Sunday, September 25, 2005
Octagons... flashing red signs ...and stops...
Its funny how you get yourself stuck in a rut sometimes... a routine... a pattern... whether it be in the places u go.... the people u talk to... or the stuff u take in... Patterns rule all... and ignorant as we are ….as humans... every time we embark on something new we think this time is different... this is the one that doesn't fit the mould... like the mould is a bad thing to begin with... maybe we focus to much about breaking the mould that we never take full advantage of it… what if we were to better understand our patterns and pitfalls and work around them... learn from our mistakes so to speak... a cliché!you're exposed to a gazillion different situations and people every day but if u look closely I’m sure you'll find that u react to certain categories of people a certain way... and to other happenings a different way....It especially sucks when you know you're falling into a pattern and can't do anything to get yourself out of it... u think kleptos know they're collecting junk when they pick up that random object off of someone else’s desk? you think compulsive cheaters, know they're going to do it again no matter how much they swear they won’t? you think that silly girls falling in love with the wrong guys see how wrong they are for them? the answer to all those question is yes... except the problem is... all those people... they can't stop themselves from being “the morally incorrect”... all the things they once proclaimed they'd never be...then the world goes round... time passes by and low and behold they're in the exact predicament they swore they'd never be in... It almost seems as though... life would be so much easier if u could carry around a little video machine to play back all the times u did what u you knew you'd feel like crap for doing later.... little post it notes in pretty little colors that catch you eye when you're about to enter another pitfall... neon blinking lights that say... stop you moron... its happening again! save yourself the shit... save u save YOU… a spin on the save me save u..think with your BRAIN and not your prejudice .. your libido...you're greed.. your heart... your hunger ... your conscience or your avarice....Stop dead in your tracks and say…I’ve done that one to many times.... I wont do that again! I know what those octagons flashing read lights and signs mean…. STOP!
Monday, September 19, 2005
Lady Macbeth
I'm not sure if shakespear was onto something ages ago with his lady Macbeth character or was it just a fluke...with her obsessiveness... Determined to get things done... so presistant and then utterly regretfull... guilt sets in.. but only when its too late.. It is as though the things she wants to acomplish haunt and plague her to take action.. she wants to cause reactions but the only problem is she's short sighted... she does not recognize that the initial trigger can infact snowball into something colassal... I am amazed that a male could capture the persona of a woman so correctly.
Friday, September 16, 2005
Rain
Rain…
Little tiny drops of water… comparable to tears… we cry because our emotions have gotten the best of us… the sky cries because…. Why does the sky cry? Maybe it cries because the world it blankets is an awful place…People taking other people’s destinies in their own hands… thinking they are God… or maybe it just wants to give us another chance to wash our hands clean of all that….
Either way… I stand inside the glass doors of my office building and watch the drops drizzle down the window… the noise claming… drowning out all the noise… not by silencing it but by out doing it… people scurry out and dance around to avoid the puddles. They open the door and run across the parking lot as if they’re about to melt… They duck and look up as though to give the sky a dirty look…. Like ‘how could you?! I’m wearing sandals today!’ I see a mother holding her child… both in the rain but react to it in very different ways. The child takes baby steps trying to steer the mum in the direction of potholes while she’s desperately trying to avoid them. To her they are a nuisance but to the little girl a mini adventure. The mother can think of nothing worse than having her hair get soaked… while the little girl can think of nothing better. To her this is as good as it gets… joie de vivre… it splashes on her face and tickles its every inch… a game of tag she’s perfectly ok with loosing…rain…a worthy opponent…
Little tiny drops of water… comparable to tears… we cry because our emotions have gotten the best of us… the sky cries because…. Why does the sky cry? Maybe it cries because the world it blankets is an awful place…People taking other people’s destinies in their own hands… thinking they are God… or maybe it just wants to give us another chance to wash our hands clean of all that….
Either way… I stand inside the glass doors of my office building and watch the drops drizzle down the window… the noise claming… drowning out all the noise… not by silencing it but by out doing it… people scurry out and dance around to avoid the puddles. They open the door and run across the parking lot as if they’re about to melt… They duck and look up as though to give the sky a dirty look…. Like ‘how could you?! I’m wearing sandals today!’ I see a mother holding her child… both in the rain but react to it in very different ways. The child takes baby steps trying to steer the mum in the direction of potholes while she’s desperately trying to avoid them. To her they are a nuisance but to the little girl a mini adventure. The mother can think of nothing worse than having her hair get soaked… while the little girl can think of nothing better. To her this is as good as it gets… joie de vivre… it splashes on her face and tickles its every inch… a game of tag she’s perfectly ok with loosing…rain…a worthy opponent…
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
The Cancer Card
Backgrounder: I hadn't written anything before this piece for a while. I usually write optimistic "pretty" pieces. I was in a bad mood and decided to channel that anger through my writing. The idea was to create a piece that was completely uncharacteristic.
The cancer card.
Pretty with flowers and shiny writing. A quant little poem that sounds so typically hallmark… An attempt to bring a little sunshine into the poor soul’s life that has to live with this disease or worse still try and over come it.
Just looking at the card you couldn’t tell that Alice’s every moment must be tainted with the thought that her kids will live without a mother if it gets the best of her.
Looking at the card, you wouldn’t know that her hair has fallen out and that she wears a wig because on good days.. days when she has enough strength to walk outdoors, kids look at her like she’s stepped out of a horror movie.
This card with its bright colors and cheerful commentary...
Everyone’s pathetic attempts to make comfortable an ugly situation.
We’re a nation addicted to fighting.. we fight everything.. we want to battle ignorance, combat poverty and of course fight diseases. Its Alice’s job to do that for us. We live vicariously through her. We write in this card not because we really care but because we want to tell her story later on. Who wants to hear the story of a cancer patient that didn’t make it? A cancer patient who withered away defeated by a disease that we are miles away from understanding. We want the opposite. We want to tell the world how she overcome a monster. A tale of human perseverance and struggle.
Alice is our martyr.
She is the venue by which we allow ourselves to be human.
We drop money into an envelope and on a superficial level hope the flowers will put a smile on her face.
See Alice... the cancer patient.... our martyr....
looking at this card.. this sorry.....“sweet” empty gesture..
she wouldn’t know that someone actually contemplated pocketing some of her gift fund to buy dessert after lunch. She wouldn’t know that I could think of absolutely nothing more horrific than being in her shoes right now. She wouldn’t know that everyone signing this card thanks god its her and not them.. not their sister, mother or wife.
Poor dying,
weak,
fragile,
Cancer infested Alice…
The cancer card.
Pretty with flowers and shiny writing. A quant little poem that sounds so typically hallmark… An attempt to bring a little sunshine into the poor soul’s life that has to live with this disease or worse still try and over come it.
Just looking at the card you couldn’t tell that Alice’s every moment must be tainted with the thought that her kids will live without a mother if it gets the best of her.
Looking at the card, you wouldn’t know that her hair has fallen out and that she wears a wig because on good days.. days when she has enough strength to walk outdoors, kids look at her like she’s stepped out of a horror movie.
This card with its bright colors and cheerful commentary...
Everyone’s pathetic attempts to make comfortable an ugly situation.
We’re a nation addicted to fighting.. we fight everything.. we want to battle ignorance, combat poverty and of course fight diseases. Its Alice’s job to do that for us. We live vicariously through her. We write in this card not because we really care but because we want to tell her story later on. Who wants to hear the story of a cancer patient that didn’t make it? A cancer patient who withered away defeated by a disease that we are miles away from understanding. We want the opposite. We want to tell the world how she overcome a monster. A tale of human perseverance and struggle.
Alice is our martyr.
She is the venue by which we allow ourselves to be human.
We drop money into an envelope and on a superficial level hope the flowers will put a smile on her face.
See Alice... the cancer patient.... our martyr....
looking at this card.. this sorry.....“sweet” empty gesture..
she wouldn’t know that someone actually contemplated pocketing some of her gift fund to buy dessert after lunch. She wouldn’t know that I could think of absolutely nothing more horrific than being in her shoes right now. She wouldn’t know that everyone signing this card thanks god its her and not them.. not their sister, mother or wife.
Poor dying,
weak,
fragile,
Cancer infested Alice…
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)