Views From The Circular Room

Written By: Brandon Colors

Arrogance, I’d imagine, is generally perceived as a negative trait. Yet, it’s been my experience that a small portion of it may help keep one from disadvantage. And perhaps the question of most importance concerning it, as its manifestation by certain mortals becomes noticeable, is whereof was it acquired. I believe most who possess it owned it through their superiority of intellect, or preeminence in certain areas of endeavor, but unfortunately others, such as myself, adopted it through our inferiorities and penchant to blame successful members of society for the either avoidable or unavoidable perils of the unsuccessful. And, I’ve lived long enough to know that some amount of arrogance also stems from some mortals’ usually hidden attitude of condescension toward mankind, as well as their usually non-hidden gargantuan egos and inflated senses of self. But still, despite that, I reluctantly admit that those of us who consider ourselves saviors of the downtrodden might do well to remember that the inward rush of every tide subsides eventually. And then the waters return from whence they came. And that’s been my life symbolic. Most of what I’ve initially found to be important, has ultimately been proven unfounded.
And I work in the circular room. And when I’m surrounded by influential people there, that’s when I’m grounded there. But in solitary moments, when in the isolation of mind wanderings I walk to a window, I see many reminiscences there. They’re staring back at me there.
And recently the current mayor (George Jennifer) of the city in which I grew up (many years ago) sent me a copy of a written piece which my younger brother Jay had submitted to the internet. And he asked me to read it (if I hadn’t already done so), and submit a retort to it if I wished. What follows is that retort.
“I guess I’m a fairly busy man, but I don’t know if I should be. In that written piece I alluded to, my younger brother announced his retirement from the workforce, and I, being older than he, probably also should have ended my working years sometime ago. Nonetheless, I didn’t, and now find my thoughts often random and chaotic.
And I don’t know if I introduced myself properly. I’m Jay Blydyn’s older brother Brandon, whom he referenced in his written piece ‘Time Facilitation.’ And while I admit that Jay should be proud of his lifetime achievements, I don’t know if I can say that about myself. Oh, and why isn’t my last name Blyden? I changed it to Colors because I felt such a moniker might help further my career.
And I suppose I should begin what I feel to be the main segment of this discourse by admitting that I often find my thoughts either straying backward to memories of bygone years, or forward to misgivings I have about days to come. And yes, sometimes when I look out a window, I fear it’s an altered landscape I’ll find there. And should I ever discover an outside world that’s changed, then I’ll know that I’m not where I’m supposed to be. And then I’ll not know what to do, but I’ll know that most likely I’ve crossed over into one of planet Earth’s other fifty three parallel realities. And then, if I have crossed over, how will I live on in a new realness?
And thus, I say ‘Help me.’ Help me, because I know a new realness will be difficult for me to accept. And I surmise my inflated sense of self-worth will be challenged in a new reality. And as I ponder this, I notice confusion beckoning. And now it’s entering my mind as both aerial and ground attacks launched in conjunction. And the two of those assaults are now merging their abilities of degradation. And now they’re expanding and contracting my consciousness and thought process. Yes, they’re altering my thoughts! And now they’re attempting to force me to pledge allegiance to, and serve false and wicked masters for that duration of time under which I may function beneath their control.
And, oh God! Even now as I attempt to fulfill assigned roles, I find myself hindered by the savage onslaught of relentless disorder, pity, shame and paranoia. Oh, why can’t I reach and touch the rightful Master at these times? Is the force from the abyss really so overwhelming in moments of loud, penetrating, and all-engulfing weakness? Oh, at first I note a deafening sound. And then the confusion surrounding me levels somewhat. And its deviousness subsides momentarily. But then it intensifies again. And then it speaks to me! But then it softens. And it quiets then. And it slows then. And then, oh my God, it explodes in an unavoidable and unbearable sight of color and sound of horror!
And now as confusion exits, disarray takes its place upon the stage of my perception. And disarray, you hurt me. You devastate my being, for you obscure many of the assaults made upon the fortress which the ‘status-quo’ built for those who live for non-change only. And disarray, why do you come to me only when you wish to? I live so well without you, but in your presence I feel I desire you. And God! What an evilness this is! Oh, I offer my prayers for those who may encounter this! May it never control them! Oh wretchedness when mortals look upon chaos as their Savior!
But then disorder visits me. And then I need to admit that its power exceeds that of disarray. And I must acknowledge that disorder can seize control of my very being. And, it mocks me! God! Disorder have you no sense of dignity? Oh, that’s right, you have no dignity because as an uncontrolled form of existence, you have no God. Nonetheless, can’t you stop degrading me? And can’t you stifle your fondness for ‘laying bare’ all I’ve ever done that was wrong?
Help me people! Help me because sin is now in my conscience and psyche! And it’s ringing and reverberating therein. Oh, sin’s presence tears apart my heart when I recall all I could and should have done, as well as all I did and didn’t do.
And now self-pity is creeping in upon me. And it’s claiming my achievements, few though they may be. And bereft of what small amount of righteousness I once owned, I have no alternative but to completely and unconditionally surrender to morbidity. And yes, at this time sin and self-pity own my heart and mind. But I pray they’ll never confiscate my soul!
And does this never end? Now paranoia is launching a frontal attack upon my reason and state of well-being. And always, under its influence, I fear all within and outside myself. And I look about and see a wretched, wicked, sinful, and potentially harmful world. And oh, I fear the relentless harangue and devastation accrued from paranoia’s controlling, influential, and all-encompassing seizure of self. And under paranoia’s deviousness, I see a world torn into a billion pieces. And I also see kaleidoscopically all figments of what is, was, and may yet be.
And sometimes I find myself simultaneously sorry and not sorry for all I’ve done. And then I feel disoriented in regard to a philosophy of lifestyles. And then I sense stark fear. But then sometimes that fear alters my mindset. And then I simply become angered by all this randomness of emotion. And that’s when I assert myself, and say that never will the man whose name doesn’t matter, be the whipping boy for any person, philosophy, or way of life.
And one thing I always strive to remember is that we’re fortunate here. And no matter our opinions, we’re fortunate here. We’re alive among universal choices. And at other times, in other lands, iron fists of dictatorship have sometimes slammed down hard upon the middle class. And thus, because of that, my sincerity of gratitude remains. It remains.
Oh, but let’s not forget our sympathy for those whose artistic efforts are often stymied by an unforgiving populace. Yes, that’s a populace which usually says it’s dedicated to change, yet, if the truth be told, most often wants change for others only, and not for its individual members, except of course if such change could help those individuals financially.
And maybe I’ve never really heretofore realized how small we all actually are! But we were given a life on a planet with a distant sun. And we have a divine certainty. And although we were created in perfection’s image, our image is perfect no longer. But yet our strength of character can remain. It can remain. And, in what may be a related issue, when Mayor Jennifer, whom I mentioned earlier in this piece, turned over a copy of my brother Jay’s composition to me, he told me that America has a new greatest writer now. ‘It’s not Jay?’ I asked.
‘No, it’s not him’ said the mayor. ‘But we can’t divulge the name of the actual person at this time.’
And knowing that all I’ve said in this piece thus far is true, only intensifies the sense of questioning I perceive at times such as this when as I sit here alone in this rounded office, my mind wanders back to days long ago passed. Yes, many years ago, as a junior in high school, I purchased a ‘fixed up’ 56 Buick and used to ‘tear around’ with it on the streets of the city. And that sucker could surely burn some rubber – black marks galore!
But then one day the Pellotski family moved in next door. And they had a nice looking daughter named Nancy. But Nancy was a couple of years older than I, and therefore didn’t want to be my girl. Nonetheless, she and I used to cruise around sometimes in my Buick. And I can always remember her saying ‘Brandon, you’re an okay guy, but you can’t be my boyfriend because I like being an unattached young and free American girl. And most of all, even though he’s not president anymore, and we have a Democrat in that office now, I still like Ike.’”