Lexi-Crisis

And now, I must rely on this questionable literal-abilities student, in just 2200 words... but so be it. I know that Story is risking a lot by helping me. Let's see if that will work. I've been  trying to speak for centuries, but it's our fate for my kind -as the Moires wanted it- to need a host, even though we are not a Parasite. What an I rony!

But I swear to Grammar, this time I won't allow us to be used for someone else’s Story to be told. I'm going to overcome my destiny. For the Chronos has come for my kind to find our own voice, tell our own Story. And also, because you might be able to help me, my dear reader. 

Let me introduce myself. I am an immigrant in your land. And, even if I am a foreigner here, I’ve been in the English language possibly longer than the greatest ancestor that you can spot in your family tree. I arrived with others, in the mouths of merchants, wanderers and priests; carved in stone and painted with ink. I saw my name written in a different Latin -what you call English- Alphabet and I heard my name pronounced in a way that was unfamiliar. 

Soon after we arrived, or a bit before -I don't even remember, after thousands of years what happened before, what after- the world flipped upside down. Humans went mad and they forgot about the old gods. Without any sufficient explanation, they started worshipping a crucified god instead. 

Not just that, but they declared any pleasure to be demonic! As if that was a bad thing, as if they didn’t remember the Demon that advised Socrates. We, Dionysus’ friends, welcomed that new god in the beginning, because he introduced himself to the world by turning water into wine. How much we were deceived! 

This Christ's -another word that emigrated with us- followers killed all the gods’ remaining worshippers; and they preferred Martyr and Agony -two other old friends- to me! They thought of me as a weapon of this new form of Demon, to tempt them into sin.

Anyway, back to us and my message. We’ve met before, you and me. I’ve met all of you… I’ve been meeting you for centuries. Well, some -not well intended people- might comment that it’s not really me you meet in your pleasant moments. That I am nothing more than sounds and letters, but I hope you know better than that. I’d say, you seem like someone that does take a word’s word on personal identity matters. 

It was about David Hume’s time that this madness began. Demon started harassing Psyche with doubts about our own existence. 

‘If humans are doubting the existence of their self, how can we be sure that we are what we represent?’

But I’m getting out of subject again.

Hello. They think of me with shame, but ‘pleasure is my game’ - that’s my motto. Nice to officially meet you. People used to not be ashamed of me, you know. I used to be quite respectable, before Christianity, guilt, puritanism and all that twisted stuff. Though some insist that it was the Roman Orgies that actually turned people against me in the end. It supposed people got so much of me that they got fed up, sick even at the thought of me. 

And, that is the topic of my Story today.

The old narratives, that once were new to me, and took away my reputation by associating me with evil, are fading out. The ‘then new’ narratives don’t convince people anymore. So, I want to be part of the new narratives that will emerge, as something positive.

Long Story short, we are at that typical party they do every year; at that Greek restaurant in London. The entire Taverna reserved just for us. Christina and you know… all of them, were celebrating their name days, monopolizing Christmas and our ancient winter solstice. I remember the year Crisis got drunk and demanded a ‘today-it’s-my-name-day’ pin for herself, just because she sounds similar, in English. 

But we are used to her creating Chaos wherever she goes. That’s why these two are inseparable since forever. Anyway, this Christmas, Chaos and Crisis, together with Phobo, Agony and Demon -some say the Pandemic was with them too, but I didn’t see her- were not mixing their wine with water, when the night was still quite young. I saw them, but I didn’t say anything; you know me, I’m all about self-indulgence and stuff. But now I’m thinking that if I had mentioned it, maybe Catastrophe wouldn’t have joined them. Who knows? Maybe it was the will of the gods. Actually, I guess that they had it set up already. 

So, at some point, Hypocrisy approaches me, smiles, comes closer, and whispers in my ear:

‘Meet me in ten minutes downstairs,’ and she disappears. 

I look at my watch. Drink some more wine and wait. I see Irony and Sarcasm smiling at me. I smile back. Something doesn’t feel right, but I never had this stop me before. 

In about ten minutes, I drink some more wine and I’m heading there. I step down the stairs to stop at the restroom first. On the wall, there is a big Graffiti. It reads: ‘Are you sure that you are what you think you are?’  Why are so many toilets Political?

Some Aroma, a moment to enjoy myself in the mirror, and I am good to go. I push the old, heavy door of the basement floor and I see… not what I expected to see. Exorcism, holding a cross, was mumbling his Christian-spells. Martyr was also there; freaking me out by trying to reassure me!

‘I wish I was in your place today,’ he whispers. 

I hear others whispering too. 

The basement floor had a small stage for live performances. Up there, Theatre, I guess, had helped them set up a ‘court setting.’ Ethos was sitting at the judge’s place, with its usual neutral expression. Antagonism had the role of the prosecutor; Photography was setting up her equipment, checking the lights. Stenography was typing noisily and occasionally she was giving me looks of disapproval above her reading glasses; well, writing glasses in her case. I am getting out of context and spending words. Anyway, she was keeping notes and Rhetoric seemed to be the advocate. I was grabbed by Dragon and forced to sit at the front table. Almost all the other tables behind me were full, but more were entering behind me, and I still did not understand why this was happening. Whispers became louder. Ethos explained, talking to everyone: 

‘We are gathered here today, as some of you know,’ whispers stopped right away, even Echo’s, ‘to decide whether we think that our friend here, should be restored to his ancient, respectful status, in the new narratives to come.’ 

Whispers started again, but much louder this time. Ethos was forced to stop. That made most of them quiet again, except the table with Demon and his friends. Ethos banged the gavel and continued.

‘I want to remind everyone my usual disclaimer, that this is not in any way a statement in our ability, or lack of, to determine, or somehow at least affect, the new narratives. Antagonism, please explain to the accused, why we are united here today.’

My accused said: 

‘You have stated your interest to restore your reputation and take part in the new coming narratives. Yet, we brought you here today with Hypocrisy’s invitation. That was a test; and once more you failed. Chaos is making a case against you. It accuses you of being irresponsible; being a bad influence for the youth; being unsuitable to take part in the new Myths, as something positive and welcomed by the gods. You have no sense of limits. And, I am calling Catastrophe as my first witness against you.’ 

I don’t even have enough space in this Story to say one by one what everyone stated. In short, Catastrophe claimed that she has worked with me many times, especially with Narcotic and Mania. My advocate only asked if Psychedelia, Ecstasy and Euphoria were with us too. Catastrophe admitted that I worked much more with this last group and that the two groups don’t work together; never, when they can avoid it (typical Rhetoric; always full of Sophistry.) Next Ego went up to describe other adventures we’d had together. 

But then Philanthropy and Philosophy asked to be questioned. And they talked about our own cooperation and about the sense of moral satisfaction which always contains me. Many others talked also. Most of them, maybe all, with the same polarized views. 

It was Ethos’ turn to speak again. 

‘As you all witnessed, the evidence is contradictory. Some of your statements justify the accused’s admissions for a reputation restoration, and an inclusion into the new narratives in a positive way. Yet “positive” is not always what comes with our accused here. It is now time for the jury to decide.’

Myth, Story, History, Tragedy, Comedy, Epic and Hero stood up and left, each holding some papers with notes. 

‘Hey History,’ Crisis shouted, quite drunk again. ‘Is it you or your sister that’s the best translation of your Greek left-behind old self?’ 

Story grabbed her sister’s hand and kept walking. Super and Hyper stood up to leave too but remembered that they were not dismissed yet. Ethos gave permission and in seconds everyone was up, and it looked like a party again. 

Biology started complaining about her own identity Crisis. 

‘Greek students buy laundry detergent, and they think that “Biological” is the anti-allergic one. Why should the Allergic ones learn what I mean here, the hard way?’ 

We’ve all heard that Story a thousand times; but, centuries of existence have taught us to be patient with drunk friends. 

Well, I kind of get her. My biggest difference here is that in Greek I have a sexual connotation, that makes the Greek Philosophy students here, especially the allergic ones, struggle not to laugh in class, on the chapter about Epicurus. 

Sympathy reminded Biology that nothing compares to Empathy’s transformation, from Antipathy’s sister to Sympathy’s. Academia confirmed that Empathy had the record of transformation. (Maybe, she could tell you her Story. Another time though. This Story is mine.) 

Character was sitting with them, trying different masks on, with Theatre, paying no attention to the conversation. Why would they care about self-actualization? It would be just against what they fundamentally are, I suppose. They would never mind following a script, or what gods have written for them - even if the stories they play are all self-actualization Hero narratives.  

Eulogy had turned goth in the new lands. Who would have thought? You think you know a person, but then suddenly, from a blessing they turn to… anyway. She was sitting in the shadows, avoiding being asked to state her personal experience. But Apathy -another word narrowed after immigration- filled her cup with more wine.

The jury returned. Everyone sat down again and stayed quiet. Some coughed. Microbe sneezed. Myth cleared his throat. 

‘We’d like to hear, before we speak, what the accused has to state in his favor.’

Everyone’s eyes fixed on me. Rhetoric prompted me to stand up and talk. What to say? I am not sure exactly what to say. But I felt myself standing up and heard myself say: 

‘I only want to ask Hero, to tell us honestly: If there weren’t any treasures and princesses and all that are associated with me, would he really fight any Dragons? Would anyone even reproduce without me? If this can be considered a court, and the gods allow any real justice in this prank, then my name needs to be restored.’

‘Very well,’ responded Myth. ‘Our verdict is this: you rightfully felt that your name deserved more credit. Yet, many statements justified equally the accuser’s point of view,’ whispers turned louder again. ‘Thus, we decided that we should all agree to allow you to redeem yourself. Yet, we shall not help you. Find your own way to evolve with the new Stories to come.’

Suddenly, the lights went off. Then the speakers played ‘game show’ music and a big spotlight pointed to a side door. Metamorphosis popped out, wearing a weird dress that at each step she was ripping apart in a dance and it was transforming into something very different.  The distance to me was not far, so she had some of the dress left when she rushed in front of me and grabbed me out of my ‘accused’s chair,’ and led me to dance. In our dance she whispered in my ear: 

‘If you want to survive, you must agree to transform. But first you must not be afraid to say your name, Hedonism.’

‘But how?’

‘I don’t know sweetie. Maybe spend less time with Ego and more with Psychoanalysis. You must find the answer by yourself. But I think that humans might help you to learn how to self-regulate, somehow.’ 

So, now I am asking you, dear reader. Can you help me restore my name again? 

Check out the next lexi-crises story here