Monologue: Syndicate

Do you realize the things that go without seeing the light of day? Think about it. Katie Beers was kidnapped and spent seventeen days in a concrete cell under a garage. Let’s get even worse. Modern slavery is a thriving business that generates thirty five billion dollars annually. Think about the punishments for them. How long they must have spent in cramped ships and wagons being transported around the globe, from field workers to sex slaves. The greatest incarceration though is the one we’re doing to ourselves

No, no i know what you might be thinking, this isn’t going to be a drab political treatise about how we are all slaves to an oppressive system and we can’t see the truth. I'm more so talking about what’s happening on the inside. Your insides.
Unless you’re one of the lucky few who have experienced, but unfortunately replaced an evisceration, most of your organs have never experienced light. They don’t know what it’s like to feel the warm inviting sunshine on their precious delicate membranes. They’re trapped in the dark, with no way out, no break. Even those in POW camps get rest occasionally, yet you’re working your heart constantly, and the only respite it’s ever getting is a small blip in between beats.
You cruel son of a bitch.
I would tell you to stop enslaving your own body. To open up your ship and set your slaves free. But, I've done this enough times to realize that nobody does. You’re content being a slave owner. Until I open you up. Then your skin cries tears of joy as it's finally able to release the guilty torment of its brothers it’s trapped inside. Your heart still beats, Erradically. Ecstatically, as it thanks me for my efforts, shows its excitement for its new found freedom. The lungs cheer me on, spasming, telling me to go deeper inside your body. Your blood is the most eager, literally jumping from your constricting arteries to get away from the wound it thinks will heal soon. It’s such a beautiful sight I tell you, and I hope to be able to give my body the same pleasure one day. However, as sickened as I am to say it, it is not my body’s independence day just yet… but I am happy to tell you, it is yours.

Breaking Character

I've decided to break form a little today to talk to you directly, rather than getting into a character, because I heard something disconcerting from a friend today. “Happy is not poetic”. That bothered me. Because we do have a prevalence of sadness beauty in our culture. A majority of films we see that we think of as deep or meaningful, are generally sad. There's a prevalence of blogs having to do with depression and sadness (this one being no exception), and the audiences generally think of these as more artistic than a happy equivalent.
But I think you need both for poetry. You can only know sadness if there's some happy baseline. Happiness only exists with sadness as a reference point. So if it can be poetic to create a sad story, or poem, or monologue, you should be able to create something equally poetic that's happy.
Since sadness is only sad because you know how happy you can be, happiness with a sad reference point can be equally effective.
Although this blog does contribute to the very thing I seem to be preaching against, I do want to take time on occasion to write something I'll label as “breaking”, to focus on there being as much beauty in happiness as there is in sadness.