a cork board


counting, counting, counting
AMpThu, 24 Jun 2010 11:13:40 +000013Thursday 1, 2010, 11:13 am
Filed under: the ether, the mirror, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , ,

i keep counting reasons to let things slide. and i can’t seem to find enough. i’m not good at ignoring bullshit or dealing with toal ignorance. i’ve begun to realize that that is not one of my strong-suits, which means that i seriously need to develop that skill. one of the many things in life i have learned is that if there is something you are inherently bad at (just naturally awful), then you need to get good and get good fast. because the more it annoys you, the more is drives you into a tyrannical twist of profanity echoing through your noisy, little head….then hey, the more you are going to attract that destruction. because it gets to wants you.

so today, i keep counting reasons not to scream. not to tell some one to fuck off and my logical mind is seeing it. but i wear every emotion in my skin. my face is like a canvas and every emotion is like paint. so everytime i come across this or something like this i can painting murals across canvases until i cannot breathe (because i paint over my air holes). so today i keep throwing away canvases because i want nobody to see these paintings. i want to hide under curtains of passiveness and complacency so no one knows about the quiet storm. so no one sees the earthquakes under the surface of the calm ocean. but in an aftermath somewhere, i will cast a tsunami onto unassuming shores. the butteerfly effect strikes again. and here i go again, rambling on about quiet storms and unseen distasters and tiny explosions.

i am trying to find reasons not to explode. not to smash coy, condescending faces into humility. but the demon that can come out of a human being is not going to come out of me today. or ever for that matter. as much as i love humanity and the compassion that we can possess…i despise the self-serving, better-than, snotty and no shame proprieters of everything that is against level playing fields. so i am couting today…1…2…3…4…help me find enough, so that i can maintain some level of composure and start counting my blessings instead.

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politics at a funeral
PMpTue, 01 Jun 2010 14:26:19 +000026Tuesday 1, 2010, 2:26 pm
Filed under: the ether, the mirror, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , ,

someone dies and the pigs come out. I’ve never understood this. I don’t know if it happens every where or even all the time. I, myself, have only been to a few funerals and I’ve only been around the shaky subject called death a few times. but I tell you, when somebody dies, all the little, petty things that tore us apart when that person was alive all of a sudden become very important. and sometimes we lack the ability to look past them in grief.

maybe it’s the fact that we just are not able to deal with everything that needs to be dealt with in the wake of death. I mean, if you can imagine that our lives were little pieces of dust, like the speck from Horton Hears a Who, that contained worlds of emotions on them. if our lives were millions of those little things packed into one another like pollen on a flower…and our family was all with us and we formed a garden of little complications and endearments. then, when the body falls, it falls right onto us. and all of our insecurities and anger and everything we are ashamed of but covet enough to hide are shaken into the air like ash. we don’t know what to do. we’re left floating and no matter how we reach and pull and flap like drowning ants, we just float. so maybe we start to yell at each other because we don’t know what else to do.

but in the end, everything that person meant to us is washed up on our beaches. and we don’t know what to do with it. it sits there looking up at us, and we cry and we want to honor them in any way that we can so we can try our best to make them live forever…to let the world see our grief. and we sometimes forget how precious it is that that man, woman or child’s immediate family is living out his/her dying wishes. the people closest to a man are his wife and children. and they try as hard as they can to fulfill the desires that arose in his/her last days. but the truth of the matter is, he/she may have touched thousands of people in their life, and we all want to honor them in our individual ways. so we sometimes bump heads and avoid eye contact when we graze shoulders uncomfortably before the funeral procession…not knowing how to stop, acknowledge the loss and just hold each other.

to me, none of the dividing issues matter. so I have never been able to understand the inflation of chests and the behind-the-door bickering when someone we love dies. we should take off our hats (any one that we may wear) and find the humblest of humilities and offer our service to the grieving family. because every time someone passes from this world to the next…I realize how small I am. and if we are indeed so small, then we cannot be so big in the same breath.