A day at central campus
I was sitting in algebra class one evening, this was actually during my first week of classes at CPCC, last semester. Being algebra class, it bored me, so I started writing, and eventually wrote this thing. I decided to type it up and put it in here because.... because i donno why. because no one reads this thing unless its a survey and i felt like wasting some of my time. if you do decide to read it however, comments and/or criticism would be appreciated.
It's 8:52 on a Thursday morning. You're early. It doesn't start for 38 minutes. You start walking anyway, since you don't know how long it takes to walk from Lot 8. You walk with the crowd, right next to people you've never seen. You walk past people going the other way, and wonder if you'll ever see them again. All strangers. You walk with strangers. You walk past strangers. You walk towards and away from strangers. All these people, you look at their faces, but you don’t really see them. Even if you do run into them again, you probably won’t recognize them. They all seem to have the same blank look on their faces. Each person shows it to a different degree. Some of them it seems almost like a silent malice has overtaken them, with a cold dead look in their eyes. Suddenly you wish you had a knife. Suddenly you wonder how many of the strangers have knives.
Climbing the stairs to get to your room, you wonder how many more times you'll have to climb them. Room 318. Room 317... Blank... Room 315... Someone ran off with the room number. The room is full. The door is closed. It's now only 8:59. Now you know it takes less than 7 minutes to get to your room from Lot 8. Staring out over the slightly more than waist high concrete wall, you look across the street. To your right, there is construction on the roof. Through your limited knowledge of the Spanish language, you interpret the man with the blue hard hat to be in charge. He just told one of the other workers he's a pain in the ass. To the left of that building is the bookstore. The beat up cadillac with it's purple fuzzy dice and a hoola dancer on the dash is coming around the block for the 3rd time. You only notice because it's been blaring the same rap song each time. Or maybe it's a different song. The all sound the same to you. You look down below you. You can't actually see them, but someone is smoking on the second floor. Maybe its two people. You decide it's two people. One of them is a hopeless addict, and one of them is a beginner. One of them exhales lightly, with ease, and the other seems to be smoking half a cigarette with each breathe. No wonder these people can go through 3 packs on a relaxed day.
Still leaning over the edge you start to wonder.. you ask yourself... "What if...?" It's the same question in everyone’s mind in a similar situation. Usually, no one wants to know the answer. Usually, no one wants to ask the question, but the human mind is a curious one. What if...? What if someone running behind me accidentally bumped me, and I fell...? How hard would I hit?... Where would I land. On the grass there, or that bit of sidewalk there? Would I feel it? How hard would I have to land for me not to... You asked the questions, now you back away from the edge, where countless others asked the questions before you. You don't want to know the answers.
Taking a deep breath of fresh air, you realize the cleverness of the illusion before you. The 20 by 40 foot patch of green grass with a tree on each side is a facade for everyone in the building to hide the city in which you stand. Having grown accustomed to the smokers below, you can tell someone has just joined them, smoking a different brand. You don't have a watch so you look at your phone, instantly creeped out because it seems like at least once each day, morning or night, you look at a clock at precisely 9:11. Now you look back over the edge and promise yourself you'll never be this early again. That, and you'll bring a knife. First you looked at the strangers but didn't see them, now you don't see them because you're afraid to look.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________
people should not be afraid
we came to the earth to graze
if it slithers into the haze
it can't be true
a child gives you his shoes
in the early morning, cut her down
this pill, she needs your love
forget your mother and your father
they aren't important son
we came to the earth to graze
everyone's digging in
now there's no time to live
live...
So while I was typing my dad decided to get on my case again about my plans for life. Which was somewhat depressing. I don't like thinking about that... and on a somewhat sullen note, I'm going to go sleep now. With a little luck, I will have completely forgotten that conversation. Goodnight.
It's 8:52 on a Thursday morning. You're early. It doesn't start for 38 minutes. You start walking anyway, since you don't know how long it takes to walk from Lot 8. You walk with the crowd, right next to people you've never seen. You walk past people going the other way, and wonder if you'll ever see them again. All strangers. You walk with strangers. You walk past strangers. You walk towards and away from strangers. All these people, you look at their faces, but you don’t really see them. Even if you do run into them again, you probably won’t recognize them. They all seem to have the same blank look on their faces. Each person shows it to a different degree. Some of them it seems almost like a silent malice has overtaken them, with a cold dead look in their eyes. Suddenly you wish you had a knife. Suddenly you wonder how many of the strangers have knives.
Climbing the stairs to get to your room, you wonder how many more times you'll have to climb them. Room 318. Room 317... Blank... Room 315... Someone ran off with the room number. The room is full. The door is closed. It's now only 8:59. Now you know it takes less than 7 minutes to get to your room from Lot 8. Staring out over the slightly more than waist high concrete wall, you look across the street. To your right, there is construction on the roof. Through your limited knowledge of the Spanish language, you interpret the man with the blue hard hat to be in charge. He just told one of the other workers he's a pain in the ass. To the left of that building is the bookstore. The beat up cadillac with it's purple fuzzy dice and a hoola dancer on the dash is coming around the block for the 3rd time. You only notice because it's been blaring the same rap song each time. Or maybe it's a different song. The all sound the same to you. You look down below you. You can't actually see them, but someone is smoking on the second floor. Maybe its two people. You decide it's two people. One of them is a hopeless addict, and one of them is a beginner. One of them exhales lightly, with ease, and the other seems to be smoking half a cigarette with each breathe. No wonder these people can go through 3 packs on a relaxed day.
Still leaning over the edge you start to wonder.. you ask yourself... "What if...?" It's the same question in everyone’s mind in a similar situation. Usually, no one wants to know the answer. Usually, no one wants to ask the question, but the human mind is a curious one. What if...? What if someone running behind me accidentally bumped me, and I fell...? How hard would I hit?... Where would I land. On the grass there, or that bit of sidewalk there? Would I feel it? How hard would I have to land for me not to... You asked the questions, now you back away from the edge, where countless others asked the questions before you. You don't want to know the answers.
Taking a deep breath of fresh air, you realize the cleverness of the illusion before you. The 20 by 40 foot patch of green grass with a tree on each side is a facade for everyone in the building to hide the city in which you stand. Having grown accustomed to the smokers below, you can tell someone has just joined them, smoking a different brand. You don't have a watch so you look at your phone, instantly creeped out because it seems like at least once each day, morning or night, you look at a clock at precisely 9:11. Now you look back over the edge and promise yourself you'll never be this early again. That, and you'll bring a knife. First you looked at the strangers but didn't see them, now you don't see them because you're afraid to look.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________
people should not be afraid
we came to the earth to graze
if it slithers into the haze
it can't be true
a child gives you his shoes
in the early morning, cut her down
this pill, she needs your love
forget your mother and your father
they aren't important son
we came to the earth to graze
everyone's digging in
now there's no time to live
live...
So while I was typing my dad decided to get on my case again about my plans for life. Which was somewhat depressing. I don't like thinking about that... and on a somewhat sullen note, I'm going to go sleep now. With a little luck, I will have completely forgotten that conversation. Goodnight.