Sunday, October 30, 2011

Dusty Clothes.

Racks filled to the brim with clothes long ago worn, to dinner parties, to parks, to weddings, to school. The creases tell you of something, of a life they once held. Those creases are filled with dust particles of their previous owners. Owners who would carefully smooth out those same creases. Others would simply let them multiply until the pattern became a sort of texture spreading evenly across the surface area of the cloth, making it less conspicuous.

On another wall a sort of glass mosaic exists. Tall, pear shaped, skinny, and circular shapes are found in green, yellow, red, and most commonly, white.  The glasses are mixed with the old and new, but they are all empty. They entice you with their cleanliness. They implore: take me home. they look pretty atop cupboards, dressers, and bookshelves.

On that same wall, the glass shares space with other trinkets. Sownmans sitting festively on the the shelf, hoping Christmas would hurry up and pick them up. Halloween ghosts and ghouls linger right around the edge. The best part is that a specific area must only be touched with our gaze, as the figures seem so delicate that a soft touch might prove their undoing. They are like those people you see, but never quite touch, as your harshness might make them crumble and hurt. The precarious balance you must use to naviagate the shelf makes looking and finding pieces a time consuming pass time.

Then, we move on to where there lies wooden, tin, and plastic boxes. They all intermingle furiously with each other, an eclectic bunch gasping for air. Once, I found a heart shaped box with walls and a lid made from tree vines. So much emptiness, to store treasures, to hold thoughts untouched.

Down the corridors, as you keep walking, you can't help but lose yourself in the world of so many people. The vivid colors, in my mind's eye, are bountiful. The shoe rack is somewhere in between doors and clothes racks. These shoes have many things to tell you. Some of the soles are worn so thin, you just want to get them finish their destination, whatever it might be. Sometimes, you find those shoes that empty with experience. Their luster provokes quick hands to grab them, as they are always the first to go. People don't know they are the less sensitive of the pair. It is the worn, rugged shoes that provide you with stories and comfort you might not expect.

On a long and rainy day, you might drop by a place like this, and people aren't needed. It's as if the people were inside those things. Their emotions, their histories, and their love. You just pick them up to continue or create new life into them. Reusing. Always reusing. The world needs this kind of reusing of material things that are meaningless - yet, oftentimes define our existence. The trick is to not let it define you.


Coming back to this later, I should be studying. Procrastinating so hard right now. It makes for a busy filled week? ::Sigh:::. this way I can remain in that dark corner of the library's sixth floor, away from every possible person I might know.  Self-isolation at its best. 

Saturday, October 22, 2011

Writer's Legs.

Sound waves touched my legs. Touching them quickly and letting go. They felt comforting. I could almost see them pushing air particles into each other. I felt happy. It is one of the most transcending experiences to feel the vibrations bump into you and then leaving, without as much as a goodbye. They give you a feeling that you are full of life. They let you know that you are not alone. As soon as my legs deflected the sound waves, I craved for them. I wanted them to shake my legs a bit. They were a bit cold, and needed some movement.

Cramped, in between towering shoulders and sound waves, some angst teenagers that attempted to burn a rolled blunt interrupted the rapture I was experiencing. My air particles began to fight against the smell. Why are so many obsessed with this little phototroph? As soon as they were escorted out, I was able to indulge in the pleasure of listening to a band. A band whose music is the sole remnant I have of the one person I've ever loved. Even if it was from afar, they left me their music. I find comfort in that, knowing that they left me something so beautiful.

The lead singer touched the drums with such clarity and love, that the music coming out was more than I could ever want. If I could mark and re-live one of the best expriences, I would not hesitate to choose this one, on this particular night. I pumped shoulders with strangers, and I, siting there without familiar people or surroundings, felt how beautiful life is. I, in a room with strange souls, feeling the sound waves hitting us, deflecting, loved my life. For that two hours performance, I felt in good company.

As the show ended, I glanced to all the hands clasping each other, at all the friends capturing moments with each other. I walked with the night beside me. I walked peacefully and content to my car. My hand clasping my happiness.

With my windows down, felling the night sit beside me was all the company I needed as I drove home.

Sunday, October 2, 2011

End of the World.

I wake up in the morning and I wonder,
Why everything's the same as it was.
I can't understand. No, I can't understand,
How life goes on the way it does.