Why do people succumb to anger?
It feels so easy to slip into its grasp. But at the same time, from a distance, it looks quite stupid. Aren't we overreacting? What's the point of hitting one another, yelling at one another, going to war with one another? Yet when are up close, immersed in anger, we feel nothing but blissful rage, if that makes sense. Sweet revenge empowers us. Makes us feel as if we are at the top of the world. Maybe it is a survival mechanism. But I sure wish it weren't.
|
I'm sitting outside... There's a nice breeze that makes my hair not captured in the hood of my brother's jacket quiver. My computer's rendition of "Chalamela" is the only thing heard in the vicinity. And the occasional jingle of Blazer's leash.
I hear a fence being opened. Maybe it's my neighbors.
The wind's icy fingers are enlocked in my own. I am fighting them, keeping my fingers moving. Trying to keep the warmth in me. But the wind is gentle, soft, calming. I let the wind take my hand in his.
My palms, upraised, radiate a small breeze. I have never realized how beautiful they were. The wind's hands are gentle, stroking my hands like one would to a baby. Maybe the wind is a loving female..
The wind has died down and I continue my typing as the birds chirp in the distance. A hum and whoosh, a car has passed by. Hoot. Hoot. A bird mourns from a nearby cypress tree. Why is it so sad? Why will it not smile for me?
The weed between the cracks of cement in front of my doorstep is nowhere to be seen. I loved that plant. Where has it gone?
All the other plants stand stock still. They don't even move in response to the wind's friendly greeting. How cold. How mean. Why don't the roses sway in response like the cypresses? Why don't the lavenders shake their petals? Why is everything so still?
A dog barks in the distance, probably fresh gossip for the other dogs in the block. Have these dogs who are separated by all these fences ever met? What are they thinking? What are they saying?
The sky is that boring shade of cyan. And a dissonant honking sound indicates the arrival of geese in the sky, on their own path. Those 8 dots in the sky are welcoming to me, they provide me refuge from the ever so boring painted sky.
I hear some shuffling, then the slam of a door. What are my neighbors up to?
Another car passes by. No one is in the streets. Everyone is at home, watching TV or on the computer. How strange. I'm on the computer outside.
The buzz of an airplane gets fainter and fainter, leaving that white cloud in its traces.
The slam of a car door. Someone is leaving the house. Or maybe they're getting something from the car. Groceries perhaps? Maybe a receipt needed to return that shirt which was too big?
A faded purple Welcome mat faces the column of the front porch. A chalk drawing of a "mugu" is planted where that mat should be. A square with loops at each corner, a flower of beauty, welcoming the Goddess of the Wealth inside. And any flies for that matter.
Objects in the distance seem to have a light edge to them. Maybe it's just because I'm not wearing my glasses. Half an hour ago I looked at myself in the mirror. Who are you?
I smell garlic bread, it's light aroma is hooking me on. Why is that even when we don't need something, we get tempted to have it anyways? I'm not even hungry...
Why am I writing this thing? I am escaping music practice, trying to put the details I see onto paper, or text... I must get back to practice now.. I don't want to let my music teacher down tomorrow... Farewell!
|
|
I'm sitting outside... There's a nice breeze that makes my hair not captured in the hood of my brother's jacket quiver. My computer's rendition of "Chalamela" is the only thing heard in the vicinity. And the occasional jingle of Blazer's leash.
I hear a fence being opened. Maybe it's my neighbors.
The wind's icy fingers are enlocked in my own. I am fighting them, keeping my fingers moving. Trying to keep the warmth in me. But the wind is gentle, soft, calming. I let the wind take my hand in his.
My palms, upraised, radiate a small breeze. I have never realized how beautiful they were. The wind's hands are gentle, stroking my hands like one would to a baby. Maybe the wind is a loving female..
The wind has died down and I continue my typing as the birds chirp in the distance. A hum and whoosh, a car has passed by. Hoot. Hoot. A bird mourns from a nearby cypress tree. Why is it so sad? Why will it not smile for me?
The weed between the cracks of cement in front of my doorstep is nowhere to be seen. I loved that plant. Where has it gone?
All the other plants stand stock still. They don't even move in response to the wind's friendly greeting. How cold. How mean. Why don't the roses sway in response like the cypresses? Why don't the lavenders shake their petals? Why is everything so still?
A dog barks in the distance, probably fresh gossip for the other dogs in the block. Have these dogs who are separated by all these fences ever met? What are they thinking? What are they saying?
The sky is that boring shade of cyan. And a dissonant honking sound indicates the arrival of geese in the sky, on their own path. Those 8 dots in the sky are welcoming to me, they provide me refuge from the ever so boring painted sky.
I hear some shuffling, then the slam of a door. What are my neighbors up to?
Another car passes by. No one is in the streets. Everyone is at home, watching TV or on the computer. How strange. I'm on the computer outside.
The buzz of an airplane gets fainter and fainter, leaving that white cloud in its traces.
The slam of a car door. Someone is leaving the house. Or maybe they're getting something from the car. Groceries perhaps? Maybe a receipt needed to return that shirt which was too big?
A faded purple Welcome mat faces the column of the front porch. A chalk drawing of a "mugu" is planted where that mat should be. A square with loops at each corner, a flower of beauty, welcoming the Goddess of the Wealth inside. And any flies for that matter.
Objects in the distance seem to have a light edge to them. Maybe it's just because I'm not wearing my glasses. Half an hour ago I looked at myself in the mirror. Who are you?
I smell garlic bread, it's light aroma is hooking me on. Why is that even when we don't need something, we get tempted to have it anyways? I'm not even hungry...
Why am I writing this thing? I am escaping music practice, trying to put the details I see onto paper, or text... I must get back to practice now.. I don't want to let my music teacher down tomorrow... Farewell!
|
|
tagboard.
|
archives.
By post:
Un crayon du bonheur
Rain, Rain Come Again...
Fear and Pain
Bill Nye the Science Guy
Ballads
random bubbles
T'en fais pas.
After I saw this, I felt the need to post. http://...
une photo
La plume sur le vent
By month:
December 2009
January 2010
February 2010
March 2010
April 2010
May 2010
June 2010
November 2010
March 2011
February 2012
April 2012
May 2012
June 2012
November 2012
December 2012
January 2013
August 2013
|
affiliates.
Just Koe
Thought of Life
Credits
Layout: Mary
Colours: refuted
Host: blogger
|