We've been singing the blues, ever since the world began* ~ sunfever

As you grow older, your reactions slow down, the world takes on the outlines of an uneasy familiarity that you tend to dislike. Like an old criminal who you tried to tame but failed and now grins back at you easily, languishing in his chair, tilting his head in a mocking flourish.

Come sit down, he says, breaks open a bottle of beer, let’s have a drink. I’ve been going to hell ever since it all began, what else is new?

He looks at my astonished, sullen, belligerent silence and observed:

At 20 it is all sincere, fiery, change the world today.
At 25 the world can wait, let me get my feet a bit wet.
At 30 they start peeking at where they can stake a claim and hammer in their tent pegs.
At 35 it is all sincere, fiery, rake in the cash.
At 40 all that teenage angst rises up like bile.
At 50 they’ve become the wise men of tomorrow.
At 60 they strut about with their knowledge awards.
And after that it is all generally down hill.

It’s cute, eh? In all of your present epoch, he boasted, there’s not been one person who has made a substantial change in the way I work. People love the class-caste system. The pecking order. The fawning. The drama of being rich and poor. The drama of having nothing and everything. The illusion of pride and beauty. Of validating existence against a show and tell kindergarden formula. All these are the props of the stage that you live by. So what, his mottled face flushed, WHAT, his voice rose, WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING WITH YOUR SANCTIMONIOUS SHIT?

I smiled. Pleased that I had broken through his smirking veneer. Old Man, it’s always been changing. Ever since it all went down. It’s been changing and that too faster since the cross. Only you don’t want to acknowledge it. You’ve outstayed your lease. You were in any case never welcome here. Not in your true colors. Time for you to pack up and leave.

As you grow older, your reactions slow down. The interactive mechanics with the world around you becomes familiar, automatic. What you’ve learned both stabilize and stultify you. The dynamic edge become dull. The sword loses its sharpness. You become lazy. Confident of your own prowess. The lie of the land. The truth about eternity. Your ability to distinguish the two. You stop caring. Content to rely on your past deeds, victories. And what was fresh once, becomes stale, dry, spiritless.