Fear was the best oppression. A perfect violence simply because it was an implied violence. It crept and skulked throughout the cities and in the remote villages like a mist that came out abruptly from the deeps of the impenetrable forest. It kept close to all like an inseparable companion, draped over the shoulders of hunched men and hushed women. Its tell-tale signs impressed on the children more and more as they grew older, they unfortunate enough to not know a world without the fear. It hung everywhere. In the streets, in the shops, in the dance halls, in the temples. It was a life form of its own. And perhaps it had become untameable, even by those who thought that the rope was theirs to wield. How could this be living? How could this be life?
But a passion still glowed in the eyes of Simon Daschink. He was a single man, a quiet man—a dangerous man. Or so all the men without names and sombre suits believed. Condemned for being just who he was, for loving another man. An abomination in the eyes of State and Church and "the common morality". In truth, though, Daschink had not been dangerous because of who he was, because he was in love. No, not before he became a man in love who lost his love. A flame had been in him once; but it was a simple flame for him and for Him. A warmth for two in an unlit and cold playhouse run by men rapt in a comedic masterpiece. Now that flame was a fire, for murdered love is fierce and inextinguishable and unforgiving.
An individual is composed of three main ingredients: Passion, Reason and Will. Passion—in constant conflict with Reason—draws an individual out from within themselves out toward the variegated colors of the external world. Life in the State necessitated manacles be placed on Passion, but by one's own self. Simon kept his unshackled Passion secret, of course; a treasure for himself and Him. For it was Reason that instructed him, that protected him, that kept him safe. Reason is a master, and it is captain at the helm. In a world that is seemingly bereft of all vestiges of the rational, one's own Reason must be the last rampart, the final defense against the mindless onslaught of dogma and doctrine. And then Will. It was when his heart was stepped on by the jackboot that Simon knew the true meaning of Will. For Will is action. Action both in act and in word. Will is expressed through a purposeful change of reality. For Simon, his Will would come forth as many words and many acts. The former stoking the hell-furnaces of the latter.
M.M. — May 2013; Aug 2017
