The Handover

It is no longer soon for numberous amongst us, but rather it is immanent. It is Staringly close.

Those who are called the fridge generation, are re-heating their slippery soul soaked deridgible views, anchored in an earlier time. They rant at the chilled nation, who they see as living with intent. Stuttering, in our day and at our time of life.

They see time as if it were the miasma of consciousness. With some degree of certainty they know, that the present is simply the past consuming the future. So as long as there is a future, time itself can never be sated. That someone, somewhere is safe, for sure. Their question being will they be that someone. It is the waiting to see which is unnerving. That and the handover.

Also they know of the hunger of youth, and that it is likely to be a while before the young are satisfied.

This is the uncomfortableness of what knowledge and consequence beings. It can be when danger is sensed even though no danger exists. This is a corporeal notion, matter over mind. At the moment it is possibly a self deluding prophesy where no message was intended. Things are apt to get away, and they don’t quite like it. Things like influence or control.

In their land of how things used to be it was natural to assume there would be no need for change. The horizon was far off. The distances of life looked vast, incomprehensible. They were snowblindingly content. They just didn’t know it.

When life was good how could it be bettered? Here is the origin of the stain of memory. In later life it would become unshiftable…

It is tough to give trust when you are viewing life, mostly through the rearview mirror. The handover isn’t easy whether you are giving our taking.

Copyright 2018 Christopher Thompson