Remoy Philip

writer. creator. producer.

Cavanaugh Park





They're just kids. We're just kids. I swear to God, we didn't ask for this. I didn't ask for this. Nowhere do I remember seeing a contract or a deal being made where I consciously signed up. I'm getting older, the world is getting a bit smaller as well as so much larger, and I know not of where I'm headed.

I remember those years now two decades past, when the adults of my day would come to me and say, "Soon you are going to be the one who this world depends on." "Really... that's nice... I don't care." Well unfortunately, I wish I didn't care. Hell I try not to care, but each day that reality stretches a little bit thinner and my face comes an inch closer to grasping a hold of that idea.

I see it around me more and more. The old ones are dying out, and the former young ones, you and myself included, are having to find the right shoes, and step consciously forward. "Am I grown up?" I ask myself. "Sure. But am I an adult? No, I'm not ready. I never said I was. Please no, I'm not ready."

"Soon, one day you're going to be a man/ Man can do terrible things." That's what scares me. I've seen it happen in the slightest of instances; when evil inquires of me and I relinquish. The aforementioned terrible is at my fingertips ready to be invested into manipulation. I'm worried for the world.

Does anyone else see it? We're getting older, yet, we lack so much. Ball-caps, tattoos, food-stained shirts, and smoking habits are supposed to soon replace the fiscally responsible and religiously firm of the former generation. Are you kidding me?

I mean we try. We fake it well. My ears are pricked. I hear conversations of Bhutto and foreign policy mixed in with vexed angst against Jamie-lynn and hopeless aspirations of stardom. We vote and tuck in our shirts and try to stay fastidious when it comes to our world, but then we douse ourselves in bud light and cheap pizza and sleazy artistic trysts. However we cover up our mistakes in imports and french cuisine that lie of post-modernism. We're playing house with no other audience but ourselves.

I hope, lest be it, pray that the walls don't come crumbling in. I feel the ground shaking and the hearts terminating, and my eyes are closed and my hand are bracing against the breaking-in of it all. Maybe we--as in the world--are not as vulnerable as I feel we are. Maybe, everything will be OK in the end. God I hope so.


Be Relentless,
Peace
Remoy