Lights, Trees, Catastrophies!
I won't bitch to you about how I wanted to fall over dead all day due to the constant, blinding pain caused by cramps of vengeful fire in my uterus...
And how of course, it being Friday, made it worse as it's the day it takes longest to get home (I made it to Steak n' Shake though and got one of those side-by-side milkshakes. Mmmmmmness. Their fried chicken salad is pretty damn good too.) or about how I'm STILL writhing in agony.
No, instead... I will tell you a story. Should you opt to read, of course. So... for the chill'ns who think they like reading me:
Today on my way to work a strange occurrence occurred. I was visited by three wise men. Actually… they all kind of met me in the middle. They told me secrets. Some secrets I promised not to divulge but I can at least share the story of them. It began thusly:
I
Driving through the outskirts of my neighborhood, between cow-filled pastures and patchwork acres of yards and houses, something grabbed my eyeballs and twisted them, demanding my attention. I could do naught but oblige.
In the early morning darkness I saw a white picket fence drenched with humidity and dew. Upon its picket face, I saw the reflection of taillights flying across it. Up and down the form they molded hopped, to and fro, to and fro it bounced, its sparkling tail trailing behind it, slithering like a serpent, perfectly matching the dance steps of its head. It looked like a cinnamon-red comet on a caffeine-high, going mad trying to escape the evil clutches of the fence. It wanted out of those wooden panes, that white picket prison. For some reason, it excited me in a happy kind of way. It was the most curiously beautiful thing I’ve seen in a very long time.
II
I’ve always loved those huge, hulking trees that stretch out across the ground… the ones that look as if they were crawling about, trying to sneak away perhaps to visit a friend in France, and someone yelled, “FREEZE!” in an eternal, booming voice. Ever since I can remember, I’ve always thought that they just looked so neat but not until today did I truly ponder their poor posture.
Passing by one of these mystifying trees today I was struck clear across the face with realization: These trees that never grew upwards are Mother Earth’s timber-children who never grew up. Too afraid to leave the comfort and safety of the ground to extend their branches furry with leaves deep into the sky as is expected of them, they stay collapsed upon their wooden knees, begging the Earth to let them stay. I know this because I heard them today. They don’t cry out the way we do, you have to listen to them in a special way… A way that can’t be taught, I think. Or maybe this tree was so desperate to be heard and for someone to listen that it learned our language and called out to anyone who happened to pass by. This is what it spoke:
“No, please,” it cried. “Don’t make me go out there! Let me stay forever as a humble seed, safe and sound in the soil.”
Listen to these trees, listen to them… Hear them pleading, “I’m too fragile to survive out in the world. I still feel like a simple sapling.”
Listen, listen…
“I’m just not ready yet. Please…”
In this I find I share a certain kinship with them. I too still feel like just a sapling… I’m not ready either. But, just like these poor trees, I too am pushed up and out against my will, just as those before us were and those that come after will always be, whether or not we’re ready; whether or not it’s fair.
III
Later a SunTrust bank was what caught my attention next, like a huge beast with a thousand glaring eyes all over, standing guard along the highway horizon, feeding off the thick gasoline fumes. Its gargantuan lighted-sign was partially burnt out so that, in the dim morning light, it read, “rust”. Immediately my eyes were flooded with images of the mighty corporate creature aging rapidly, at a supernatural speed - its steel skeleton rusting to dust, its plaster epidermis crumbling into flakes.
I watch its mass-deterioration spread equally fast like a virus to the surrounding buildings, cities, counties… until it spreads to each shoreline… from which it sets out on a campaign to devour the panhandle and on. Suddenly, monstrous flames burst from the core of infection, that pathetic collection of scrap metal called SunTrust, until the whole country is devoured in flame, until the entire continent is burning. And then somehow, the mass blanket of fire heats up the world enough to melt all the glaciers and drowns the entire world in a series of glorious tidal waves and tsunamis of terrifying power and grace.
…An overexaggerated, radically apocalyptic mental animation, or just a sudden reminding apprehension of the eternally inevitable? Let’s piss of Nature even more by defying her laws and cryogenically freeze ourselves and wake up 5,267 years from now and see if there’s any clear answer to be found.
.The End.
And how of course, it being Friday, made it worse as it's the day it takes longest to get home (I made it to Steak n' Shake though and got one of those side-by-side milkshakes. Mmmmmmness. Their fried chicken salad is pretty damn good too.) or about how I'm STILL writhing in agony.
No, instead... I will tell you a story. Should you opt to read, of course. So... for the chill'ns who think they like reading me:
Today on my way to work a strange occurrence occurred. I was visited by three wise men. Actually… they all kind of met me in the middle. They told me secrets. Some secrets I promised not to divulge but I can at least share the story of them. It began thusly:
I
Driving through the outskirts of my neighborhood, between cow-filled pastures and patchwork acres of yards and houses, something grabbed my eyeballs and twisted them, demanding my attention. I could do naught but oblige.
In the early morning darkness I saw a white picket fence drenched with humidity and dew. Upon its picket face, I saw the reflection of taillights flying across it. Up and down the form they molded hopped, to and fro, to and fro it bounced, its sparkling tail trailing behind it, slithering like a serpent, perfectly matching the dance steps of its head. It looked like a cinnamon-red comet on a caffeine-high, going mad trying to escape the evil clutches of the fence. It wanted out of those wooden panes, that white picket prison. For some reason, it excited me in a happy kind of way. It was the most curiously beautiful thing I’ve seen in a very long time.
II
I’ve always loved those huge, hulking trees that stretch out across the ground… the ones that look as if they were crawling about, trying to sneak away perhaps to visit a friend in France, and someone yelled, “FREEZE!” in an eternal, booming voice. Ever since I can remember, I’ve always thought that they just looked so neat but not until today did I truly ponder their poor posture.
Passing by one of these mystifying trees today I was struck clear across the face with realization: These trees that never grew upwards are Mother Earth’s timber-children who never grew up. Too afraid to leave the comfort and safety of the ground to extend their branches furry with leaves deep into the sky as is expected of them, they stay collapsed upon their wooden knees, begging the Earth to let them stay. I know this because I heard them today. They don’t cry out the way we do, you have to listen to them in a special way… A way that can’t be taught, I think. Or maybe this tree was so desperate to be heard and for someone to listen that it learned our language and called out to anyone who happened to pass by. This is what it spoke:
“No, please,” it cried. “Don’t make me go out there! Let me stay forever as a humble seed, safe and sound in the soil.”
Listen to these trees, listen to them… Hear them pleading, “I’m too fragile to survive out in the world. I still feel like a simple sapling.”
Listen, listen…
“I’m just not ready yet. Please…”
In this I find I share a certain kinship with them. I too still feel like just a sapling… I’m not ready either. But, just like these poor trees, I too am pushed up and out against my will, just as those before us were and those that come after will always be, whether or not we’re ready; whether or not it’s fair.
III
Later a SunTrust bank was what caught my attention next, like a huge beast with a thousand glaring eyes all over, standing guard along the highway horizon, feeding off the thick gasoline fumes. Its gargantuan lighted-sign was partially burnt out so that, in the dim morning light, it read, “rust”. Immediately my eyes were flooded with images of the mighty corporate creature aging rapidly, at a supernatural speed - its steel skeleton rusting to dust, its plaster epidermis crumbling into flakes.
I watch its mass-deterioration spread equally fast like a virus to the surrounding buildings, cities, counties… until it spreads to each shoreline… from which it sets out on a campaign to devour the panhandle and on. Suddenly, monstrous flames burst from the core of infection, that pathetic collection of scrap metal called SunTrust, until the whole country is devoured in flame, until the entire continent is burning. And then somehow, the mass blanket of fire heats up the world enough to melt all the glaciers and drowns the entire world in a series of glorious tidal waves and tsunamis of terrifying power and grace.
…An overexaggerated, radically apocalyptic mental animation, or just a sudden reminding apprehension of the eternally inevitable? Let’s piss of Nature even more by defying her laws and cryogenically freeze ourselves and wake up 5,267 years from now and see if there’s any clear answer to be found.
.The End.