Playing our own little Game of Thrones


by Karen Y. Hamilton, October 11, 2017
“Larvatus prodeo, I come forward, masked.” René Descartes
I’m not making a lot of friends lately. Might even be losing a few. Ah well, what’re ya gonna do? My research for the last few years (and in my MFA program) is centered around silence and secrets. How those are used in literature, specifically, and as an extension, in the psyche at large. Yeah, there’s been plenty written on the subject by some pretty influential people: Plato, Jesus, Rumi, Marx, Nietzsche, Foucault, Einstein, Spivak, poets by the millions…
But this little bit of journaling this morning is not about philosophy and literature. It is about this game, this game we are all supposed to be participating in. You know, the one where we mind fuck (sorry, Mother!) each other at every turn. Creating silences, obscuring language, reversing truths, creating power struggles with one person always left on the bottom getting trampled upon.
I don’t like it. I don’t like the game. I never have. And I simply am not playing it anymore. It makes me tired. And I already struggle with sleep issues, so thank you very much, um, no.
George Orwell says in Politics and the English Language, “The great enemy of clear language is insincerity.” Clear language. Unheard of! Does anyone out there really say what they mean? Ever? I keep trying to, but everyone keeps telling me I am wrong. So much for trying to be sincere – a concept which seems to be lost on society of any age.
On the issue of dating, more specifically, on the issue of men, I’m told over and over again that men are children and must be trained. I’m sorry. I find that offensive, degrading, and just absurd. But off I go – play the game, train the man, gain control and be the one in power. Absolutely exhausting. For every victory, there are a dozen battles lost. Since when did simply getting to know someone become such a battleground?
Ridiculous. For me anyway. The rest of you can have at it – move yourselves around in your own little world of Game of Thrones. This chick is over it. Just gonna say what I mean from now on. If I lose the seat on the Iron Throne, so be it. Don’t want to sit there anyway!
As usual, I digress. That’s okay because I’m saying what I MEAN. In my own roundabout way.
Okay, rant over. For now. You know I’ll be back to bore you. Or maybe make you think for yourself a little (I’m hoping).
I’ll leave you with this:
  • What would your world be like – your relationships, etc. – if you stopped playing the game?


  • If you said exactly what you are thinking in your brain without trying to manipulate someone or gain the almighty seat of power?
(And I am not talking about white lies, and those little pretends we do so as to not hurt someone’s feelings, like ‘That dress looks awful on you!)
Have a blessed afternoon!

Published by: Karen Y. Hamilton

Walt Whitman says about his autobiography, Specimen Days “…At any rate I obey my happy hour’s command, which seems curiously imperative. May-be, if don’t do anything else, I shall send out the most wayward, spontaneous, fragmentary book ever printed.” This is what I feel at this juncture of my life, the need to gather together memories of my ancestors as well as my own memories into some semblance of order. Because all of those fragments, all of the fragments that make up any life, become stories. I am the mother of three sons, who affectionately (I hope!) call me 'gypsy mom' because I tend to wander around a bit soaking in the universe's wonders. I am currently working towards an MFA in Creative Writing at Florida Atlantic University. I have published essays with Heritage Press, Florida Living, and the St. Pauls Review. I am currently working on a book of poems about the Florida Everglades pioneers and a memoir about grief and the bonds of friendship. I live in my hometown, Jupiter, Florida and work as a freelance writer and curriculum specialist.

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