Our Political Nature

In the marrow of our bones, politics is inscribed, an ancient script of dominance and submission, etched deep in the bedrock of our being. We are actors on a stage, where every gesture, every word, is charged with meaning, where power is the current that flows, unseen but felt, undeniable. We cannot escape it— like a bull in a China shop, our clumsy attempts at neutrality shatter the fragile artifacts of civility. Like a teddy bear in the arms of a kick boxer, we are paradoxes, soft and fierce, vulnerable and strong, unwilling participants in a game that never ceases. We despise politicians, those mirrors of our souls, reflecting the jagged edges of our own conflicted natures, the windows through which we see our fragmented selves. Human experience is political, a dance of power and persuasion, the assertion of our truths, our stories, our lives, above others. We take liberties with leopards, unchanged, unchanging, their spots a testament to the constancy of our struggles, our relentless pursuit of dominance, our eternal quest for control. Tired of politics? Throw a fit, a tirade, laugh at the absurdity of your reflection, but know this: you are political, we are political, whether we want to be or not. In the theater of life, we play our parts, each moment a line in the script, each action a move in the game, bound by the threads of politics woven deeply into our souls.