“Outside of society they wait for me/Outside of society that’s where I want to be” - Loose and somewhat abstract ramblings on society & other animals

Outside of society would we run around naked, eating dinner for breakfast, lunch for dinner and vomiting our breakfast on innocent passer-bys in electric wheelchairs at lunch time? Or would be simply just do away with the clock, wake up in afternoon, dance in the morning and shave (nothing but our knuckles) during the night time? We would not miss anyone round midnight but rather have fond memories of acquaintances – past and present - at around 2.30pm (which would be hard to figure out as the clock has been disposed of). But in doing the all the aforementioned, in a regular manner, we surely must be taking the risk of forming a society, and, assuming one is predisposed to wanting to live outside society(ies), recreating the need to escape. Thus a condemnation of eternal ‘societo-escapism’ follows… ‘done, done and on to the next one” (as expressed by the poet). Mind-boggling stuff (or just sanctimonious rubbish - you choose).

Writers, filmmakers, poets, rockers, rappers and bankers (to name a few) have explored the ‘outside of society theme,’ all in their own special ways: be it through love on a boat, sailing through a cholera infested world; love in an elevator, perpetrating explicitly amorous acts while the lift descends; or there is the love in the tower, performing spider like tasks day in day out, cursed to keep your back to the world, carelessly losing your life on account of catching a whiff of a morally-questionable man’s proverbial ‘Old Spice’ and taking a glance behind you (and all this whilst having the dubious honour of quite awkwardly having a name similar to that of an onion’s little, fresher cousin); and outside of society one can clearly slap some bitches up, enjoy rears containing trash (apparently) and make up his own shnizle dizle words, ayeee(?). And yes bankers: creating a product, giving it the triple-A rating (which even tracksuit clad, inferior-newspaper readers realise is better than just one ‘A’) and selling it to Icelandic village council (for example) as an assurance that everyone’s pension will mature and prosper (I mean triple-A, just like my remote control takes and that hardly fails me). For the ones not following the financial crisis too closely, the reference concerns bankers overrating financial products, selling them on, becoming rich and thus creating the ability to live outside a credit-crunched (if you believe all the news) society. And let us not forget the filmmakers: man meets robot-girl, man gets followed around by an origami-crazed-officer who makes an origami man with a (origami) penis. Man fights with another robot-man (oops, I gave it away), robot-man starts slowing down (his triple-As start running down). ‘I’ve seen a lot of things, you haven’t, but all these don’t quite matter now,” robot-man tells us in dramatic gasps just before he expires. Man counts his stars because robot-man was stronger, looks at robot-girl and possibly wanders “do electric sheep, erhh I mean ladies, also fake orgasms.” Origami-crazed-officer re-appears, makes an origami unicorn, tells man “we all die in the end so don’t worry about it.” Robot-girl and man(robot) make a run for it… This one has been long and laborious but the unicorn is clearly an ‘up yours’ to society (for there was never such a creature as the unicorn, with the capacity for a double-phallic ‘up yours.’ If you may excuse the crassness, just like a horse but add some).

I was once – quite conventionally - a teenage boy. I produced an essay (the school’s volition, not mine) on something to do with facing ‘the music’ or just walking away. This being an English literature literature essay The Sun Also rises (or Fiesta as I knew it) was involved, as was the New York Trilogy (yes, Paul Auster was quite the rage – especially amongst my female classmates, but then his tiny portrait on the back of that Faber&Faber 1997 paperback edition made even the most ‘testosteronious’ of boys wander). But top-notch American authors aside, society had schooled me well; to walk away is to go back, to go back you have to look back and ones cannot see behind them as they can see forward. Thus the best way is to proceed face-on, after all the sensory organs are all generally and relatively more in front than the rest of them. “Hmm”, said Eric, a man with PhD in (all it seems) literature, who teenagers were allowed to call by his first name, whose wife was Margaret, who (both of them) didn’t eat meat (eggs or dairy), didn’t wear leather, didn’t eat the wine gums the rest of us did (something about bovine gelatine) and who had a beard (just Eric, not Margaret) dense and intense enough to conceal any features of his lower skull structure. “Hmmm, wouldn’t it make more sense to sometimes just back off? Nevertheless, well argued.” That last part seemed to suffice to me, as did the 87% grade. But the passing of time makes one wander about the rest, that 13%… possibly in the same way that Eric wanders if meat still tastes as it did back when he was young, pre-university, pre-Margaret, or like he wanders (perhaps) if his Vegan raised son has ever snuck out and bitten deep into burger, in delightful anticipation of what lies outside his society…

...and if you are left wandering what the point is, then you are being conventional. If you got the point, then think again, because did you?

PS:
Its ok Mr Deckard. You go ahead and make love with robort-girl, run away with her. No one will judge you and moreover its because you are just like she is; just like what you once battled against.