Age is the eternal enemy of passion, as one increases the other diminishes, dissipates, is inclined to become flaccid, unexcitable. Do not mistake this lack of arousal physical and spiritual with any lack of ire. Anger, annoyance, irascibility still remain but in a manner more introspective, dispersed admittedly by occasional vocalizations more suited to the matelot than priest.
I am inclined to curse at inanimate objects far more than individuals, unexpected news or embarrassing viewpoints, vent fully only in the comforting privacy of solitude rather than in company or even if casually observed. Adulthood brings a false veil of educated perspective, endless considerations around the propriety of behavior, a fervent wish to be thought granite as opposed to flighty or transient in thought and emotion.
No matter that appearance oft hides a morass of fractured precepts, a choir of sensible voices screaming error or bogus analysis, we must project a sea of calm amidst the turbulent ocean. Falsehood, ambiguity becomes a place of solace, a safe space to escape the turbulent events and ideas surging all around our fatally flawed foundation.
These pedestals upon which we carefully pose so statuesquely, appearing pristine marble, are but in reality simple crushed pea gravel superficially sprayed and polished to foster the illusion of solidity. We are complicated compotes of fruits and vegetables, at birth our gelatin clear as good aspic should be, but with passing time any clarity is resolutely diminished to the consistency of mock turtle soup, with similar mysterious erroneous ingredients.
I envy the young their verve, that inherent fortitude that seems at first without end but must in time dilute like any pure concentrate exposed to watery and insipid education and instruction. Far too soon their fortitude will meet intransigence, promise be cut with probability rather than possibility, hope smelted and then poured unknowingly into a foreign mold, to produce some similar but wholly different casting than that which was desired.
With politic skill and systematic social engineering it is quite easy and highly plausible to make a silk purse from a sow’s ear.