To The Installers (first letter)

How many times have you propped up other people’s half-baked schemes (renouncing all credit, sleep and thresholds of tolerance)? Have you ever found yourself wolfing down a lunch you couldn’t afford to begin with, huddled in some storage space, a back alley, an awkward passage?
Do you think about getting up the next day before you fall asleep – and just how do all of these others get here, these people who demand your loyalty and labor?
Imagine their impotence. Their lips are moving but there is no sound. You could destroy them so easily. This stuff can creep into a racing mind. There’s also those nagging fears of arrested development, the paralysis of one’s dreams, one’s optimism and expectations.
Perhaps you could exist somewhere else altogether – a lost realm of calm. All senses of entitlement are revealed to you so boldly and so often. You get used to having no illusions.
One day you wake up and discover there’s no more lies to tell yourself.
It’s as if the truth exists in a concrete way and can actually set you free.