The mystique of the esoteric pulls at the edges of my awareness. It matters not at all the topic, nor even the genre, so long as there is some hidden content woven into the fabric, just out of sight.  I know all too well the foolishness of romanticizing the mysterious, of placing fragile concepts upon slippery pedestals.  Yet I cannot deny the appeal, the twinkles induced at the edge of vision when near these systemic mirages.

Perhaps this is due to some personal flaw, some unconscious rejection of the mundane, but given how simple I am, that seems something of a stretch, and I do try to avoid makeup wearing swine.  It maybe that I am intrigued by the unusual simply because I am bored with the crass commercialism & displays of entitlement that are so prevalent.

Yet that may very well be leveling harsh and unjust judgement against the ills I perceive in society’s fabric as a reaction to the discomfort I feel for having spent most of my life far to one side or another of center on the bell curve of normal & regular – an odd duck for an odd pond as it were.  If this is the case, it seems unlikely that I will ever be able to garner a clear understanding and perhaps indicates that I shouldn’t try.

I know there are many more people than me & my ilk for which these things function as enchantments.  Even those whose immediate reaction is to scoff and criticize show the power inherent, albeit manifested negatively for that moment, some past experience colouring them black and virulently antagonistic.  But how much separation is there really?  Are we two outliers on opposite sides of the same graph, both staring up the slope and begrudging those ascendant?  Are we even on the same page at all, and if not, do my mysteries & their mundanity carry any significance beyond those surrogate feelings we apply?

May 19, 2018

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