| 04-17-02 the neverending ends It seems that all was not lost when the city was destroyed. Among the rubble and shrapnel stood a man. His clothes were battered and mind numb, but he walked through the city as if he was on a mission. He walked past a building that used to house a major bank. The daycare was on the first floor, and at the man's feet stood pages from a childrens book. As they lay before him, the story was all jumbled. The prince fought the dragon on page 14 and right next to that was page 3, it's corners still smoldering. As he reached down to pick up the remnants of the book, he remembered hearing the story as a child from his parents. His parents would sit him down in bed, and not need a book to remember all of the glorious tales of the Prince's adventures. The prince fought the dragon with valor, and saved the princess. His reward was a well-earned kiss, and the prince and princess rode off into the sunset to live happily ever after. After his parents read him the story, the child was able to go to sleep knowing that everything was allright in the world. Looking at the story on the ground, the man shook off his childhood and the story as remnants of a time long ago. He marched on, and saw the last page of the storybook laying on the ground beside a gun. As he picked up the page, the ending was not one that he remembered. On the page read, "The prince and the princess thought it would be better to not rush into things, so they decided to be friends. The horse went to a glue factory, and the dragon was decomposed by maggots. The end." The man screamed out in agony. They had taken his city, and he could deal with that because it was everyone's city. They had taken his family, and he could continue on because we had also dropped bombs on their cities without regard for human life. But now they had taken his past, his ideas of how the world worked and mocked them. The poor children who died in that building had to read about the real world. Their parents who worked upstairs already knew that life is brutish, nasty and short. But the children were not allowed to enjoy their time of joy before they were put in striped suits and forced to work in the prison of society. The war had truly destroyed everything. So the man kept on walking, hoping to find another city, hoping to find a woman, hoping to find hope in a world where it is of short supply. 05-23-02 delving in "What kind of ice cream do you want?" the girl behind the counter asked. "I dunno what types do you have?" I asked. "The usual kinds" she replied. "Well that's sort of boring, what if someone doesn't want strawberry, chocolate or vanilla? I mean times have changed, people want chocolate chip cookie-dough and rocky road, sherbert and whatever the flavor of the month is." "Let people want what they want," she calmly answered, "we only have chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry. Now what will it be?" I looked at the three bins of ice cream below me and quickly went over the pros and cons of each flavor. People behind me began to get restless, "It's not that hard of a decision kid." "Why don't you just suprise me?" I told the clerk. She gave me a puzzling look. "I'm sorry sir, but you have to choose. It's the owner's rule. In fact I could get fired if I were to even suggest a flavor to you. The owner is a firm believer in free will. If you don't know what your choice is, that's allright. You can go to the back of the line and maybe by then you will have made up your mind." I glanced back at the line. When I arrived in the store, the line was only a few people. Now it wrapped outside the store and around the block. It seemed that I had to make a decision or wait for at least 30 minutes in line. I knew though that even within those 30 minutes, I most likely would not be able to come to a consensus that would be satisfactory. It wasn't a particularly hot day outside, and I didn't really have a taste for ice cream the more I thought about it. For some reason I just found myself at the ice cream store, one with only three flavors no less, and now I was being forced to make a decision that could alter the rest of my life. If I got chocolate, than maybe it will be so good that I decide to open my own ice cream store. If I got vanilla, maybe I decide to give the cone to that girl at the end of the line and it turns out she is the one. Maybe if I get strawberry...well I really wouldn't get strawberry now that I think about it. The girl beckons again, "Sir? Do you know what you want? Other people are patiently waiting." "Yeah. I think I know what my choice is going to be. My choice is going to be to make a choice. Because no matter what behavioral patterns maybe implanted in your brain, no matter what advertisers think that they are brainwashing you into buying, whatever peers try to pressure you into doing, by making a choice you are asserting your right to be an individual, no a citizen, of this great world that we live in." "That's great sir, but what flavor of ice cream do you want?" "Oh. Vanilla." "Good choice sir. Now do you want any toppings?" 06-25-02 yell "Mmmm....mmmm ......lalalala...." In my head the tune rang out, but outside the music was silent. A pane of glass shattered, and tears waxed down the pane. "We are fragile creatures," a voice exclaimed , "do not play with our emotions, for one pull of the string too many and the balloon will pop." I made sure to make my string extra long just in case. The closer and closer people got, the more nervous I became. I knew nothing was inside my red balloon. But that nothing was valuable, it had sentimentality as some people put it. And I wanted to keep the balloon forever tied to my wrist so that I would never lose my way. While I was diligently watching that ever so thin string making sure no one was heading to my prize piece of plastic, I forgot to watch the balloon itself. How was I supposed to know that all of the bullshit knowledge about the world would keep building upon itself, and the balloon would keep expanding on its own. Then one day I'm guarding my string, and pop! the string falls limp in my hand. What to do now? In a way I am free of the responsibility of the balloon, the string can come off my wrist and I can walk away unburdened. But the feeling of looking upwards and not seeing it there is disheartening. The balloon was my life up until that point and it just popped leaving remnants of fake plastic. I could run, just because it seemed like something appropriate to do. I could stay in the place my balloon popped forever, hoping one day that another balloon might come to me and I could follow it around and we would be oh so happy together. The fact is you only get one balloon. And there are snipers out there just waiting to line up the right shot so they can see that lost look in your eyes the moment you realize you have to walk on. Walking on is a noble thing to do. It really is the only thing to do. Just walk and hum your favorite song, remembering how your mother would hold you in her arms and tell you everything would be allright. A bubble pops in your brain. Comfort is something that works in childhood, but the real worlds shards and nails cut through false security. Until your feet develop a thick skin you definately will feel the pain. And once you have lost your innocence, no one can hear you scream. |