The People of Mad Town

There is an event in central city, a dance with the gods of time and space, in a mix of communion, anarchy, and heist, followed by a banquet of unearthly extravagance that offers all the pleasures of the world—and everyone is invited. From royals to beggars, jesters, merchants, and bards. Everyone.

But there is this town in which nobody wants to go. Invitations to the seven-day feast, the greatest party of their lives, wasted away. In the wake of their ordinary days, their decision to bail was a scandal to the city. Because. Who wouldn't show up to an endless dinner that offers everything you desire as if the world is about to end?

/"Dear People of Mad Town, This morning, we invite you one last time. I do not think you all understand. Now is everything. Everything is now, that thou might be immediately gratified. Instant wishes like a djinn's magic, instant gold, instant immortality, instant wealth and power, giving out free Philosopher’s Stones and Solomonic rings made from the Holy Grail.

Everything that you've ever dreamed of can come true in this very night. The hosts, the gods, hath promised this. A celebration that will be envied by Sodom and Jericho. Not even all Thanksgivings, Christmas Eves, and New Year's combined since the dawn of time can surpass this.

But here you all are, with such strange and offensive refusal, an accursed neighbourhood choosing old, boring, small things of your meaningless everyday lives. A primitive town ignorant of what happiness is like, bathing in the sin of letting the best wines and grand feasts pass away.

Best of luckless luck, The Hosts"/

/"Dear Hosts,

For the mean time, we choose joy—those moments we often take for granted. The priceless things of life, over anything you can ever offer in a hundred empty lifetimes. Joy, hidden in the soul of the small things.

Seeing the glistening grass caused by sunrise after a thunderstorm over the town. The aroma of freshly baked bread emanating into the alleys. Kisses in the street from a cat that you may or may not own. Catching flakes of snow knowing it’s the last days of winter. Inserting the correct key at first attempt. Sour blueberries, public market, sonder, petrichor, old books, waltz, jazz, and stargazing.

My dear hosts, everywhere we look, there is already something worth celebrating in this life. In our hearts, endless rejoicing. Yours will not last. You can have your lavish instantaneity. We can accept your invitation any time we want, in our own terms. An option. But tonight, we politely decline.

Love, The People of Mad Town"/