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 |   All that remains: here in my afterlife as a 'mainstream' blogger, with what little I know. |
| Why do we put ourselves out there, come on in here? We are the recluses. I wanted to be discovered like you and yet found I must reject your conformity before my outstretched arms would receive to your bosom, to then stand at your side, look out upon the rest. I see you don't accept an animal without stripes bared. I might be spotted, but I'm not the ordinary one. And while I sought you out, eager to share, I saw you discovered I was becoming a recluse. While I can share my selfies, my poems and my words of attitude, I cannot share who I truly am. I cannot be who I am, the real Salinger in your world, knowing some would prey upon me, pick upon my flesh, pull me apart; and while I'm resistant to tearing, I'll not just stand here in your desert without water, let your indifference crawl up, reside within my brain. I choose recluse ever-most, my only lonely option, the sole choice offered non-conformity, cast within an infinite, societal jail, for one who arrived for salvation, a drop of consumable water in your -- beautiful -- 'community' garden. 5.17.20 edited 5.19 If I click the link to join to comment on the HuffPost article, I've already failed (the writer who counts themself among 'us' doesn't fully grasp why we become reclusive. I'm a day late and a dollar short to inform you, Kim): https://www.huffingtonpost.ca/kim-smiley/genius-recluses_b_4669001.html Just one note: the reclusive don't form their own society. Another: we're hardly empathetic to the cause. |
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