against Sceptics and cynics are full of specifics, settle down and be dead they scream in hysterics, taking up convention is selling my soul, a part of the machine joining the whole; Domesticity beckons, invites my submission, responsibility and maturity jostle for position abandon your immature, childish condition, embrace adulthood's all encompassing mission. "Be an adult" they say, this can no longer be tarried, go through the motions harassed and harried, chant the mantra of the twenties and married, too young to be trusted, too old to be carried. It is futile to deny that which is plain, the realms of suburbia are calling my name, accept the routine, no I may not abstain, for marital 'bliss' has made its claim. Take up life's shackles without rocking the boat, carry the burden, and yet stay afloat, live a life of debt its hand at my throat, for this is life's contract and the small print they wrote. Be always unhappy with my meagre lot, live beyond my means and follow the plot, sheepish and sheep-like follow the flock, never be satisfied with all that I've got. Fathering children to prevent my name's erosion, selfishly disregarding the population explosion, a rat in the race devoid of emotion, a nine to five player in the game of promotion. Convention's measure of the man is the status he achieves, the symbols of and the acclaim he receives, as seemingly precious as the air that he breathes, building a pension for when life slowly leaves. |