The Outsiders

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Daily prompt: My own photo, not my own voice. Still, it explains how I feel.

“For a long while I have believed – this is perhaps my version of Sir Darius Xerxes Cama’s belief in a fourth function of outsideness – that in every generation there are a few souls, call them lucky or cursed, who are simply born not belonging, who come into the world semi-detached, if you like, without strong affiliation to family or location or nation or race; that there may even be millions, billions of such souls, as many non-belongers as belongers, perhaps; that, in sum, the phenomenon may be as “natural” a manifestation of human nature as its opposite, but one that has been mostly frustrated, throughout human history, by lack of opportunity.

And not only by that: for those who value stability, who fear transience, uncertainly, change, have erected a powerful system of stigmas and taboos against rootlessness, that disruptive, anti-social force, so that we mostly conform, we pretend to be motivated by loyalties and solidarities we do not really feel, we hide our secret identities beneath the false skins of those identities which bear the belongers’ seal of approval.

But the truth leaks out in our dreams; alone in our beds (because we are all alone at night, even if we do not sleep by ourselves), we soar, we fly, we flee. And in the waking dreams our societies permit, in our myths, our arts, our songs, we celebrate the non-belongers, the different ones, the outlaws, the freaks.

What we forbid ourselves we pay good money to watch, in a playhouse or a movie theater, or to read about between the secret covers of a book. Our libraries, our palaces of entertainment tell the truth. The tramp, the assassin, the rebel, the thief, the mutant, the outcast, the delinquent, the devil, the sinner, the traveler, the gangster, the runner, the mask: if we did not recognize in them our least-fulfilled needs, we would not invent them over and over again, in every place, in every language, in every time.”
― Salman Rushdie, The Ground Beneath Her Feet

Slightly neurotic, easy going

Just brilliant!

Nonlinear Navigations: Poetry and Prose

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This is another found text poem along the same theme as the previous post, this time using only the first lines of women’s online dating profiles. Again, the line breaks are mine, otherwise the sentences are copied and pasted from the profiles.

 

Slightly neurotic, easy going.

 

Well, where to begin. Born

and raised in the center

of the universe. Interested,

I suppose. Slightly neurotic, easy going

girl..err, woman, with

too much charm

for the average person to handle. Rabbit

rescuer. By day, I’m a

mild-mannered

accountant. Once I was a pig

farmer in Italy. I am a transplant. I have all

my limbs. I have

a weakness

for tattoos and dimples, but neither

are necessary. When I was young

I wanted

to be a trapeze artist or

a taxi driver. Basically,

I spend 90% of my life feeling like I’ve got this adulthood thing

down

and the other 10%

eating nachos for dinner

three nights in a row. What…

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