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OTHER ITA SITES:
Ambits of a Family
Family, like sex, is a mature word. And like sex, it is word for relations; not physical, but social. And like most social relations, it is reliant on compromises. A compromise forged between men who wish to resign to daring, and those cosigned to it. The compromise is to not to dare at all. However, it is not a truce. The difference is that compromises accompany their reliability and convenience of holding no ground at all. A compromise is based on conditions. Changes, even inconsequential ones, continually decimate conditions. Since we cannot have a condition without unsuppressed changes, we shall not have a compromise and since no one no more endeavors for a truce, there is no such thing as a family, in the present. Except of course, the disseminated thing where short spanned, silent compromises, those that are more or less submissions, with tolerable conditions and changes that are made latent, frame men with men, if not in confrontation, at least in the ghost of one, an!
d here, family is somewhat made satisfactory, a relation where everyone is happy, where even happiness besides compromises, changes, conditions is adulterated, manufactured. Happiness is happiness when it is either accidental or incidental and not bred to be so. When it is neither, it is profanity, an act. Men hold proud differences. These differences are reflections of their great or little or no conceit; the act is the common, compromised universal charm they assay, and in midst of such a perfect understanding of this state of profanity, each man with his briefcase of principles is happy again with that unreal happiness and sated with dissatisfactions of note, that prejudice the world against him. We bear our indifferences with our sisters, mothers, fathers, relations generally, because we fret the times of openness, for the conduct or the behavior of a man who did not act has all the credibility of inviting slander behind him and man, as a social and conscious identity, p!
erforms an act in its uniform for the sake of an opinion or a judgment that should not stand against him. The things that delight us are the things that we allow to do so; happiness is there where either lays the lavish opportunity of contenting hope, or the tendency of one’s wickedness fulfilled, but the latter, to those of a quick conscience, comes allied with guilt.
Everything composed to be pleasing and pleasuring has its consequences that compensate and redeem, and hence, short lived lives are still well-measured escapes. Acting sharply etches the divergence of either saving or suffering a consequence.
A family is a stressed compound of gullible liars, prospective actors and a feigned togetherness bound by the chronic sense of relation, its induced longevity and social impact. A real thing like a family, has little relation to a reality that is actual, but more of it to a reality that has been common amongst us, that of the genus which foster the function of a stagnated life where the adventure of a day is a rupture in the act, a performance immune to everything but an audience of an overlooking world, the sharp eyed mistress of social inflexibility. This arrogance breeds impatience and sadly, it lies true vice versa.
The most appropriate consequence for a thing revels in its erosive degeneration, because appropriation, itself, is the only vibrant synonym for closure. The implication one finds at hand when circumstances cease to persist within frameworks of acceptability, is the product of stigma and confusion, even insane bewilderment. When the act will suspend, man with his preconceptions will be confounded, with his preparedness will be agitated, not due to the course of something he cannot comprehend but for the sake of everything that he cannot let oblige or prevent. This faction of unreality is not entirely indispensable, merely prolonged to such extents that in its absence, we will witness new things, absolute things and sentiments other than those that are either seemingly real or suggestively clear.
Bad conclusions incur a continuum. Good conclusions incur beginnings. A beginning is nothing except brief; however, for those who seek a greater mischief, it is also not obvious. The beast of beginnings is not ominous, just playfully gruesome.
Sadly, it is not essential that when we attend to end the act, we forge a fortunate family; instead when we abandon things that exist to supplement happiness as a task, we attack the basest foundation of meek relationships that are founded on principles of consistency, and if not, then constancy for sure. It is strange that relations are gauged by their extensive lives and not their idealness or sheerness or independence. When this conceptual strangeness wanes or wilts, there are no compromises or acts but the simple awfulness and insensibilities of indecision. Truth, you see, rarely exhibits and when it does, it also avenges.
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