How will you bear the burden of fruitfulness?
I don’t know my place. Before I can find myself in one. I’m off to another. Even farther from the familiar faces. I’ve been running away from. Trying but failing to outpace.
Beautiful, peaceful, bountiful, places by all accounts. Which soon amounts to nothing when said breathtaking bastion I’m holed up in. Is found out. And a gaggle of gawking gasping sycophants converge upon the small patch of earth. I wrongly assumed would allow me to skirt the limelight. Is trampled under their immense weight.
No where is safe it seems. I apologize for the inevitably appalling traffic congested tourist riddled fates of those once pristine states. Though it wasn’t I who spoke a word of its grandeur to anyone of late.
So outfitted in the same generic get up as the rest of the Joe Schmoe Johnny come lately juggernauts. With my brim low and none the wiser I make my exodus. Unable to bear the auspicious stares and whispers of "There goes that miserable miser”
I climb the stairway to the helipad and fly off in my helicopter. Bound for a billion dollar yacht. That’s akin to living in a fish bowl esq. prison cell. I can’t stretch my legs or imagination out in. I won’t last more than a day or two surrounded by the crew and watery views. Before I come down with some second hand flu.
I foolishly locked myself in a sensory deprivation tank. In the pursuit of some peace and quiet once. Knowing full well. My world only gets louder when alone I close my eyes. And try and hear myself count sheep. Over the barrage of verbal assaults and requests for a moment of my time. Coming from the indomitable peanut gallery that has taken up residency in my mind.
Do other anthrvopist end up on terrorist watchlists? My investments and charitable contributions seemingly ruin every city. Once charming run down one horse towns. Where everybody knew everybody. Until this so called somebody came to town. I don’t even recognize myself anymore. How do they always pick run if the mill me out of a crowd?
Home is where the heart was crushed. And I’m in no hurry to go back there for another kick in the nuts. But I’d hate to ruin another pleasant place. Burdening it with those awful faces that follow me every good while it lasted place I land. And I fear death will be no different. Heaven or Hell are just havens of more of the same. It’s a shame if I do and if I don’t ship off to somewhere new. Pray I remain a stranger to you.