Sliding Down

Sliding.

Down is no good but for sliding.
Up is ok except for mania.
Even is just plain dull, but catatonic is worse.

Isolation in a black tank ruins your perceptions, someone studied.
Prisoners in isolation go crazy.

Send socially unfit humans to be packed in cages; then they go crazy so put them in solitary confinement where they slide through the inescapable cement; down below the topsoil where nothing lives.

I want isolation.
Social isolation.
Interacting, I am nowhere, somewhere below the topsoil, wishing a huge abyss would appear to slide me away, leaving behind babbling incoherency and/or visibility.

Let me go, let me slide down, like children zipping down a winding slide on the playground, two at a time, though it's against the rules. No running, no games of tag near the jungle gym. No swinging left, only right so no one gets bumped, lest someone is injured in play. No bad words, no hurting shouts of denigration, no play fighting.

You know it, but you do it.
I do it again.
The wrong thing.
I want to say, "I didn't know!", but I had an inkling.

Yesterday I learned that we are subjugated to our supervisors. They may place us in this class or that, teens, young adults, against your will, infants, preschoolers. Where do I fit best I think, sitting in offices listening, supporting the bad childhoods of the little smart mouths.

How do little ones know about bad childhoods? Where did they hear they're having one. Childhood is sweet ignorance, not self knowledge of a bad life.

Hit where it hurts. No. Because never, never to let another child hurt cannot be done. "You hurt your family, who love you very much, but they don't like you, so cry for that now, because discipline opens that door."

Sliding down first, bracing with feet rubbery with basketball soles, then climbing up to hysteria, to the top screaming, throwing flaming, fiery play weapons. Now that will solve it all.

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