Monday, October 08, 2007

When the Sidewalk Ends

gravamen (gra-VAY-muhn) noun [plural gravamens or gravamina (-VAM-uh-nuh)]

The essence or the most serious part of an accusation.

It's hard to think that it's all a trick. That the way we live our lives--the kinds of choices we make, the kinds of opportunities that present themselves--was all staged years ago by elite chess players interested in owning the board. It's hard to believe--it's quite amazing--just how true it is. Ownership is our legacy. We claim ourselves and then we claim our objects, all our precious humanly things. And that marks our legacy. We claim each paved step, each tissue, each dried letter of a word, each chemical in our body. We claim and we own and we sell and we profit and we die. We--who invent symbols from our own inventions--who kill not for survival but for luxury, for the opportunity to surround ourselves with our own symbols and inventions--rectify the very systems that snag us each on the labyrinth of valued success. If anything is deemed doomed by our own doing, by our own mazes, it's us. We shall kill ourselves with our created, owned systems.

Ask yourself this: when did you last walk on a surface unfit for wheels?

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