wheph, a Saturday.
food for Thought:
So here I sit, shivering in a lousy car which I am not allowed to drive, on a freezing, dreary day. It was a triple snooze button, dry mouthed, pitch darked morning in which I lay there in my cold bed, tangled in my cold sheets. I wonder why I should peel myself out of bed and drag myself to the mirror only to look at the shell in which I reside in, as a ghost haunts an old mansion. Despite my pesamistic morning I sit there in the cold car, my mind however, cannot be kept in this foolish car. My mind is distant as I wish to be, in places I wish to be, as free as I wish to be. I may laze upon a hot tropical seashore, hunt in a Brazilian jungle, mingle with giraffes in Africa, race the mustangs over the great praries, dance among the northern lights, sing across the British fjords, climb the peaks of the himilayas, and swim amongst the sharks in Australia. Unfortunately, I will never do these things as long as I am here in this car. Here, instead of the patched necks of giraffes, the iron necks of cranes stretch out over mountains of rubble, which replace my Himilayas. The swirling arays of oil and sovlent puddles in a black tar parking lot replace my tropical seashore. The muddy leaves substitue as my Brazilian jungle. Fluorescent bars of, Lord knows what, lights up my day, so I might as well forget the Northern Lights. New Baltimore has laws against free running horses, and sharks....and doesn't have fjords anyway. So I wonder, here bored to death in the fricking cold car, wondering....why the hell am I here? With all life can offer, why do I insist on doing just as everyone else does? Or doing what everybody wants me to, for that matter? So I sigh take a breath and put on a smile, because I know that even though this drab little state contains me, my mind will always be above this drab litlle life I am expected to live.
-E. Wald
So here I sit, shivering in a lousy car which I am not allowed to drive, on a freezing, dreary day. It was a triple snooze button, dry mouthed, pitch darked morning in which I lay there in my cold bed, tangled in my cold sheets. I wonder why I should peel myself out of bed and drag myself to the mirror only to look at the shell in which I reside in, as a ghost haunts an old mansion. Despite my pesamistic morning I sit there in the cold car, my mind however, cannot be kept in this foolish car. My mind is distant as I wish to be, in places I wish to be, as free as I wish to be. I may laze upon a hot tropical seashore, hunt in a Brazilian jungle, mingle with giraffes in Africa, race the mustangs over the great praries, dance among the northern lights, sing across the British fjords, climb the peaks of the himilayas, and swim amongst the sharks in Australia. Unfortunately, I will never do these things as long as I am here in this car. Here, instead of the patched necks of giraffes, the iron necks of cranes stretch out over mountains of rubble, which replace my Himilayas. The swirling arays of oil and sovlent puddles in a black tar parking lot replace my tropical seashore. The muddy leaves substitue as my Brazilian jungle. Fluorescent bars of, Lord knows what, lights up my day, so I might as well forget the Northern Lights. New Baltimore has laws against free running horses, and sharks....and doesn't have fjords anyway. So I wonder, here bored to death in the fricking cold car, wondering....why the hell am I here? With all life can offer, why do I insist on doing just as everyone else does? Or doing what everybody wants me to, for that matter? So I sigh take a breath and put on a smile, because I know that even though this drab little state contains me, my mind will always be above this drab litlle life I am expected to live.
-E. Wald