Carefully examine the photo above which, at first glance, is a seemingly unobtrusive scene. Indeed, it merely shows a rural street set within the backdrop of a wooded rustic setting. A freshly mowed lawn and a nicely kept brick house tell the viewer that here live people of means, or at least earn a decent living and care about the condition of their habitat. However, a second glance at the photo may raise an eyebrow, or perhaps a caution flag that something is just not right with it. There is a blemish in the photograph which takes the shape of a humpbacked, hulking, headless man. He stands in the center of the photograph, his bright red shirt in stark contrast to any other colour. He is the headless man. A creature forgotten and discarded by his friends and family as if he were a bubonic plague. His journey through life has been a harsh, brutal Hobbesian one. He is the face...if he had one...of desperate and pulverized humanity. Cursed at, made fun of, kicked, prodded, a lifetime of ridicule due to the humble state of his simple being. He is one of those unfortunates who are born without the necessary tools and skills that are needed to survive on his own in a society based on Darwinian principles. This is the headless man's last walk...it is the apogee of his existence...the dark cloud that has followed him from birth has now settled on him once and for all. He has finally surrendered to time...as inevitably we all must. He is a simple specimen of humanity who has never questioned the reason for his existence, or for that matter any subject that relates to the cosmic question of "why" something is. His life is a superficial one, like most, who live vicariously through the false lives of the fiction that is fed to them on a daily basis. It is not his fault, and like countless others who reside in this vapid sphere he is the mere product and sum of his experiences and interactions.
The headless man in the red shirt finally finds his head and lifts it high staring into the sky with a struggling grimace. His facial features contorted, he gazes into the infinite and wonders why he is having trouble with his breaths. He is simple...as far as he is concerned he has always been here...he doesn't remember his birth...only that he is here, and that he will always be here. Nothing can happen to him because "he" is "he." He merely reacts to events around him, and seeks the hedonistic pleasures that it is only natural by nature to seek. There are no consequences because like a dog the future is an abstract concept to him...there is only NOW.
The headless man had waged war against his fellow man as they had waged war against him. He has competed with them for space, food, shelter and anything else that the body requires to retain life. His struggle is at it's end...he has flown the white flag of surrender and now beseeches humanity to come to his assistance. His instinct is to continue...what else can he do? The cosmic clock is ticking!
Now, once again examine the photograph...what do you see now? I'll tell you what I see...I see a moment caught in time...a reflection of a man's life...a reflection that grinds at the core of existence and the truly short duration of our consubstantial nature. We will one day...all of us...find our defining moment when all must come to an end.
