It goes like this: we have no choice.

My parents bought me a new desk chair the other day, because my old one broke. It's a very nice chair, black leather and with some sort of device built into it that allows it to spin perpetually, apparently. It's just wide enough for me to sit Indian style, which I love to do despite the fact that it's terrible for my legs. It was a kind gift for them to give me: to a writer, a desk chair is something akin to a throne, and is thus kind of a staple of my daily existence.

This is the first thing I've written, really, from my new throne. I guess I should make it more exciting quickly so as to keep your attention. Maybe you'll read all the way to the end, if I say something worthwhile enough.

So, to begin.

I have this issue with staring at people while I think. I creep a lot of people out on a daily basis because I forget quite often that it's not socially appropriate to just stare at people. So anyway, there's been a great deal on my mind recently, and I was thinking about it all while I was sitting at that stop light at H83 and Academy, waiting to turn left and head into the city. I was staring at the people in the cars around me, and I was listening to the CD "Maroon," by the Barenaked Ladies, which is amazing for all sorts of reasons. The song "Sell Sell Sell" was playing, and I really listened to the lyrics for the first time. They fit my thoughts:

"The credits roll, the camera pans
And in the mist our hero stands
He starts to speak, then folds his hands in prayer
An awkward pause, then what's my line?
There's nothing left to say this time
And what would you say to a bad guy who's not there?
In terms of Roman numerals,
He's IV league with Roman Polanski
He'd win an Oscar every time if he was only given the chance

He started on the Broadway stage
A product of another age,
An offer and a pilot drew him west
The series bombed, commercials came
And though nobody knew his name
They all recognized the potential he possessed
Deodorants and dental floss
And how much does that new car cost
His acting was methodical in You Don't Need A Medical
He's branded like a racing car,
He's like a movie star with movies
The week of Independence Day,
The casting agent called to say
Your smile could save our movie and the world

Buy buy buy buy
Sell sell sell
How well you learn
To not discern
Who's foe and who is friend
We'll own them all in the end

It goes like this, we have no choice; the minarets,
The wailing voice
And vaguely Celtic music fills the air
We choose a foreigner to hate,
The new Iraq gets more irate
We really know nothing about them, and no one cares
Aladdin and the forty thieves
Enhanced by brand new special effects
Saddam and his cow disease spiced up
With some gratuitous sex
A movie's made, a war is won
A low-speed chase, a smoking gun
Distracts us while the actor takes the stand

Buy buy buy buy
Sell sell sell
How well you learn
To not discern
Who's foe and who is friend
We'll own them all in the end."

Especially the part about having no choice. Perhaps I should explain my train of thought a little better. I feel like I'm gibbering.

See, when I started college, I took some classes in moral theory - that is, why people act the way they do. I developed this theory that I called "Social Revolution versus Homeostasis." Basically, it states that a culture is either changing or it isn't, and only great tragedy can move a culture from one level to the other. Yeah, real creative, right? But it made sense to me. I presented it to some of the philosophy department and it was accepted moderately well, though it had some holes that I never could fill.

I forsook this theory two nights ago. I was at a friend's house, staring at the white stucco on his wall, and I realized that I was wrong. My concept of homeostasis was hugely flawed. Society, culture, they never stand still. They are always changing, morphing, one thing into another, never back again and always at a crossroads. Just as people are never the same. Every moment, come and gone and forgotten or remembered, is different. Nothing is ever the same. So my theory was wrong.

Or, at least, most of it was. I still think that great tragedy is the only thing that forces a society to change. And that's awful, isn't it? That we come together all at once under one banner that is never painted anything but crimson?

So, why do we act the way we do? Why is it that blood must flow in rivers before we fix anything?

I think - and I'm just thinking in type, here - I think it's because we perceive that we have no choice. "It goes like this: we have no choice," that song goes. That line rang out while I was sitting in traffic, watching the cars go by on Academy, some towards the Interstate, some towards the city, looking at the faces of the people that drove by. Some were on their phones, some were alone, some were with family or friends. Some were in business clothes and some were in jeans; some drove SUVs or sedans, some drove sports cars, some drove hooptys.

And despite the fact that their faces were different, they all wore the same expression. They all had the same shadow behind their eyes. Mistrust, skepticism, wariness. Isolation.

"Man thinks they are each alone in this world," said the character Story in "Lady in the Water, "It is not true. You are all connected. One act can one day affect all."

God said, "It was not good for man to be alone." So he made Eve.

We are creatures hardwired for connectedness. You could make the argument that we are pack animals, so to speak. We are designed to function as a group, to be together, to love, to touch, to hold.

And we've forgotten that, haven't we?

Our culture teaches us that if you work hard enough by yourself, and step on enough necks, and push individually, not only can you reach the top, but you can change the world, all by yourself. The media tells us the same thing, rife with stories of scripted success that could never be real.

You can't.

I'm torn by that, because I like to work alone. If I work alone toward whatever goal, I don't endanger others by my failures and I can revel in my successes by myself. I love being alone. But if it had to be for forever, I'd much rather have someone with me than be alone.

Martin Luther King, Jr. was not alone. His name, and so many other names, do not survive today because they were only one person at a time. They were people with the courage to rise to the head of a group of others who shared their passion. Man can do nothing alone. Even Jesus had His disciples.

Our society tells us that you can't trust anyone. That every attempt you make to reach out to someone will be a detriment to you. That it's not okay to hold someone you love because your intent will be misread.

And I'm sick of it. I'm sick and tired of being too cautious. I'm weary of not smiling at people on the street because it's not "appropriate." And I'm more than exhausted of second-guessing every casual touch I direct to the men I love most dearly because of my worry that it will be misconstrued as something other than completely platonic, if fierce and passionate, love. Some of the people I love most are men, and I want to be able to not subject my every movement to some socially expected scrutiny.

People are made for each other. We are not meant to function alone. And I wish we knew that better. If we each stand alone, we will each fall. But if we stand together, maybe, just maybe, we can rise from the ashes of this self-absorbed, petulant, frivolously obsessed culture into a brighter age.

Did you know that you need to receive at least thirteen hugs of five to eleven second duration EVERY DAY to achieve stable brain chemistry?

Did you know that most people have less than TWO real, true friends?

Do you know your neighbor's name? How about the guy who sits next to you in class? The bus driver? The janitor? Your professor? When was the last time you talked to your parents, or your siblings?

How long, at this rate, will it take for us to destroy ourselves with this violent, inbred mistrust?

How often do you bite your tongue in conversation about important topics because you worry about offending others, or being judged? How many times, in any given day, are you offended by what others say or do? Can you do anything about that? What?

It goes like this, we have no choice.

Do we have a choice? Is this the way things have to be? I don't think so. I don't think that's the case, at all. But it will remain the case and continue to change in that way, towards loneliness and isolation and mistrust and disconnectedness, unless we start to fix it, and start now.


(I should say that these thoughts are not just mine. They are the progression of a long conversation I had with a very, very wise man, who got me thinking. I couldn't have developed these without him, and they are his as much as they are mine.)

Avalon, out.