THE INVISIBLE LINE: Getting to that place where most people don’t want to be. The assembly line life style of our era has put clear bifurcations between the acceptable and unacceptable. The yellow line in the middle of the road dividing the human race into going and coming. Stick to your lane and nobody gets hurt. Side swiping and rear fender bumping are just picnics compared to a head on collision. Ever so often a brash young kid questioning the morals of the society swerves from the designated lane to cause a head on collision. Watching your eye ball pop out of the socket carrying enough momentum to shatter the windshields and slam into the tarmac, not fun not even in Japanese culture.
Unusual as it may seem these martyrs are happy of being tagged as “misfits”. They think it gives them credibility like being the Kurt Cobain amongst their peers, the bad seed. It surely doesn’t matter. It surely doesn’t matter to the normal human beings, the Flawless specimens. Everything goes back to normal once you are dead. You can hear the vibration of each and every agitated atom slowing down and finally settling into the absolute silence of the universe. The universe has given up on you so has mankind. The official “Flawed specimens” of the human race.
Flawed specimens walk amongst you with the same ease as a Flawless specimen would in a straight wedding. I suppose most people know this but deny it so as not to destroy their ever so beautiful and complicated “human” existence preoccupied with money, luxury and trophy wives and apathy towards everything else. When the Flawless specimen hits 60 that’s when the lines start to blur. The younger generations of Flawless specimens call this dementia and throw the same human who was once the epitome of perfect human into a hole called “old age home”. Irony of this situation is when the Flawless specimen hopes he had conceived at least one Flawed human to provide them with some excitement and made their lives worth living.
The Flawed specimens realize their defect as soon as they start identifying the conflicts within themselves. Contradictions piling up without any answers, the grand question ballooning as every second drops from the clock.
Finally you come out of denial to accept your own identity and start enjoying it. Before everyone else realizes it, you have had more fun than the Flawless specimen. Purgatory seems to have come down to earth every moment you pass a shiny object reflecting that which is not fully understood. Flawless specimens are like kryptonite. Seeing them jogs back memory of the embryonic stage of pure potentiality where any thought seemed rational and completely achievable. It also exposes the truth and superficiality of being a Flawless specimen in turn making you curse yourself for ever wanting to be one.
The converts are the people that both classes need to worry about. These bastards take birth as Flawless specimens and try to be Flawed just so that everyone despises them. Coverts try and ape the Flawed specimens fooling the onlookers with ease, claiming things belonging to the Flawed specimens just to achieve the authentication of being one. Even a Flawless specimen cannot recognize a convert. But the Flawed ones can spot a convert like you can spot a transvestite in a beauty contest. Once spotted the converts plead for mercy for the wrath of the Flawed is not to be fondled with. The penned up anger and frustration dating back to the day he was conceived all the way to the second you are staring at his blood shot eyes, can inflict so much pain that you may end up dead or worse paralyzed depending on the background track playing in the Flawed specimen’s head.
Bottom line is you can’t change who you are but you can always watch out for the pissed guy with a wrench in his hand.
