Zozobra 2014

Zozobra 2014, Santa Fe, NM 

it's pretty brilliant, actually. choose someone to accuse of being the source of an entire community's anxieties and problems, and immediately, poof: relief. no need for self-reflection or accountability, just burn a poor mofo at the stake and rejoice. so simple, so clean. too bad for me that i am that chosen one.

whoever came up with the idea is a marketing genius. first, they renamed me: Old Man Gloom, Zozobra- by now, i doubt anyone remembers my real name. then they created an entire celebration out of the burning of me: kettle corn, lemonade, firecrackers, live music, a parade. come one, come all, pack a picnic and bring the entire family out to watch a man go up in flames!

i get it, i see the appeal. life is much simpler with a living, breathing (though soon i'll have neither of these qualities) villain- that's me. people are overwhelmed by their fractured lives, their competing passions and responsibilities. they exist in a constant state of uncertainty, guessing at the "right" decisions, clumsily making plans for the future when no one of us is even guaranteed a future to begin with. add on top of that the daily tragedies that show no sign of ceasing- accidental death, paralysis, an unexpected diagnosis with a timeline- and it's easy to see how the troubles can pile up. in many of these situations, there is no obvious villain, which makes it all even harder to swallow. 

that's where i come in. because even a fictitious reason like me is preferable to the truth: that more often than not, things simply happen, with terrible results. call it what you will- fate, bad timing, natural consequences, some higher being's fucking Plan- but i have nothing to do with any of it. i'm just the guy they picked, the one who never fit in to begin with, and who therefore was an easy sell. pin your troubles on me and send them up in flames.

the crowd has been gathering for hours, the last rays of daylight fleeing the scene. a man in a suit appears and, like a bad actor, melodramatically bellows a list of accusations against me, ending with the predictable outcome: "GUILTY!" he repeats it too many times (hey buddy, less is more). the crowd screams; the people look joyful. beachballs are unleashed above their heads. a woman in glittering red spandex with feathers sprouting out of her head dances on the stairs in front of me as the band resumes their festive beat. from my vantage point, i can see everything: kids on shoulders, couples taking selfies, the vendors, the hooded figures carrying torches making their way towards me, and the infinite darkness beyond them all.