Whether I like to admit it or not, I am always trying to attach meaning to events in my life. Dreams, personal interactions, road kill; all fall victim to my philosophical analyzations. When one spends hours contemplating the significance of hitting a beaver on a levee road whilst engaging in a mini road trip on their lunch, one should probably cease and desist...or have a drink.
One area where this metaphysical examination takes place is at the gas station. When 'filling up' I generally like to place the gas nozzle into my tank, latch the handle lever, and daydream for the duration of the filling process. [which is usually a decent amount of time as I tend to run the tank to 'E' just to see if I can slip in a few more miles per gallon]
When I hear that magical "click", I immediately look to see how much hard earned cash was taken from my checking or credit account. Once I have seen the figure, my mind automatically begins searching the mental databanks for a possible meaning behind that specific number.
If the total is an odd amount, I of course try to round the number out with a few precious pumps of the nozzle and then my mind begins the entire process again - attaching significance to the new amount, frantically attempting to piece together this great mystery.
Yesterday, the tank became full at 10.5 gallons - exactly $37.00.
...the wheels began to spin...
Why that number?
Why here?
Why now?
Am I going to die when I turn 37?
Should I add the numbers together and recall a memory of that age?
Maybe I should multiply.
Should I buy a lotto ticket?
What is 37 in Spanish?
As much as I adhere to reason and logic wherever applicable [everywhere and always] I cannot deny that my mind works in such a way that it is constantly searching for something more - something outside the context of coincidence and luck or rationale and reason.
And I think that perhaps I am not alone in my floundering.
As human beings, we are presented with a rather harsh reality. There is no instruction manual. There is no divine voice booming down in stereo, no HDTV images of our purpose or point. Not even an illustrated color pamphlet suggesting that in the event of an emergency, our ass will become a flotation device.
We have nothing but the rules and laws we discover and while we can't deny their existence, sometimes we even attach our own meaning to those.
The human condition is - not so much a creature bound by laws, but a creature bound by desire - the desire to fill the void within, the desire to prosper, explore, create, and control. The desire to thrive.
Ultimately, there is no fact in the fiction.
We design meaning and assign it to where we see fit.
Whether its the spiritual 'evidence of things unseen' or the empirical evidence of years of experiments, we simply don't don't know and may not know our purpose [if any] until we expire.
Until then, I'll be crossing my fingers at the gas pump with a pocketfull of scratchers.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Thursday, February 21, 2008
obscuring of astronomical object
she was naked when i saw her.
vulnerable
in the jet set shadow of the rock beneath my feet;
peter, gasping for air.
he couldn't breathe
with the church upon him.
neither could i.
but as she sat there,
bare,
velcroed to the night sky
like a light bulb
slowly being consumed by
black berry pie,
a sweeter air than the breath before
trickled through my lungs.
redemption comes through unexpected avenues,
as opposed to,
hand-me-down traditions
that prevent the unpredictable from happening
she was naked when i saw her
but, as all who are naked discover,
nature concealed her innocence.
red.grey.blue.black.yellow.
and white again.
ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
naked she came from her father's seed
and naked she shall leave.
it occurred to me that i have left so many situations
fully clothed,
ashamed of my waste [of life]
when what i needed most
was to be exposed,
so that the bruise of my nude [self]
could properly heal.
red.grey.blue.black.yellow.
and back to white again.
just like her
and the naked image that she boasts.
beneath the silent hosts of heaven
and the patriarch
that turned his face from me,
i now see
instead of vulnerability,
the greatest form of healing
we as humans have;
the freedom to think or act
without being constrained.
floating naked
in the firmament of space,
there is something other
than a holy decency,
that saves
beautiful
majestic
liberty
she was naked when i saw her
unashamed
unabashed
unbelievable
my Luna
my Lover
my Moon
[and I became naked too]
vulnerable
in the jet set shadow of the rock beneath my feet;
peter, gasping for air.
he couldn't breathe
with the church upon him.
neither could i.
but as she sat there,
bare,
velcroed to the night sky
like a light bulb
slowly being consumed by
black berry pie,
a sweeter air than the breath before
trickled through my lungs.
redemption comes through unexpected avenues,
as opposed to,
hand-me-down traditions
that prevent the unpredictable from happening
she was naked when i saw her
but, as all who are naked discover,
nature concealed her innocence.
red.grey.blue.black.yellow.
and white again.
ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
naked she came from her father's seed
and naked she shall leave.
it occurred to me that i have left so many situations
fully clothed,
ashamed of my waste [of life]
when what i needed most
was to be exposed,
so that the bruise of my nude [self]
could properly heal.
red.grey.blue.black.yellow.
and back to white again.
just like her
and the naked image that she boasts.
beneath the silent hosts of heaven
and the patriarch
that turned his face from me,
i now see
instead of vulnerability,
the greatest form of healing
we as humans have;
the freedom to think or act
without being constrained.
floating naked
in the firmament of space,
there is something other
than a holy decency,
that saves
beautiful
majestic
liberty
she was naked when i saw her
unashamed
unabashed
unbelievable
my Luna
my Lover
my Moon
[and I became naked too]
Monday, February 11, 2008
Giddy Up
The inessential cowboy learns to ride a different horse
but fails to round the cattle up in time.
The inessential cowboy is a dispensable commodity these days
as everyone is unique in their own damn way
like origami snowflakes manfactured by
mechanical asian hands
This cowboy, this icon,
is not aware of anything but his rotting gut
and refuses to abuse others because
he contains a measure of integrity that is rare
or at least
medium-rare
We are lost and lingering in a million manmade scrutinies under the false pretense that we are listening to our hearts.
The inessential cowboy makes his move
when the moves have all been made
and tries to save the day as though his life was saved
but in the end
he finds himself in a ghost town
built with his own hands
and there is simplicity in loyalty to ghosts.
It is easy to befriend the dead.
There was a time when I admred his six-shooter words
but now
I wouldn't think twice before turning to fire
before the ten-count expired.
We started six feet under but I'm ready to break free.
Dear inessential cowboy, stay the fuck away from me.
but fails to round the cattle up in time.
The inessential cowboy is a dispensable commodity these days
as everyone is unique in their own damn way
like origami snowflakes manfactured by
mechanical asian hands
This cowboy, this icon,
is not aware of anything but his rotting gut
and refuses to abuse others because
he contains a measure of integrity that is rare
or at least
medium-rare
We are lost and lingering in a million manmade scrutinies under the false pretense that we are listening to our hearts.
The inessential cowboy makes his move
when the moves have all been made
and tries to save the day as though his life was saved
but in the end
he finds himself in a ghost town
built with his own hands
and there is simplicity in loyalty to ghosts.
It is easy to befriend the dead.
There was a time when I admred his six-shooter words
but now
I wouldn't think twice before turning to fire
before the ten-count expired.
We started six feet under but I'm ready to break free.
Dear inessential cowboy, stay the fuck away from me.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
The Anticipation of Emanation
Her daddy always wanted something better for his girl;
someone better in this world
than what she chose
I suppose I always knew I wasn't best
and yet
I had to find out the hard way;
the only way
I know
Back in the day, you could never tell the difference
between the asphalt and my eyes;
black seeping through whatever holes were in my head
at the time
and looking back I recognize that
time is on our side
but becomes a victim to friendly fire;
bullets of fear lodged between it's ribs
the shrapnel of anxiety between it's lips
and the agony of regret
between our ears
Her daddy knew the type of man I was
because all men are one thing
before they become a man;
an angry boy with no place to call his home
He had stopped being angry long ago
and I was just
starting my engine, so to speak
drinking my coffee without cream,
refusing to let a doctor see me,
and defending those
who didn't deserve defense
...Back when love was still a motive
and standards were never set in stone
...back when being alone was
the least of our concerns
...back when cloud-covered skies became a constant reminder
of our proximity to death
Her daddy always wanted someone better for his girl
something better in a world
that seems to forget:
the joys of trying not to get wet as the seashore licks at your feet
the shining aura of genuine laughter
the shape of sound
the sound of sight
the sight of
Her
How could I ever forget that?
Maybe her daddy was right.
The 'someone better' is still inside
waiting for his chance to shine
in the endless starry night
Awake oh sleeping man and thrive!
someone better in this world
than what she chose
I suppose I always knew I wasn't best
and yet
I had to find out the hard way;
the only way
I know
Back in the day, you could never tell the difference
between the asphalt and my eyes;
black seeping through whatever holes were in my head
at the time
and looking back I recognize that
time is on our side
but becomes a victim to friendly fire;
bullets of fear lodged between it's ribs
the shrapnel of anxiety between it's lips
and the agony of regret
between our ears
Her daddy knew the type of man I was
because all men are one thing
before they become a man;
an angry boy with no place to call his home
He had stopped being angry long ago
and I was just
starting my engine, so to speak
drinking my coffee without cream,
refusing to let a doctor see me,
and defending those
who didn't deserve defense
...Back when love was still a motive
and standards were never set in stone
...back when being alone was
the least of our concerns
...back when cloud-covered skies became a constant reminder
of our proximity to death
Her daddy always wanted someone better for his girl
something better in a world
that seems to forget:
the joys of trying not to get wet as the seashore licks at your feet
the shining aura of genuine laughter
the shape of sound
the sound of sight
the sight of
Her
How could I ever forget that?
Maybe her daddy was right.
The 'someone better' is still inside
waiting for his chance to shine
in the endless starry night
Awake oh sleeping man and thrive!
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Varying Constants
Rain be my guide tonight
Direct my aimlessness away from those
who would falsify their claims of honor and respect
I will succumb to gravity
if you will only stay with me
and help me understand the significance of our fall
Pass the Oatmeal Cream Cookies please
I like the image of Little Debbie grinning back at me
but not directly into my eyes
Submissive little snack girls have always been my type
like short-haired women for passivity
and blond-haired women for swine
and brunettes for the in betweens
who will salvage love from broken dreams
that they have wrestled all their lives
Rain be my guide tonight
and wash away these Denmark blues
in which I sense a foul and unnerving acclimation towards
the soft light that blinds us
instead of the real light
that frees us from our eyes
A crude man would have you believe
that the rain is heaven's ejaculate
spent after hours of foreplay above a virgin earth
but I am here to clarify that we in fact are the atmosphere's sperm
and this is not a tragedy being induced by way of precipitation
This is simply the bleach that comes to wash away the stain that is us.
Love be my friend tonight
but only for a night
and we will begin our war again
in which we fight for your dying cause
at the start of the morning light
Don't think for second that I cannot smell
the food-coloringin your pants
that screams like a voodoo dancer
on a summer night in Georgia
My teeth don't belong in your period
but you would have us all believe
you're finished with the process
of flushing
and bloating
and wondering when they'll make jeans
for a normal human being
Isn't that right?
Tonight, while love is being my friend for a night
you'll feast upon the daily routine
of daily bread
because these are the things that adults do
Lie and lose themselves to lies
[it's easier said than done]
when fun is on the line
and moments like these we wish our placenta had been born first
and wrapped in a blanket
as there is no difference between this situation
and the bottom of a medical waste basket
God be my God tonight
and not the shadow out of sight
Be more than a voice to me
that only whispers silently
Men make myths to match their mystery
Mothers make minions to mourn their mark
Direct my aimlessness away from those
who would falsify their claims of honor and respect
I will succumb to gravity
if you will only stay with me
and help me understand the significance of our fall
Pass the Oatmeal Cream Cookies please
I like the image of Little Debbie grinning back at me
but not directly into my eyes
Submissive little snack girls have always been my type
like short-haired women for passivity
and blond-haired women for swine
and brunettes for the in betweens
who will salvage love from broken dreams
that they have wrestled all their lives
Rain be my guide tonight
and wash away these Denmark blues
in which I sense a foul and unnerving acclimation towards
the soft light that blinds us
instead of the real light
that frees us from our eyes
A crude man would have you believe
that the rain is heaven's ejaculate
spent after hours of foreplay above a virgin earth
but I am here to clarify that we in fact are the atmosphere's sperm
and this is not a tragedy being induced by way of precipitation
This is simply the bleach that comes to wash away the stain that is us.
Love be my friend tonight
but only for a night
and we will begin our war again
in which we fight for your dying cause
at the start of the morning light
Don't think for second that I cannot smell
the food-coloringin your pants
that screams like a voodoo dancer
on a summer night in Georgia
My teeth don't belong in your period
but you would have us all believe
you're finished with the process
of flushing
and bloating
and wondering when they'll make jeans
for a normal human being
Isn't that right?
Tonight, while love is being my friend for a night
you'll feast upon the daily routine
of daily bread
because these are the things that adults do
Lie and lose themselves to lies
[it's easier said than done]
when fun is on the line
and moments like these we wish our placenta had been born first
and wrapped in a blanket
as there is no difference between this situation
and the bottom of a medical waste basket
God be my God tonight
and not the shadow out of sight
Be more than a voice to me
that only whispers silently
Men make myths to match their mystery
Mothers make minions to mourn their mark
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Act Won: Scene Won: Encore, Narrator
Breathing - deep unadulterated breaths, always unleashes the beast.
Her lips, like scarlet ribbons, swam across her face, danced across the stage
and found their designated place within my mind
I was thinking of sex, of course, and she was thinking "of course of course"
and through the static darkness of her audience, I smiled when she turned to look my way.
That day was not definitive
like the coffee beginnings and milky endings of every day before
Oh I was still a whore, don't get me wrong, but
suddenly I knew a different shade of grey
the balanced hue of an unmerited, redeeming rain
and she, well she knew this truth,
"If not me, than who?"
Watching her mouth was something like a walk on the moon
each move carefully calculated as to prevent the overstepping into infinite space
because laws like gravity don't exist in a love like this
and she was fully aware of my obvious stare,
huddled over my theatre seat,
in perfect contemplation of what I'd do with her teeth
...something about my tongue playing the xylophone...
Breathing - deep, pure breaths, always unlocks the creature within
Her eyes, like polished mirrors, reflected my fears
as she was the type that understood the condition of
man and what humans become when merely content
with their circumstances as opposed to
willing to die for happiness
...I'll die a thousand deaths for this...
Naturally, I was focused on her heaving breasts,
knowing that honesty would provide the rest,
so long as I was faithful to the awful mess of
blood and muscle in my chest
and
I didn't mean to rhyme so much
and
I didn't mean to say any of that
and
what I mean is
what's a girl like her doing with a guy like me?
and
what am I doing standing in my seat?
and
what is she doing walking towards me?
and
why are the curtains closing, people clapping, roses dropping?
and
scene.
[Now breathe with me and let the monster live]
Her lips, like scarlet ribbons, swam across her face, danced across the stage
and found their designated place within my mind
I was thinking of sex, of course, and she was thinking "of course of course"
and through the static darkness of her audience, I smiled when she turned to look my way.
That day was not definitive
like the coffee beginnings and milky endings of every day before
Oh I was still a whore, don't get me wrong, but
suddenly I knew a different shade of grey
the balanced hue of an unmerited, redeeming rain
and she, well she knew this truth,
"If not me, than who?"
Watching her mouth was something like a walk on the moon
each move carefully calculated as to prevent the overstepping into infinite space
because laws like gravity don't exist in a love like this
and she was fully aware of my obvious stare,
huddled over my theatre seat,
in perfect contemplation of what I'd do with her teeth
...something about my tongue playing the xylophone...
Breathing - deep, pure breaths, always unlocks the creature within
Her eyes, like polished mirrors, reflected my fears
as she was the type that understood the condition of
man and what humans become when merely content
with their circumstances as opposed to
willing to die for happiness
...I'll die a thousand deaths for this...
Naturally, I was focused on her heaving breasts,
knowing that honesty would provide the rest,
so long as I was faithful to the awful mess of
blood and muscle in my chest
and
I didn't mean to rhyme so much
and
I didn't mean to say any of that
and
what I mean is
what's a girl like her doing with a guy like me?
and
what am I doing standing in my seat?
and
what is she doing walking towards me?
and
why are the curtains closing, people clapping, roses dropping?
and
scene.
[Now breathe with me and let the monster live]
Monday, February 4, 2008
Fortune Cookie-Cutter Philosophy: V for Validation
The human need for validation is underrated and overlooked. As a species, thrown into existence without permission, given no formal instructions at birth or final review at death, we are left to construct our own meaning and our own realities from a very limited understanding of the world we dwell in. When we find certain truths to be consistent, after using the best tests and observations available, we call them laws. We do our best to fashion significance from these laws, turning everything red with relativity, but the questions of meaning and origin remain unanswered, shattering the understanding that we do have.
Our accomplishments are insignificant in comparison to how much there is to be accomplished.
With that being said, it is easy to understand why we would turn to the unseen world of myth and magic as a means to explain our existence. We surrender to absent-minded ideas and practices, stirring the waters within, adding the seasoning of folklore, fiction and faith to create a boiling soup of frantic, fanaticism. We flock to religions and rescissions of reason, blaming science for our lack of purpose, crucifying logic and freeing the criminal that is unbound desperation.
Our fear becomes our fuel. Our demise becomes our mission. And we are none the richer for our faithful decisions.
I have always found fortune cookies to be amusing. While most are able to grasp that the tiny ribbon encased within the sugary origami pocket is meant to be nothing more than a gimmick of sentiment, a literary treat combing the ideals of luck, fate and grammatical errors [yes, grammatical errors are an ideal], those same individuals, deep down inside, design tiny hope-filled bubbles that float and fly up from their heart, into their lungs and out their mouth and nose once the fortune has been revealed.
If what we read is applicable to our dreams or desires, we smile, smirk and thank an unseen force for the wisdom imparted to us this day by way of crispy, buttery goodness. When the prophecy is that of idiocy or irrelevance, we curse our cookie treat, sigh and blame the Chinese for everything cheap. [though I think a Japanese man invented the fortune cookie]
Even after stuffing our guts with oily noodles and various meat products, we are not truly fulfilled and we wait in nervous anticipation for those vanilla clams with the psychic strands to validate our lives.
O.K., maybe its just me.
This 'eternal searching' is not limited to post-dinner desserts. We are constantly seeking validation, a gentle confirmation that we are going in the right direction, making the right choices, and living the way we should. We look for it from our parents, our peers, our pastors, our professors, our sciences, our religions, our loves and...even our enemies. In a life with no guarantees, there is comfort in fantasies...even poorly spelled or stale...we crave the sugar-coated truth. We need to know we are not alone, even though, that is exactly what we are. No affiliation or declaration can change the fact that there may not be a reason or rhyme for 'what?' or 'why?'.
As someone who can fully admit he has looked to the stars for substance, religion for essence and every other nook and cranny, from science to sensationalism, for a bit of revelation, I tend to look forward to my plastic-wrapped soothsayer after each meal. In fact, just yesterday, after consuming a tasty dinner of Mongolian Barbeque, I gave in to my typical tendencies once the check/cookie tray came my way.
My mind began to psyche itself out...
"This is it. This is where everything changes. I'm going to read my fortune and it is going to tell me exactly what I need to know. This is where it all ends and begins again. This is my destiny, my fate, my purpose. Once I read this, my entire life will make sense. I'll follow it's advice and nothing will go wrong, everything will be right. This is what I have been waiting for, what I was born for. This is the day of reckoning!!!"
*opens plastic wrapping*
*eats half of cookie [as is tradition]*
*holds miraculous answers to the universe up to face and reads*
"A carrot a day may keep cancer away"
There is silence.
There is stillness.
There is me with a mouthful of cookie, motionless, and barely breathing...
I then proceeded to laugh for five minutes straight; loud, uncontrollable laughing, snorting and giggling. My girlfriend reaches for the fortune and begins laughing as well. We are egging each other on, unable to cease the deep, riotous cheer that is vomiting up from our bellies.
There are tears.
There is snot.
There is drool.
There is everything wonderful about genuine laughter.
We walked away from the restaurant, talking about the 'significance' of the fortune. My girlfriend points out that it reads 'may' keep cancer away. I begin to laugh and the whole things fires up again.
Thus is life.
Our deep longing for significance , our yearnings for value are often answered with simple resolutions. We construct and assign meaning to every aspect of our lives. The mystical and the methodical are simply paths ultimately leading to the same place; uncertainty. All of our studies and all of our prayers fail to fill the void within us.
We just don't know, and perhaps we never will.
But instead of cheap thrills and broken wills, perhaps we should learn to validate ourselves by looking in a mirror. The image we see is all we need to take the next step. Staring at the reflection in front of us, we simply need to say "I'm alive today, and today is all I've got. This moment is my future. I am alive, right now."
If you're like me, you'll learn to look into that mirror and laugh out loud - at every past attempt to contrast and compare your life to unreasonable standards, at every worry or concern that you were wasting your time, at every fear that you would die unsatisfied - at every fortune cookie gone awry - and suddenly, the person on the other side, the person deep inside, will be the only validation you ever need.
Our accomplishments are insignificant in comparison to how much there is to be accomplished.
With that being said, it is easy to understand why we would turn to the unseen world of myth and magic as a means to explain our existence. We surrender to absent-minded ideas and practices, stirring the waters within, adding the seasoning of folklore, fiction and faith to create a boiling soup of frantic, fanaticism. We flock to religions and rescissions of reason, blaming science for our lack of purpose, crucifying logic and freeing the criminal that is unbound desperation.
Our fear becomes our fuel. Our demise becomes our mission. And we are none the richer for our faithful decisions.
I have always found fortune cookies to be amusing. While most are able to grasp that the tiny ribbon encased within the sugary origami pocket is meant to be nothing more than a gimmick of sentiment, a literary treat combing the ideals of luck, fate and grammatical errors [yes, grammatical errors are an ideal], those same individuals, deep down inside, design tiny hope-filled bubbles that float and fly up from their heart, into their lungs and out their mouth and nose once the fortune has been revealed.
If what we read is applicable to our dreams or desires, we smile, smirk and thank an unseen force for the wisdom imparted to us this day by way of crispy, buttery goodness. When the prophecy is that of idiocy or irrelevance, we curse our cookie treat, sigh and blame the Chinese for everything cheap. [though I think a Japanese man invented the fortune cookie]
Even after stuffing our guts with oily noodles and various meat products, we are not truly fulfilled and we wait in nervous anticipation for those vanilla clams with the psychic strands to validate our lives.
O.K., maybe its just me.
This 'eternal searching' is not limited to post-dinner desserts. We are constantly seeking validation, a gentle confirmation that we are going in the right direction, making the right choices, and living the way we should. We look for it from our parents, our peers, our pastors, our professors, our sciences, our religions, our loves and...even our enemies. In a life with no guarantees, there is comfort in fantasies...even poorly spelled or stale...we crave the sugar-coated truth. We need to know we are not alone, even though, that is exactly what we are. No affiliation or declaration can change the fact that there may not be a reason or rhyme for 'what?' or 'why?'.
As someone who can fully admit he has looked to the stars for substance, religion for essence and every other nook and cranny, from science to sensationalism, for a bit of revelation, I tend to look forward to my plastic-wrapped soothsayer after each meal. In fact, just yesterday, after consuming a tasty dinner of Mongolian Barbeque, I gave in to my typical tendencies once the check/cookie tray came my way.
My mind began to psyche itself out...
"This is it. This is where everything changes. I'm going to read my fortune and it is going to tell me exactly what I need to know. This is where it all ends and begins again. This is my destiny, my fate, my purpose. Once I read this, my entire life will make sense. I'll follow it's advice and nothing will go wrong, everything will be right. This is what I have been waiting for, what I was born for. This is the day of reckoning!!!"
*opens plastic wrapping*
*eats half of cookie [as is tradition]*
*holds miraculous answers to the universe up to face and reads*
"A carrot a day may keep cancer away"
There is silence.
There is stillness.
There is me with a mouthful of cookie, motionless, and barely breathing...
I then proceeded to laugh for five minutes straight; loud, uncontrollable laughing, snorting and giggling. My girlfriend reaches for the fortune and begins laughing as well. We are egging each other on, unable to cease the deep, riotous cheer that is vomiting up from our bellies.
There are tears.
There is snot.
There is drool.
There is everything wonderful about genuine laughter.
We walked away from the restaurant, talking about the 'significance' of the fortune. My girlfriend points out that it reads 'may' keep cancer away. I begin to laugh and the whole things fires up again.
Thus is life.
Our deep longing for significance , our yearnings for value are often answered with simple resolutions. We construct and assign meaning to every aspect of our lives. The mystical and the methodical are simply paths ultimately leading to the same place; uncertainty. All of our studies and all of our prayers fail to fill the void within us.
We just don't know, and perhaps we never will.
But instead of cheap thrills and broken wills, perhaps we should learn to validate ourselves by looking in a mirror. The image we see is all we need to take the next step. Staring at the reflection in front of us, we simply need to say "I'm alive today, and today is all I've got. This moment is my future. I am alive, right now."
If you're like me, you'll learn to look into that mirror and laugh out loud - at every past attempt to contrast and compare your life to unreasonable standards, at every worry or concern that you were wasting your time, at every fear that you would die unsatisfied - at every fortune cookie gone awry - and suddenly, the person on the other side, the person deep inside, will be the only validation you ever need.
The towers of temptation to turn to outside sources will begin to crumble and fade away, once we establish a solid foundation in ourselves.
It's not so much a question of "Why?' we are but of "Who?" we are.
That is perhaps the one thing we can know for certain, if we so desire.
Let's just remember to eat our carrots, shall we?
Friday, February 1, 2008
Udder Chaos in the Corporate World: Beef, it's what's for Blogger
Your first response is panic. You slowly gopher your head up from your cubicle to investigate. What you see is not comforting. A large minotaur has escaped from his labyrinth and is ransacking your office. You drop back into your seat, sweating bullets, breathing quickly, looking around your desk for anything remotely close to a weapon. You grab your stapler. Your trusty stapler.
You hear commotion from the department over. Was that a scream you heard? Of course it was. The minotaur is chopping your coworkers to bits with a giant minotaury axe.
Finally your rationale kicks in. Minotaurs don't exist, you remind yourself. You stand to take another glance at the monster invading your workplace. Is that...a cow? It is! It's just a cow! And yet, you don't feel relieved. The only other logical explanation is that the cows have risen up. Everyone thought it would be the machines or zombies but little did we know, our greatest flock would also be our greatest adversary. Your grip tightens around the stapler. You fire off a few clicks into the carpet, and in your lowest, most bad-ass voice, you mutter "I guess it's just you and me Betty"
[please tell me at least one other person names their office supplies]
You sneak out from under your desk, squatting down the hall. The other cubicles are empty. "They got them. They got all of them. I'm...all alone." You stop to grieve your fallen colleagues, but only for a moment. This is no time for tears or fears. Your enemy is formidable, fueled with vengeance after years, decades, centuries of horrendous slaughter, slavery and horny Irishmen. "We had it coming" you whisper to yourself. "This is karma, this is judgment day"
You crawl around a bend and throw your back to a cubicle wall, peeking ever so slowly around the corner. One of the cows has it's back to you. You swallow hard, checking to see that your stapler is loaded. You click the lever back in place. You know what you have to do. This is for your friends, this is for humanity, this is for milk and steak lovers across the globe, this...is for....freeeeeeeeddoooommmm!!!!! And with a deep breath, you rise from your hiding and charge the unsuspecting renegade steed.
It turns around quickly, it's eyes black and empty like a great white shark's , it's mouth open, revealing giant, crushing teeth, its arms full of...
...calendars, t-shirts, pencils, coupons and...stuffed 'beanie-baby' cows.
You stop dead in your tracks.
You stare at the cow.
It stares back at you.
There is a long silence.
Then the cow hands you a calendar, lets out a bellowing "Moooo" and in a soft, female voice, says "Eat Mor Chikin!" and turns and walks away.
You stand there for a moment, stunned, confused, certain that what you have been given is some type of anthrax-laced time-bomb that will detonate any second, but you don't throw it. You continue holding it, looking down at the bright, glossy cover that says "One Hit Wonder Cows - If it weren't for chicken, they'd be a flash in the pan!" Instead, you manage to murmur, "Thank you...?" and return to your desk, humbled and in awe of what just happened, though slightly discouraged you weren't able to fire off a few rounds from ol betty.
In 1946, a devout Southern Baptist by the name of Samuel Truett Cathy, opened a restaurant called the Dwarf Grill and created a recipe for a simple chicken sandwich. That sandwich would eventually become Cathy's primary focus, inspiring him to open the first Chick-fil-A restaurant in 1967.
Now, 40 years later, Chick-fil-A has over 1,300 locations nationwide and that Baptist boy from Georgia who has taught Sunday School for over 50 years, [Chick-fil-A is closed on Sundays] is now the 799th richest person in the world, with a net worth of almost 2 billions dollars. The company has set up shop across the country, as restaurants, drive-thru only facilities, Mall food court depots and a catering service that visits parties, parks and, as in my situation, corporations looking to expand their cafeteria options.
Chick-fil-A's marketing strategy entails having cows endorse the consumption of chickens as a means to minimize and cease our obsession with beef. It's genius actually, in a creepy, sadistic kind of way.
While I have always been a big fan of befriending your meal before you devour it, I have to admit, it feels a little strange seeing a cow plead for it's life. It's even stranger to see it suggest we eat it's neighbor. I imagine this is similar to me, after being seized by a horde of hungry cannibals, offering my tour guide [that happens to be a midget] as a healthy alternative to eating me for dinner.
In fact, "Eat mor Mijets" would be a far better advertising campaign and one that is guaranteed to pull in revenue by my investments alone. I of course would throw my midget tour guide at the cannibals and run, screaming through the jungle, but I would at least feel a little bad...just as the cows should for their betrayal.
All I know is that there is nothing more alarming, more distracting, or more peculiar than, whilst plugging away at a rather intricate project given to you by your vice president, a 7ft tall cow begins parading around your office, hooves-a-stomping, udders-a-shaking, tail-a-dangling and mouth-a-mooing, handing out free marketing paraphernalia for a fast food chain.
Well, I suppose if instead of cows, they used 7ft tall, nude Amazon women, udders-a-shakin, mouths-a-mooin...that would be a bit more distracting......and.......hot.
Mmmmm, amazon udders.....
You hear commotion from the department over. Was that a scream you heard? Of course it was. The minotaur is chopping your coworkers to bits with a giant minotaury axe.
Finally your rationale kicks in. Minotaurs don't exist, you remind yourself. You stand to take another glance at the monster invading your workplace. Is that...a cow? It is! It's just a cow! And yet, you don't feel relieved. The only other logical explanation is that the cows have risen up. Everyone thought it would be the machines or zombies but little did we know, our greatest flock would also be our greatest adversary. Your grip tightens around the stapler. You fire off a few clicks into the carpet, and in your lowest, most bad-ass voice, you mutter "I guess it's just you and me Betty"
[please tell me at least one other person names their office supplies]
You sneak out from under your desk, squatting down the hall. The other cubicles are empty. "They got them. They got all of them. I'm...all alone." You stop to grieve your fallen colleagues, but only for a moment. This is no time for tears or fears. Your enemy is formidable, fueled with vengeance after years, decades, centuries of horrendous slaughter, slavery and horny Irishmen. "We had it coming" you whisper to yourself. "This is karma, this is judgment day"
You crawl around a bend and throw your back to a cubicle wall, peeking ever so slowly around the corner. One of the cows has it's back to you. You swallow hard, checking to see that your stapler is loaded. You click the lever back in place. You know what you have to do. This is for your friends, this is for humanity, this is for milk and steak lovers across the globe, this...is for....freeeeeeeeddoooommmm!!!!! And with a deep breath, you rise from your hiding and charge the unsuspecting renegade steed.
It turns around quickly, it's eyes black and empty like a great white shark's , it's mouth open, revealing giant, crushing teeth, its arms full of...
...calendars, t-shirts, pencils, coupons and...stuffed 'beanie-baby' cows.
You stop dead in your tracks.
You stare at the cow.
It stares back at you.
There is a long silence.
Then the cow hands you a calendar, lets out a bellowing "Moooo" and in a soft, female voice, says "Eat Mor Chikin!" and turns and walks away.
You stand there for a moment, stunned, confused, certain that what you have been given is some type of anthrax-laced time-bomb that will detonate any second, but you don't throw it. You continue holding it, looking down at the bright, glossy cover that says "One Hit Wonder Cows - If it weren't for chicken, they'd be a flash in the pan!" Instead, you manage to murmur, "Thank you...?" and return to your desk, humbled and in awe of what just happened, though slightly discouraged you weren't able to fire off a few rounds from ol betty.
In 1946, a devout Southern Baptist by the name of Samuel Truett Cathy, opened a restaurant called the Dwarf Grill and created a recipe for a simple chicken sandwich. That sandwich would eventually become Cathy's primary focus, inspiring him to open the first Chick-fil-A restaurant in 1967.
Now, 40 years later, Chick-fil-A has over 1,300 locations nationwide and that Baptist boy from Georgia who has taught Sunday School for over 50 years, [Chick-fil-A is closed on Sundays] is now the 799th richest person in the world, with a net worth of almost 2 billions dollars. The company has set up shop across the country, as restaurants, drive-thru only facilities, Mall food court depots and a catering service that visits parties, parks and, as in my situation, corporations looking to expand their cafeteria options.
Chick-fil-A's marketing strategy entails having cows endorse the consumption of chickens as a means to minimize and cease our obsession with beef. It's genius actually, in a creepy, sadistic kind of way.
While I have always been a big fan of befriending your meal before you devour it, I have to admit, it feels a little strange seeing a cow plead for it's life. It's even stranger to see it suggest we eat it's neighbor. I imagine this is similar to me, after being seized by a horde of hungry cannibals, offering my tour guide [that happens to be a midget] as a healthy alternative to eating me for dinner.
In fact, "Eat mor Mijets" would be a far better advertising campaign and one that is guaranteed to pull in revenue by my investments alone. I of course would throw my midget tour guide at the cannibals and run, screaming through the jungle, but I would at least feel a little bad...just as the cows should for their betrayal.
All I know is that there is nothing more alarming, more distracting, or more peculiar than, whilst plugging away at a rather intricate project given to you by your vice president, a 7ft tall cow begins parading around your office, hooves-a-stomping, udders-a-shaking, tail-a-dangling and mouth-a-mooing, handing out free marketing paraphernalia for a fast food chain.
Well, I suppose if instead of cows, they used 7ft tall, nude Amazon women, udders-a-shakin, mouths-a-mooin...that would be a bit more distracting......and.......hot.
Mmmmm, amazon udders.....
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