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There was a teenage girl walking home from school. A backpack jounced against her spine with every step. In her hands a black plastic musical instrument case; a trumpet or something like that, pulled back and forth. She also carried a brown paper bag with red lettering. The top was torn and the contents, clothing maybe, looked as though it was about to tumble out. She needed an angel. But because our society is so messed up and suspicious, there was no way I was going to offer her a ride home. That sucks. Then again, if I came up to me and I didn't know me, I wouldn't accept a ride from me either. It's a shame that simple generosity of spirit cannot be indulged. |
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On the desk is a black mini-subwoofer with five orange rubber sticky knobs on its side. The orange thingies are arranged like the 5-spot on a die. On top of the subwoofer is a wooden pencil cup that has a black plastic wire tie, a black Scripto permanent marker, a small Maglite and a small, zip top, plastic bag. Leaning away from the pencil cup, but held upright by the wire tie, are a sheet of lined 3M notepaper, and a laminated piece of paper. I cannot see what the picture is. Helping to hold the receipt and the laminated piece of paper up is something that could be a radio remote control. Black, plastic, with rounded corners. A CD sits on the very edge of the top of the subwoofer. The CD is a recordable one, and there is something handwritten on the face, but it can't be read from my seat. To the left of the subwoofer is a rolled up sheet of light-colored paper. A piece of white plastic-covered wire keeps the roll tight. |
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Sun is shining in a sky that promises that summer will be here soon. This is why we put up with the rain and grey that plagues the area. The summers are glorious. But last only about 20 minutes. When I opened the door this morning, it was like opening the door to summer. Hints of summer smells drifted into my consciousness. Hot asphalt, rich earth...and how is it that the only color we can smell is green? The cats are behaving in typical fashion. My cat is dashing from window to door to window trying to soak up every molecule of beautiful weather. His cat is in the bedroom, on the window seat, chin resting on the windowsill. Her eyes are slitted and watching everything that moves on the other side of the glass. The tip of her tail describes lazy infinity symbols in the air. My cat is licking her chops. She looks as if she's furiously masticating invisible taffy that's stuck to her whiskers and lips. Three more minutes. Doing laundry. The clack and clink of bra buckles against the interior of the dryer beats in arhythmic syncopation with the baby blue dryer balls that thwunk and thud against the drum. One more minute. In a field of indigo she fell asleep in a dream of wrenches and midnight. Sparks flying to the ground and into the sky. Miniature comets that fell to their deaths in moments. Her dress shifted in the wind. The cloth caressing her knees. A beetle moved oner her thigh, obsessed with finding some purchase among the fine hairs that covered her skin. |
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I saw a picture today of bright yellow leaves against a two steps lighter than cobalt sky. When was the last time you looked up? Straight up; not at the top of a building, or the chalkboard menu at the coffee shop--but right up into the blue/grey/black/weird pink-orange sky--that kind of up. Remember lying on your back and looking at clouds. Who does that anymore? And why don't we do it more? We've lost sight of the necessity of noodling time. Time to wander wherever our imaginations go. I think that this is the place where all ideas come from. Well, there and boredom. When is the last time you spent hours figuring out some new way of doing something because the only thing of value you had was time. Yes, I consider time a kind of currency. Think about it; wealthy person pays for the privilege of getting things done quickly. Poor person pays with the only commodity he or she has; time. Case in point; wealthy person goes to doctor, gets examined, gets prescription, picks up prescription. Poor person goes to clinic or emergency room and waits. Time is the only thing that we have. Why do we squander it on things that won't add to our time. I thought by now we'd be so efficient that no one would have to work more than a few hours a week. Yet somehow, with all the efficiencies, we're working even more--and being less and less satisfied with what we do. Amazing. |
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Lost at sea, caught in a wave of adulthood, Marissa gazed to the shore of childhood. Its soft sands and rippling palms were all she'd ever known. Now, cast adrift on the clutching sea of reality, she wished for someone to tell her what to do. Where to go. "Ahoy there!" a voice boomed across the waves, "Are you lost too?" Marissa shouted back that she was. She couldn't see the owner of the voice. The sun blinded her. "You should follow me. I know the only right way to go. If you don't follow me, you'll end up punished." "Punished?" Marissa shouted, "Why would I be punished for not following you?" "Don't listen to him!" another voice shouted, "He's lying. Following him means you'll definitely be punished. I know the only right way." "No, no! It's me! I have all the answers! And you know I'm right because we've always done it this way," a third voice yelled. Marissa looked back to the shore. "Y'know what? I think I'm going to try this on my own." |