Deception (and theatricality), according to the legend of Batman, are 'powerful agents'. Powerful enough to turn him into a Superhero. But we will not speak of him here. We will return to the first word -- deception. Most hero figures have it in them to either vanish, like a whiff of air, or escape, like dust in the eye. That is, they take to invisibility as an inevitable, enviable armour. Let us come to terms, we are no heroes, forget aiming to becoming superheroes. We live in an age of devastated hopes and speed-breakers for ambition. Why, have you ever wondered, do they wish to disappear?
Appearance is an art. Sometimes it comes in making a late entry, or an early exit. Sometimes, it tells nothing about your mindset, only about your costume, which you carefully draped to veil your truth. You succeeded. At other times, your appearance is all over your face -- you detest your very existence in the moment. These are moments we wish to elope like Spiderman's swift jumps, or drape around Harry's Invisibility Cloak, so as to become Hamlet's being, yet, not being. I know the phrase says, "to be or not to be". Why, don't they mean the same?
And that is when anonymity comes like a handful of edge. Your absence propagates a presence which you could not have possibly faced yourself. It comes is daring to write letters, and in sending threats. It rages while love blossoms and blows in the form of an unexpected inheritance. Why, it was even in the golden days of our black telephones, which would not disclose in its display which number was calling in. Anonymity's art lies in its theatricality, indeed. The curious curve with which eyebrows arch, the rumblings that crunch the insides of the stomach, the overpowering desire to know -- it all comes in the package of deception.
Imagine yourself without a name, or even better, a surname. Think of the possibilities that would welcome and lure you to embrace them, which the sur/name stood as a wall up to. I have always wanted to curse aloud. Trust me, anonymously is hardly near satisfaction, but hell, its safe and works. Powerfully. On both the receiver and the sender.
Try it! It hardly takes courage, you see.
Appearance is an art. Sometimes it comes in making a late entry, or an early exit. Sometimes, it tells nothing about your mindset, only about your costume, which you carefully draped to veil your truth. You succeeded. At other times, your appearance is all over your face -- you detest your very existence in the moment. These are moments we wish to elope like Spiderman's swift jumps, or drape around Harry's Invisibility Cloak, so as to become Hamlet's being, yet, not being. I know the phrase says, "to be or not to be". Why, don't they mean the same?
And that is when anonymity comes like a handful of edge. Your absence propagates a presence which you could not have possibly faced yourself. It comes is daring to write letters, and in sending threats. It rages while love blossoms and blows in the form of an unexpected inheritance. Why, it was even in the golden days of our black telephones, which would not disclose in its display which number was calling in. Anonymity's art lies in its theatricality, indeed. The curious curve with which eyebrows arch, the rumblings that crunch the insides of the stomach, the overpowering desire to know -- it all comes in the package of deception.
Imagine yourself without a name, or even better, a surname. Think of the possibilities that would welcome and lure you to embrace them, which the sur/name stood as a wall up to. I have always wanted to curse aloud. Trust me, anonymously is hardly near satisfaction, but hell, its safe and works. Powerfully. On both the receiver and the sender.
Try it! It hardly takes courage, you see.
.jpg)
No comments:
Post a Comment