To blathe
I sit here on my bed, laptop in hand, wanting to write, wanting to express, wanting to pour forth. Is there an inherent exhibitionism in flowing the innermost forward to the cyber masses? Certainly there are only a few who will ever run across these words. Most friends - some strangers - some effigies of a myriad of emotions and thoughts and regrets/hopes. But what is it I really want to say? A million things I cannot, surely. I will just go with it:
I have money in my pocket. It is the energy by which I might bring my being to bare on my environment. It is the standard by which I am measured by so many. It is the fruit of my labor. Yet even now I look opon these green pieces of paper with a sense of abhorrence. It is the convulsions deep down inside of me which cry out injustice that human life be graded by a point system, instead of pure being. Yet it is a tool. With so many of us existing together in finite space, money provides a forum with which to guide the masses in orderly fashion amongst themselves. Too bad so many play the system for selfish gain in this, and other countries. Too bad it is an economy of consumerism instead of production. And the greatest fear is: does the economy become the people, or do the people become the economy? When people begin to look at their peers as consumer items, true corruption begins its foul decay within the minds. Religion is not the great mind virus, as a great scientist once claimed - rather, self centeredness.
And I continue to sit upon my bed, a GE 'superadio' from the 70's resting on the dresser next to me, pouring forth information and news from the Iraqi elections, describing 30 dead in attacks, 70+ wounded - some 13 suicide bombings.. yet millions of voters turned out to participate in an event which many consider historical and a great achievement. History in the making..
History is made all around us, all the time. Every one of us. Even so I wish I could be in Iraq, and cast a ballot - just because.
Then there is my personal life, that great metaphorical construction yard of beams, pillars, brick and mortar. I rebuild my soul - its cacophony within at times driving me insane. To still the waters of my soul would be a gift of magnificence.. I would not place the sturdiest of sailors, the most experienced of sea captain upon a gallant ship to brave that storm - none would survive. But I myself command the waters - and slowly study them, teaching myself to bring peace to the waves, calm to the vortex.
I have money in my pocket. It is the energy by which I might bring my being to bare on my environment. It is the standard by which I am measured by so many. It is the fruit of my labor. Yet even now I look opon these green pieces of paper with a sense of abhorrence. It is the convulsions deep down inside of me which cry out injustice that human life be graded by a point system, instead of pure being. Yet it is a tool. With so many of us existing together in finite space, money provides a forum with which to guide the masses in orderly fashion amongst themselves. Too bad so many play the system for selfish gain in this, and other countries. Too bad it is an economy of consumerism instead of production. And the greatest fear is: does the economy become the people, or do the people become the economy? When people begin to look at their peers as consumer items, true corruption begins its foul decay within the minds. Religion is not the great mind virus, as a great scientist once claimed - rather, self centeredness.
And I continue to sit upon my bed, a GE 'superadio' from the 70's resting on the dresser next to me, pouring forth information and news from the Iraqi elections, describing 30 dead in attacks, 70+ wounded - some 13 suicide bombings.. yet millions of voters turned out to participate in an event which many consider historical and a great achievement. History in the making..
History is made all around us, all the time. Every one of us. Even so I wish I could be in Iraq, and cast a ballot - just because.
Then there is my personal life, that great metaphorical construction yard of beams, pillars, brick and mortar. I rebuild my soul - its cacophony within at times driving me insane. To still the waters of my soul would be a gift of magnificence.. I would not place the sturdiest of sailors, the most experienced of sea captain upon a gallant ship to brave that storm - none would survive. But I myself command the waters - and slowly study them, teaching myself to bring peace to the waves, calm to the vortex.