferably, gaining superiority over those who seem to have the receipt for the Divinity’s best earthly thoughts and prayers.
Oblivion is like a hired circus ride, ( you pay up front for the product, but…no expiration date ). Odiferous hell-fire and brimstone belch where emotives gather, slumping many into the expansive realm of hell. Meanwhile the incense of ethereal Elysian fields wafts in the tent top. Or so it seems.
There was a day, known to Yorick (when fleshed) when he partook in the separating weaknesses of souls on the hoof.
Now a well-aged jester, and verily, the stock of envy, malice, and vanity persists, ’tis the season of engaged absurdity.
Would an audience of emotives do… different things (considering oblivion); if they are pointed-out?
Anachronistic Anarchist by Herb Eaton 