One cleanses, one rots, one disguises. It is folded, sewn, and stitched to fit us well, and from then on, we are ready to take on a bright new day with a bright new smile.
We must, in a first instance, hide the stench of the mind, the spirit, and the flesh, which is easier said than done. One walks through the streets waving hello, rescuing kittens from trees, helping old ladies and gentlemen cross the road, and every time, the odor is born and trails along. But what is hidden cannot be revealed nor understood.
The weight of it all drags us towards wherever we were going, one craves the concept of the familiar, the other one gnarls and distrusts as it wants to die, one simply shines along, tells jokes, makes friends, makes lovers, and meets up, engages, is wonderfully adequate and ready to be loved.
“Another day has passed us by,” says one of he suits which is enough to put the other two in a motion of distress and envy, for they do not perceive the passage of time, but only of embarrassments.
But what would it entail, for one of us to reach out and devour the next one, to be set free of the body, and exist autonomously, to enjoy the humanity of walking, the movement in an atmosphere, the crushing expectations of a reality that will watch you, taste you, see you, hear you, and touch you? One of us wants to know, the other doesn’t want to know, and the other one already knows and loves it and hates it nonetheless, smiling at all times, even at the most inopportune ones.
“Do not reveal who I really am,” says the decaying surge, barely aware of what has happened and what will. Because of our condition, we can only dream in spirit and imagine the sensations that abound. We often find ourselves questioning our motive and existence, but also, understanding our purpose: to cross and absorb and slowly eat away at the living bones, that is, to give death where there is a life, so that it has meaning and, as it tends to be, to acknowledge our putrid occurrences and social experiences with finality.
“I can do this again and again,” says the smiling trap, acutely aware of what will happen to us when it is all said and done, but we must retain what makes us human and plow ahead until our inevitable surrender. The smile continues unabated until it is no longer useful, and then the life spent becomes what it needs to be.
“What is the change you want to see? Where do you want to go? How can I make this any better?” says the tormented shape, increasingly aware of our positions and the way things have happened through ourselves, with and without one or the other. If we hold ourselves together, then it is a work of three, but one of us has to lead in between and mediate between the optimist and the pessimist, jailed in the desire of a consciousness that doesn’t exist, a one note lie.