What does it take for people to pay attention? Usually, more than you think or you’d like. Something could be in the very centre of someone’s view of something for days, months and even years and they may only realise it one day, randomly, give it a single moment of thought then return back to the monotony of their grass grazing life.
Is this what it takes for me to receive your attention, eh? Do we have to commit crimes, by spraypainting on someone else’s wall? By vandalising something which belongs to someone whom has done no wrong to us as individuals? How many attempts on lives do there have to be, before you tune in to the message that is so desperately being tried to be delivered to you?
Something that could not be more obvious if you painted it bright red, something that you just cannot ignore. However, as if it’s some sort of fantastically tragic magic trick – you can ignore it. The elephant in the room for all, is an old friend of yours lingering like a bad odour. Tainted with so-called ‘experience’ you are not left desensitised and therefore unsurprised: you are simply careless.
If you can’t see it, it’s not there. That’s the beauty of the ignorance lent to all by the optical experience. I thought you were men of science? Your very job to observe the unobservable, what may lay beneath the rock. So why is it, that you notice nothing and still, act as if you take your professions seriously?
While people fall into the crevice of depression or madness, it’s narrow nature makes your chortle. “It’s easy to step over that crack in the ground.” you say, but you don’t realise its grotesque depth. Those who fall in know its intolerable pain but there you are, standing above shouting down – still as if you are omniscient. Waggling a stick that’s ever so short, too short to help, you tell them it’s easy – that they’re weak and it’s no fault of anyone’s but their own. You leave them be, barren to elements. To the harsh ways of the world. “Sweep it under the carpet,” you say, “it’s just one person.” How many ‘one persons’ is it now? They all add up, like how the pressure for them constantly builds… until it reaches a point you’ll never know. You’ll never know, because within those textbooks you once scrutinised to the very last word, to be in the place you are now: you never found your soul, yet lived the realisation… of someone else’s dream.