13 Jan 2014

I am the cat stuck in the middle, cleaning his balls

There is little as boring
As a room full of people all
On the same page

A group with the same ideals
In agreement about the world
About styles and politics
And books and art

Jesus if that doesn’t kill
Every last atom of creative thought
What a waste of fucking time to be there

Yet this is what so many strive toward
Like-minded friends
A band to belong to
            I just want someone on my level…

I am still better in an argument
Or better than that
Just alone
The comfort of retreating will never leave me
And I like that

Wilson said that the group is a grammatical fiction
As it is made up of individuals

And here they are
The individuals
All trying to be like their friends to
Feel that inclusive lie of belonging

I have never understood this desire
And don’t think I ever will
That’s why I find it so hard to work
In the hard labour sense

Everyone committing to the team
Yet another group that will always exist
Within an even bigger collection of nobodies
A circle of dogs chasing tails
Happily ever after.