Memories in the Postmodern 2.0

*WARNING: Please do not read this post. This is another fragmentary entry towards a larger piece of work.

I saw in a vision a man afraid, walking so very cautiously through a long dark corridor. There were no doors or windows. There was just enough light to see a few paces ahead. He was overwhelmed with confusion; confused by not knowing where he was or who he was. i could see the trap he was in. I could sense his fear. I know why he was where he was, but I could not, for the very life of me, speak to him. So I screamed. I screamed to him trying to get his attention but no sound was audible. I knew that inevitably he would wander down the hall to the door. He- like us all- did not yet know or understand his fate.

I thought, "I can help him. But how?" I could not get in the glass box with him. You see, he was walking inside of this glass box which I was holding in my hand. Paralyzed by the futility of the situation I could only watch him meander aimlessly inside. Knowing his ultimate outcome, a part of me began to relish the thought of watching him walk towards destruction. He was so innocent, so naive. He seemed a child who had just learned to walk, stumbling now and then having just discovered his mobility. And like a child, he was naked: just a man and his conscience.

I thought of his state. We arrive with nothing and we leave with nothing.

As he closed a door behind him leaving the hall, my heart jumped and I thought to quickly break the glass but...it was much too late to help him. He was gone. A great blanket of shame covered my heart. I rolled over and went to sleep, crying in the dark.