Dolomite Blade
Y'ever raise an idea to someone, something that you're already pretty
sure is outside of their comfort zone, and you find they have the
difficult time receiving it that you predict? The idea is alien, like a
blade of space-age dolomite that you tease into their cranium. The idea,
like the metal, is sharp, threatening. Like a scalpel left behind, it is
not compatible with the soft tissue; the mind rebels against it, wanting
to expel it. You watch the person grimacing, trying to wrap their lobes
around this foreign concept. Maybe they treat the idea like an oyster
creates a pearl - this foreign body gained entry, it can't be expelled,
but it can be shellacked out of the way by carefully wrapping it in
glossy, comforting beliefs. Or the unfortunate listener might really
injure themselves on it, as if the new idea like was a wrecking ball
crashing into the fundaments of their belief system. Or perhaps that
dolomite blade keeps on moving through to the other side, as if a greased
channel connected one ear to the other, and it's as if they never heard
that profanity you uttered.
People are funny creatures. We create "reality" every day in the most
delightfully absurd ways, yet when presented with these sandcastles, we
come up with valid defenses as to why we deserve a pass. "I am so
funny," we say, remembering a time when we were eight years old and a
teacher made one remark about our sense of humor. Or, "I'm not a bigot,
they're just overly sensitive." The way it is is so firmly
entrenched in a human's psyche that it's like it was there from
birth. Sure, there might be such a thing as race memory, where concepts
which transect all human cultures are found, but I'm pretty sure that
"White people are superior to all others" isn't part of every
two-year-old's vernacular. We cling to models and explanations with the
desperation of a drowning victim, little Elians who cannot conceive of a
world where swimming in free thought can lead to comfort or salvation - it
can only lead to insanity as we lose our moorings. Meaning, meaning,
meaning. It always has to mean something. That cute girl looked back at
me as she walked past me on the street; she must want my baby. My mother
hasn't called me in a month; she must be angy because I didn't send Aunt
Gladys a birthday card. My cat threw up in my bed; he must hate me
because I didn't change his litter box. Try this on for size: It
doesn't mean anything.
There. Don't you feel safer? Get out there and swim, you fools!
DM
Mama said, "Never trust a band called
Oysterhead!"
