Blink Twice for Yes

I can never make up my mind. I’m kinda like the weather sometimes. I’ll feel like raining, but then I’ll be sunny, and sometimes I’ll rain anyway, just to see a coloured arc stretching across the sky. But the best is when I’m cloudy, with a strong breeze blowing and bringing the smell of rain. Just the smell of it. Unfulfilled promises of things are usually better than the things themselves. One of those strange things in life. Don’t ask me why. Maybe we just get complacent. Or bored. Maybe it’s easier to imagine something as perfect than delude yourself when you’ve seen it isn’t so. How’s that for a harsh critique of life? It’s not really that harsh though. I mean, I’ve been harsher.

I thought about it, and I’m in full agreement. So don’t try and stop me.

Why is it, that something you desperately don’t want to be true, solely by the vehemence of your desire, becomes almost more real? As if you wish it into existence, by wishing it out of existence.

Could you stop the world please? Yes, right here thank you. I’d like to get off. I could really do with stretching my legs, and I just feel so cramped here. Would you like to come for a walk? Just once around the block before dinner. Maybe twice if the mood takes us. And we can sing as the wind blows through our hair and whips our voices away. But what will we sing about? I know an old sailor song, and I don’t think it matters that it’s a little bit bawdy, and uncouth. The words don’t really matter. Or maybe we could sing it without words. Or I’ll sing rhubarb, rhubarb, rhubarb, and you can harmonize with crumble. And we’ll march together. People may look at us, but we won’t stop to explain ourselves. We’ll have too much to do, what with singing and striding and having the wind blowing through our hair. Maybe it really is dinner time now though. Look, the sun’s already setting. Where does the time go?

I mean, really, where does the time go?

In the Dark

When night falls in the city, I pretend that the houses have eyes, and they stare out at me through their glowing window panes. And I feel so exposed. Every way I turn, eyes are watching me. It’s a little bit frightening, but I also like it. It’s exhilarating you know. All eyes on me. The whole world is watching.

Guess I’d better do something amazing.

There's Something Wrong Here

But I can’t put my finger on it. I mean, I can’t on any level explain it. Can you? The story is thus. I was cycling home, just in that moment where twilight is giving way to night, and I passed the McDonald’s, hearing shouts and car honking as I went by. And the revving of engines. Which I heard and thought, please don’t pull out of the parking lot as I go by, and please don’t be going my direction. They pulled out of the parking lot as I went by, and went my direction. Four of them. So the first one, correctly I feel, for a street racer, simply revved the engine and roared past me, pottering along there on my bike. The next one, to my slight displeasure, honked as he sped past. Slight wobble of the bicycle, but otherwise alright. And then I felt the wind from a nearly full soft drink whoosh past my head as the third one passed. Bastards I thought. To throw a full drink at me. And I was thirsty too. Made the fourth car, of which the passenger leaned out to shout something vulgar, seem even irrelevant.

So I managed to not make obscene gestures or shout at them. Which I was pleased about. I try to model self-restraint every now and then. Probably a good thing too, as it would have been a lot against one, and it’s not a fast bike. It’s not even my bike. But I was really annoyed. Like, seriously, why do people have to behave like that? Where’s the sense in it? Where’s the benefit in it for them? And I didn’t get anywhere thinking this. Until I thought, let it go. Be a little more zen, Buddhist about this David. So I let it wash over me, listened to the wind in my hair, heard the whisper of the night air, and then felt a tugging on my shirt sleeve, saying, no, but seriously David, why? What sadistic pleasure do people get from randomly abusing others? Do they enjoy it? Or do they cringe secretly, but enjoy the supposed accolades received from friends? And is it okay if I damn them as a sub-species?

Then I told myself, let’s be a little more tolerant. Just because their culture doesn’t value manners and not-being-a-bastard-ness as much as mine does, doesn’t make it a lesser culture. Merely different. I could only get myself to believe this argument so far though, before I began having to make excuses for them. Maybe it’s not that their other-English culture is lesser than mine, it’s that they were abused as children. Or maybe their parents are ugly. Or their left big toe is smaller than the right.

Point is, what makes us so very different? Could I have been one of them, had circumstance been different? Have I ever been one of them? Shit. I probably have been that obnoxious bastard who somebody can’t stand. In which case, let me please apologize to whatsoever anonymous persons I have run afoul of in my life. I’m sorry, but it’s not my fault.

I was just brought up too well.