Des pratiques d'humiliation - The blinkers on the inners of the magic circles

The blinkers on the inners of the magic circles

 

They’re playing Hide & Seek with the neighbour, brothers and sisters banding together

The neighbour is told everything he needs to know, according to the inner circle

All that’s required is to be on the lookout and search, heart first, head up, high on faith

 

Good luck!

Go get it, half brother!

Fetch it, sweety!

Keep looking, darling!

We passed the tests before we were even born.

Please have some respect for our tradition.

You’re about to put your hands on your Holy Grail.

If that isn’t worth the wait and the effort, then what is, babe?

You tell us! What’s your quest in life, honey?

Don’t you want all the riches and the favors?

Wouldn’t you like to know what it feels like to be free to rely on a network?

Just be patient and dedicated, that game isn’t that complicated!

Look at you, giving up. Did we hear you cry? What a child. Seriously, grow up!

Getting hotter everyday, while we stay colder and quiet.

Every room that you enter is filled with smokes and mirrors.

You think she’s there, but she’s not gone.

She never left your side, that’s the lesson!

Why are you crying? Why are you leaving?

Slamming the doors on your way out?

Watch your manners! What a temper.

 

The oldest brother says:

I told you, folks, he wasn’t ready. Too young and foolish. Good riddance.

The oldest sister says:

I told you, folks, all he’s interested in doing is screw us up, then her. Farewell.

 

Lost in the cacophony, between the laughter of her brothers and sisters,

His holly soul is heartbroken. He came for her. He left for them.

 

If only she had known, as in, truly considered, not hypothetically, but in his bones, what it felt like to keep chasing her, when he was thrown in every directions with conviction, only to be reminded, every time he got close to finding her, that he was always as alone as he ever was, torn between indifference of the absents, and the suffocating smother.

While the inner circle learns to trust that not everyone is after their riches, let alone interested in their favours, soothing their fate as he ignores yet another $100 bill thrown at him and another naked belly-dancer, though he could use some money for his work, that’s reasonable to admit, the inner circle reinforces its blinkers, retraumatizing the neighbour, over and over, who thought he was invited by kind brothers and sisters to play with them according to one rule that never inhabited his home: Love.

 

“Home is where your heart is” was written on a quilt hanging by their front door.

The closely knitted inner circle destroyed his heart, sealing his coffin with their laughter.

He always had a heart yet never had a home.

They showed him what he had known all along:

 

He will never belong.

He will never be safe in love.

He will simply, never be enough.

Farewell, world.

x

 

Savato Kiriako, pour le choix des mots