The Curse of Crocodile Gratitude

i feel your

crocodile life

belly low slung, swaying

conquest trophy

i feel your

crocodile lie

pleasing

of Crocodile Gratitude

Is a sorrow, a sorrow, if the tears are crocodile tears? Is a courage, a courage, if the heart is a crocodile heart?

*

I should tell a story.

That accomplishes what?

A play? A script?

How doubtful, a medium of crocodile tears to answer the question of crocodile tears.

A speech!

At a microphone, is there a difference between a speech by the author and a speech by the author of the author?

Of course, a poem. Surely, a song.

So a narrative isn't a narrative, when it's not in narrative form?

*

What about a letter? An interview? Or a post? How all the rage, a medium of crocodile hearts to answer the question of crocodile hearts.

What about a headline? An account? Or a testimony? How vive du jour, a crocodile crocodiles in statements witnessed.

*

It is effortless, crocodile tears that say: I weep, I weep. It is painless, crocodile hearts that say: I bleed, I bleed.

To spot the crocodile is to spot the hay in a haystack.

Do you know? Which hay is the crocodile in a haystack? Do your peers, your so and so, your own know? Which haystack isn't a haystack at all?

I should tell a curse:

more power to you.

To be the hay in a haystack means to be like all the others but only skin deep. Taught by life in childhood that acceptance and fairness is skin deep: How long before every child's acceptance and fairness is skin deep too? How long before swaths and masses, communities and civilizations, are populated and colonized by haystacks that are crocodilestacks? How long before the hay that is the crocodile is yourself and everyone else because that's what it means to be like all the others?

The Curse

On this season of gratitude, I'm grateful for crocodile tears, crocodile hearts. I'm grateful for drip drop, tick tock. I'm grateful, skin deep.

For anything but would rob me

of how good, how good, how good it feels to drip drop crocodile tears, to tick tock crocodile hearts, to skin deep gratitude.

 

Addendum

The Curse of Crocodile Gratitude is the curse of appearances.

Of what's sacrificed, when what matters isn't substance, when what matters is trivial. That is, when what matters is the appearance of civility, what's lost is the point. For the point of civility is not fake politeness or fake friendship or fake kindness, though this is the kind of politeness and friendship and kindness that is taught to every child and practiced. The point of civility is mutuality.

Such that when what matters isn't mutuality, when what matters is the façade of mutuality, what's missing is sincerity.

This is what you and I feel.

When every degree of superficial difference between us is experienced visibly and palpably, we feel insincerity, whether the difference is across our politics, religion, gender, income, or so on.

We often criticize such insincerity as hypocrisy, even as we exercise hypocrisy too.

After all, is every one of you authentic with everyone? That is, do you feel a mutuality with every human being on the other side of every degree of superficial difference between us? Do you feel a humility?

Or is what you and I feel, good that a pretense of dignity is good enough? That, but for performative respect, as heartfelt as playacting, we would be at war?

 

*

The Curse of Crocodile Gratitude is the curse of what's not special.

Differences aren't what's special about us. What's special about us is our capacity and will to recognize and acknowledge that differences don't matter, not really. 

What?

When differences are our everything, from our identity to our pride, we reject our obligation to shrug off visible and palpable realnesses of differences to cooperate. Never mind, what is there to cooperate towards together, when we feel no humbleness towards the different? Never mind, differences are no more accepted and fair, than realnesses of differences are visible and palpable.

What?

To the extent that the future is the consequence of our cooperation or lack thereof, directing our energy, resources, and bandwidth towards what's not real and what's not true, robs us of tomorrow to satisfy the present and we who seize lanes and appropriate flagpoles with the impunity of make believe.

*

The Curse of Crocodile Gratitude is not the curse of enemies.

It's the truth that reaping what we sow isn't specific and judicious. That is, the covenant that forgives all doesn't spare believers of such covenants from tomorrow. In other words, what we don't cooperate towards today, will bear fruit that engages hostilities tomorrow.

Such that, should we wish for a tomorrow that fulfills hope for something more real than make believe, the seeds we plant cannot double down on fictions that feel too good, too good, too good to be true.

M

*

Author's Note

Love is not a solution. Not when love is for the loved and hate is for the hated. Not when what is coveted is crocodile life and what is despised is all that repudiates greed and pride and vanity.

 For greed and pride and vanity are what crocodiles live and lie and love for.

M

Piling on Pyres

Piling on pyres isn't new or original or exceptional and it cannot be ignored. Not for what it is, what it effects, and what it intends.

Piling on Pyres

What's already been said doesn't need to be said again.

But you wouldn't know that by little flames everywhere.

Those little flames everywhere would have you see: no flame die. But they would be wrong. Flames do. Flames have. Flames will.

Because oxygen isn't forever.

*

Each of us is powerful. As bellows and pokers. As dousers and extinguishers. For every fire everywhere, each of us is responsible:

for doing something.

Because doing nothing is doing something. It's not dousing and it's not extinguishing. It's being a bystander who inacts. It's being an observer who ignores. And:

it's being present and walking away.

*

That's not to say that that isn't how we got here. Because of course an arrangement that enshrines flame wars is baiting and piling on and baiting and piling on, to the rhythm of ticket punching and dues paying. 

That's to say: and...?

That that's what is done, that that's what has been done since before our time, that that's what will be done for all time is no acquittal of responsibility. 

It's an indictment of all we burn to the ground: for what?

*

As if every consequence doesn't matter:

except one.

As for every other consequence? Fate, fixed and immovable, dispossesses us of our hand in every fire that breaks us. That is to say, a will not our own, relieves us of blame.

*

Consequently: here is where we are. Teacups ablaze. Bonfires roaring with torched matchsticks. Mega fires raging across swells of masses.

It's nobody's fault.

It is what it is. 

Then what? So what? Really?

*

When hearing with our own ears is nothing is heard and seeing with our own eyes is nothing is seen

what's already been said is echoed and amplified without friction and little flames everywhere are lit and emboldened without resistance.

Regardless of whether obliviousness or indifference or ruthlessness or hatred are to blame, each of us is responsible for every consequence of

what baiting and piling on and baiting and piling on is, what baiting and piling on and baiting and piling on effects, and what baiting and piling on and baiting and piling on intends.

*

Because

ignorance and ignoring how we got here isn't bliss; no more than how we got here is innocent. To the extent that the future is written here and now, 

what do pyres write?

Note

As for

"Piling on pyres isn't new or original or exceptional and it cannot be ignored. Not for what it is, what it effects, and what it intends."

When (i) we bewail the current state of affairs as if such state of things is new and terrifyingly so; (ii) we incite flame wars as if it is extraordinary to immolate each other; and (iii) we applaud ourselves as if the worst is exceptional; (iv)

we ignore what cannot be ignored:

(v) our agreements that enshrine flame wars; our culpability for every fire that breaks us; and what we get

 when that which we aspire to, takes our cake and eats it too.

M

*

Author's Note

When what threatens "life as we know it" is a fantastical figment of imagination, what "saves" life as we know it is a fantastical figment of imagination too.

Meanwhile, what threatens real life is not a fantastical figment of imagination. It's people who follow "violence resolves conflict." It's people who follow "money is everything." It's people who follow "freedom vetoes rule." 

Whether such violence assaults or imperils; whether such conflict is cultural or political. Whether such tenet exonerates hustlers who defraud what's fair game or tax shelter schemes that dodge accounting or material and immaterial currency boosted by baiting and piling on and baiting and piling on. Whether such freedom is tacit free will or upheld "right;" whether such rule is tacit norm or upheld "law."

Such that what saves real life is not a fantastical figment of imagination. It's people who with their own ears hear and who with their own eyes see: wrongdoing isn't nothing. No more than ignoring wrongdoing through obliviousness or indifference or ruthlessness or hatred, is good.

Such that when we follow "escape is real," (i) we are not investing in real lives, (ii) we are reducing energy, resources, and bandwidth towards addressing real people, and (iii) we are gamifying ignorance and ignoring real realities.

As if no one is answerable for pledging not our problem as our guiding virtue in all matters that threaten real life here and now.

M