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A Whisper to a Friend
A Whisper to a Friend
By Punkerslut
It seemed improbable that I would come to be their ally. He was
arrogant but intelligent, vulgar but precise. In his character,
there were to be found the vices that I once exhibiting years
ago. As I tried with focus to eliminate these attributes in
myself, I tried to develop my complimentary traits. I believed
that the greatest social change that can come to a society will
come from those who are patient, willing, and intelligent. No
advancement of civilization can come when the rabble rousers are
blindfolded, when the people become moths, following wherever
the light goes. This man and I, we hardly ever mingled, until a
Great Deal of time had passed. He had known of me, and I had
known of him. We both had the same interests, the same desire
for a society that did not abuse its animals, for a social
construct that did not set up the exploitation of laborers. But
then the occasion would have for it that we would meet and
exchange our thoughts. One of the finest moments of our lives,
we confided in each other, was when we realized the brutality,
the insane logic and reasoning which had been used to justify
the greatest cruelties, the vicious and savaged nature of our
society -- and both of us, upon learning this for ourselves,
immediately had given up such practises of brutality.
It is, odd, indeed, that we may differ as a pair from a great
deal of society. Becoming Vegetarians at the first knowledge of
this inhumane slaughter of animals, we were both glad that we
had found this immutable truth. Another person from society had
once commented on this, saying, "If I didn't know it was wrong
to steal from people, I would have more joy in my exploits than
a man who knew it was wrong, who may not enjoy it at all. So,
how is it that you can be happy at discovering something that
prevents you from pleasure?" To this, I remarked, "Besides the
fact that I am sharing in the honor, the virtue, and the
privilege, of being among the few to start a world wide
revolution on behalf of all those who are oppressed -- besides
the fact that I may be a faceless member in a crowd of
individuals constantly, relentlessly working for those who may
suffer as we do -- besides this one fact, the pleasure and pride
of being a Vegetarian come from finding truth in a world
obsessed with rhetoric and propaganda, finding one strand of
cloth in the quilt of philosophy, discovering an understanding
of all beings, when the world wars with itself with confusion."
This person, looking somewhat impressed at my response, turned
to my friend for an answer. He responded, "Why am I glad that
I'm a Vegetarian? Because I'm not a fuckwitz."
Slowly, as we became good friends, the demeanor in which he
portrayed himself to me became something foreign to how he
answered his critics, or how he even answered strangers. Yet,
it's not like that just with him. Every person has a natural
barrier that they keep up between themselves and those they are
not familiar with. Some people will not smile or laugh unless in
the company of close friends, others will never give a genuine
statement unless they are among familiar faces. This friend of
mine, just another nameless man among a group of disenchanted
reformers, was among those people whose emotions never left the
inside unless with his mates. I had seen him debate, and the
spectacle almost looked like a mass of uncivilized arguments,
but among those people, I had not seen him laugh, or smile, or
cry. But when we would sit side by side as friends, each eating
a tomatoe and lettuce sandwich on toast, he would share with me
his thoughts and feelings, things which he always had to hide.
He is not the only one to engage in this habit, and it would be
a rare find to discover a person who did not do the same. He was
afraid, mostly, that if he said exactly what he felt on the
inside, that someone could use it to hurt him. It is how we all
feel: receptive to being honest about ourselves, because we are
all scared to death of rejection. This may, indeed, be a way of
understanding emotions, in particular anger. When this friend of
mine spoke, and used every negative word in his own and the next
man's dictionary, he spoke from inside a bubble, because
afterwards, he would be able to sit down and have a drink, as
these debates never reached him on the inside. And when he spoke
to me, it was outside of this imaginary building, where he could
smile and look at nature's beauty, without fear of criticism of
any sort. I never told him what I saw here.
The day finally came, where the winds of change were at our
backs, and my comrade had to take leave. We shook hands, and I
told him, "It was good to get to know you, friend." And squeazed
his palm back, saying, "And it was good to find one decent man
among a bunch of redneck fucks." He left, and I saw him walking.
Sitting on my piece of sidewalk, I watched him make every step.
He never looked back.
This was but a few months ago. I believe, in all sincerity,
that I am a greater man because of my encounter with this
friend, and an even greater one still for becoming his ally. As
these days pass, every effort transforming into strength added
to the movement, every dream of my lovers and friends of past
just another reason to stand up taller, stronger; as these
moments pass like currents in the ocean, the meaning of my life
has only be strengthed by those faces who come into and leave my
life. The memories of happiness just become a collage of people
who have influenced me. The first female to hold me close and
confess her emotions, the first male to recite his poetry about
civilization to me -- these men and women who have been
obligated to move, to travel, to keep going in whatever
direction that calls them. I find myself with friends, always in
circulation, but always left with the times we had together,
those experiences that strengthened our comradery, our courage.
As we open up to each other, we know that the person we are
loving today, may very well just be another a million miles from
us tomorrow, in a crowd of strangers. My friends, travelling the
globe, I wish I could be with you all at all times and at all
places, but such a realization is both an ultimate heaven and an
ultimate impossibility. Every wish for a perfected society comes
with a desire to be among men and women of good humor, of
charity, of decency, of good reason and generosity. Today,
though, every action that I commit on behalf of some oppressed
class, it is done with the pride of the individuals I have met,
who are sacrificing themselves everyday for something that may
not be realized except in centuries to come. Every moment
dedicated to relaxing, is done ultimately, with the thought of
them fighting, in my mind... And as I toss and turn, fighting
the mad confusion of an adversary, I never let up, because I
have not forgotten -- what I do today, is a whisper to a friend.
www.punkerslut.com
For Life, Punkerslu
About the Author
Punkerslut (or Andy Carloff) has been writing essays and poetry
on social issues which have caught his attention for several
years. His website www.punkerslut.com provides a complete list
of all of these writings. His life experience includes
homelessness, squating in New Orleans and LA, dropping out of
high school, getting expelled from college for "subversive
activities," and a myriad of other revolutionary actions.
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