Turning Off, Tuning In

Pedaling down a main road, sidewalkless and too close to traffic, I take care to avoid both the highway and the brush that overcomes the embankment to my left. Rocks often make this area tricky to navigate, as one under my tire could send me off my bike and into sticker bushes or the pathway of oncoming traffic. Looking down, conscious of obstacles, I spot a lifeless bird. Unlike typical Levittown roadkill, the robin is full breasted and devoid of visible physical damage. It is beautiful and appeared to have recently, simply put, dropped dead. I glance up and see what I believe to be its shocking reaper; the power lines that stretch along  most streets in this town.  A few weeks later, my parents discussed the decapitation of a harmless baby bunny that took place in my back yard. That day, my dog finally was awarded his sought after prize of rabbit when my mother paid too much attention to pepper plants. Dad walked into the shed two seconds too long to catch the dog surprising his prey. We spoke of all the horrible accidents experienced with pets and wild animals alike-- my pet kitten ran over by a neighbor years ago, dad swerving to avoid a squirrel gripping it's apple and leaving only the fruit behind, a lost dog hit just as a good samaritan loosened grip on his collar...  That night, I came home unusually early for myself. It was 11:15 and I reached the black strip of road just before my house, unlit by lamp posts. The car not far ahead of me was going five under the speed limit and easily annoyed, I left little distance between our front and back bumpers. Before my eyes, an opossum darted into view and suddenly was crushed by the back right tire of the silver Chevy sedan I trailed. The tire curved over its body, lifting the back end of the car slightly. The driver kept on course to their destination while I swerved gently around the corpse. I couldn't believe what I had seen, so vivid, illuminated by my beaming headlights. The shine of the living creatures eyes stays with me, as nasty as those rodents are. Taking my bike to work this morning, I passed the spot where the incident took place 3 or 4 nights ago. I whipped by the skeletal structure: the heat caused a smell worse than the chemical plant fire caused by lightning last month. Tanned to an even muddy brown and flattened, becoming one with the concrete, the opossum reminded me of mankind's own ultimate demise. After dying, the creature loses more and more of itself, wilting into the pavement, becoming unrecognizable, shrinking with every storm, washing back into the earth. I felt the wave of sadness, technology causing nature's demise, simultaneously assisting us to forget our damage. I shake my head and pedal on the 5.2 miles to work. 

you're not always right

How quickly conclusions chip, crack, break, and crumble. Something as solid as truth is easily faltered by a weakened idea, a recalled thought. Evidence isn't proof; all the instances may line up, the necessary  data coincide, but one small, tiny detail is enough to destroy everything someone has ever believed or come to know as "truth." It only takes one hole to ruin the whole. There can be nothing certain and nothing concrete. These are what break us, the firm belief that we are right. It divides. Driving us to deceive and manipulate, our assurance in validity of personal impression destroys the nature of the faith we've built. Fact is not a matter, fact does not exist. There are only signs that point to glimpses of destiny. Be it positive or negative, we cannot control our futures. But taking action in the present, making the most of here, emanating the kindest and most genuine of ways, this builds the strongest structure possible. It's hard to see any holes in honest goodness. Without deception, we may expand the structure and strengthen it with every inch. This is the hope for our uncontrolled posterity. Not our thoughts, our selves, but the unhampered goodness that will make us unstoppable.

Beauty in Betterment

Sometimes I forget what I look like. When I check, making sure my nose is still in the middle of my face, it's always different than I remember. Sometimes better, sometimes worse: as my mood fluctuates, so does my impression of my lineaments. It's because I hardly look in the mirror. I always know I can do better and it scares me to think that I'm not being seen at my best. This is especially true when I put forth my most zealous effort; for instance, at school when I'm working hard in classes and at the gym, I am generally a sweaty, undone mess-- lazy with my hair and sloppy with what I wear. At work when I try super hard to offer customers the utmost kindness and servitude possible, I feel good about myself. This is probably where my exterior is roughest, and not in a rugged way, but like... Ruff, ruff... Wolf. And usually, I'm returned with treatment based more upon my appearance than my attitude. How can I tell? I assure you it's not paranoia. Days that I wear makeup, I notice a general, over-all curve in response from customers. Studies have shown (so I've heard,) that pretty people are more likely to succeed; if you've ever watched 500 Days of Summer, this is what is referred to as the "Summer Effect." "Attractive" people make more money, get offered better jobs, etc. On a personal aside, since graduating high school, I have lost a descent amount of weight. The overwhelming improvement of my reception from others (it's sad, disheartening, and I've noticed,) can only be explained by the increase of my attractiveness, or what is considered attractive to mainstream society. But don't get me wrong, I don't really care about that. Losing weight is about my lifestyle, not my looks. Okay, that is a lie. Obviously I wish to be well liked, and society has made us all believe that fat, ugly people cannot go as far as symmetrically-faced, toned, tanned bodies. Prime example: my youngest brother is quite the looker. At age 13, Curtis is blonde, thin, tan, and beautiful (don't tell him I said that, his head is figuratively huge.) He resembles Justin Beiber, is a descent actor, popular with girls and boys, and as I've recently discovered, has the voice of an angel (even while it's in the process of changing-- adulthood for the boy's future singing career is promising.) I took head shots of the little heart-throb that my mom brought to a acting agency where he was shot down. Reason? One of his right canines shadows another, an overlapping tooth causing imperfection in the boy enough that he is classified unqualified to be a model, actor... Any hope of becoming famous, lost to one offset tooth.
Now you see why I've tried so hard to catch up with the standards set by my hot family, I must be capable of looking at least as well as they do. Still, I've always liked what I look like, there's no changing my face. I'm confident enough to think I'm mildly attractive, (dare I say... pretty? Once I clean up, I mean,) so I'm not fishing or yearning for compliments. I just wish sometimes that our outer beauty and inner beauty would equate. Times when we were most selfish, we would look slimy and warty, like a witch or a snake. And the most genuine people would look radiant, flawless. I wish we wore our personalities like skin, our experiences like tattoos, our moods like outfits. That way, we wouldn't have to look in the mirror. Self reflection would show enough. People could see the type of person you were without basing their idea on society's ideal, which is pretty unrealistic if you ask me. The desirable would be those good of heart, not those of hot bodies. We'd all better ourselves to better each other, and vice versa. Mirrors would become obsolete and people would just be people, not as they appear. Still, until that day, I'll continue not to let myself down, do my best, and I'll keep my eyes away from the mirror. Maybe then I'll know the genuine from the surface and do better than those who care more about outfits and hairstyles than inside and heart.

Drinking Diamonds

I almost swallowed my brother's earrings today. I'm not used to this whole sharing a bathroom thing after being away at school for so long, and it's especially difficult when its regular occupants consist of 2 teenage boys. Since they're both at school by the time I pull back my curtains and reveal the afternoon sun, i have the whole place to myself, which is nice. What isn't nice is the fact that the restroom looks like a bomb went off; toilet paper roll empty, boxer briefs litter the floor, no clean towels sizable enough to cover my privets... A real disaster. I didn't even bother to examine the condition of shower scum and piss lining the toilet, I know what to expect. All this irritates me enough, because a place where you clean yourself should be equally clean (if the correlation were direct and accurate, my brothers would resemble Pig Pen from The Peanuts and Oscar the Grouch.) But I have no choice but to share this domain, as my house has 2 & 1/2 bathrooms. The other, my parents bathroom, is in their bedroom, and God knows what secrets it holds. So before I rush off to work, where I have been called in early and will have to use an equally disgusting public mall toilet throughout my shift, I have to brush my teeth. Using my own specific whitening toothpaste, which I have warned the satanic siblings for them would  result in ultimate peril,  I brush away in the semi-dark. My bathroom is in the center of the house and natural light is limited to entering through the door. We do have a nightlight, but it runs on a photocell or whatever and it turns off at the glow of the sun, and I hate to turn on the light during the daytime. Spitting out the remainder of white foam, I reach for the cup at the edge of the sink and go to fill it with a bit of water. But there's already water inside, to which I think, "lazy assholes, no toilet paper, now this..." and I dump. With the water, out pours my brother's diamond earrings, into the basin and toward the drain. I'm thinking "shitttttt..." as I catch the second, but luckily the first is lodged in the drain stop. Carefully I pull it out, making sure that it won't slip into the pipe (I had to retrieve one of my gauges from my sink at school before and it was the most vile thing I have ever experienced.) Immediately, I note the bottle of peroxide to the right of the faucet and I am filled with unhampered rage: One, had I been lazy like my stupid brother, I would have drank the water that was already in the cup, which to my surprise would have been peroxide. Two, I could have swallowed the fake studs and choked!  Who in God's name puts their dirty earrings and a chemical compound in a fricking drinking cup? I can't even yell at the twat because he's still at school, probably wearing some dirty earrings with shit in his butt due to absence of tissue... I have to rush to work without the vengeance I desire. After such a stressful semester, oh how it's good to be home.