After Watching a Marvel Movie, We Talk Descartes
All my friends blink and they turn thirty. I blink and my vision is cleared of dust and grit.
It would be nice to be special; I once believed I was, specifically because I could make my pupils dilate on command. It was a narrowing of vision, a focus on nothing before coming back into the moment my sight sharpening shadows. An ability that only silently awes, but is entirely useless.
These days everyone wants a hero but everybody already thinks themselves the protagonist.
We forget so much. Such as how a child learns they are individual: by recognizing himself or herself in a mirror. But even elephants, dolphins, and some dogs can do this. We forget everyone already believes they are the hero and I doubt anyone goes out of his or her way to be villainous.
Bruce Wayne dawns his cape like darkness curling its voice. Clark Kent flits across the green screen. To us, he’s flying. Still, I argue through the dimness of my lover’s living room. Her friends state everyone is special in their own regard. I feel like an outsider here.
If I were to agree, I would speed through this moment a flash of glasses glinting.
If I were to disagree I would retard this moment into spectacle: an infamy of malicious argument.
I say we are individual. I say you believe you’re special because you use personal and respective first person pronouns, oxygen, and muscle memory. But, isn’t that special enough? I would normally just agree and move on. But, there is something cathartic in being an honest brute.
Perhaps, but not when there’s seven million or more that have the ability to say I am.
Samuel J Fox is a queer essayist and poet living in the Piedmont of North Carolina. He will blur your lines most often. He refuses to concede with social norms. He has been published in Five2One, Luna Luna Magazine, The Miscreant, and Maudlin House; he has essays appearing in Muse/A Journal, (b)OINK, and The Avenue. You may find him at your local coffee shop, or at www.samueljfox.com.