I found an old video compilation from my high school that included the crude and wildly fun Braveheart opening to the school’s media awards show. I took a picture to show Kay how I looked then. Long hair, scruffy; like a metalhead hippie. I looked at those pixel blue eyes, hair slightly obstructing the view, and realized the passion and fire that those eyes once held.
There’s things you forget.
You forget what you are.
When you remember.
An inferno that sweeps.
Killing the dead timber.
I realized, after seeing that picture, watching old videos of myself and my friends, that the hell I went through during that time was totally of my own making. A self-imposed isolation I ran from, into the arms of a conformity ready to accept any and all exiles. In Orthodox Christianity, Hell isn’t a place under the world, nor do you go there after death. When you die, you wait in realm of the dead until God is ready. Then when God appears, bringing about salvation, those who hold the light to their hearts feel the warmth while those who reject the truth burn. An apt story.
Allen Ginsberg starts his famous poem Howl with a foreshadowing of future American society
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,
I don’t plan on being one of them.