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development
Apr. 11th, 2016 02:38 pmoutside, the machinery rolls, the machinery roars. the ground shakes, the walls rattle. it's in bursts, in rising waves. we're a metric, a bit of chaos just inside noise ordinances. it's not about the occasional spike, but the overall curve. just like my society to forgive an abrupt penetration but punish the subtle rise, the womanly curve. just like my society to let boys be boys with a shake of the head, with a fond little smile, while the girl shaking up some numbers is only condemned as a whore when she's not being mocked as a virgin. maybe you don't know what that's like. i sure the hell do.
our limbs rise above themselves. they take turns, they branch out, they extend themselves toward others. our bodies obey one another, whether through call and response or however we might respond to attraction: reciprocation, resonance, revulsion, indifference. where there was once a forest, now a white-streaked orange pit. where there was once nothing of note, and i mean the notable nothing, insects and grass, cathedral of thought, now: locking link fences and rambling machines.
i understand there is a purpose to everything they do. i appreciate they are building toward something and the nature of such a process is that it frequently looks like nothing is happening until, all at once, something has occurred. right now it just looks like annihilating our little back lot forest so noisy trucks can noisily shove around exposed earth. right now the entire purpose of the endeavor seems to be making a lot of noise around a big hole.
remember when they were not doing this? sometimes i wish i'd appreciated that time more. it was back in a time when the walls of my little apartment did not have quite so many hairline cracks radiating from every corner. it was a time when my mornings were largely filled with quiet birdsong, the pattering of light rain, the decimated vocalizations of our chain-smoking neighbors as they discussed among themselves weighty matters such as:
it is a mystery, it is a mystery indeed. in the end it is always a mystery, in the end something is always a mystery, in the end there's always something you don't, won't, or cannot know; something that does not reveal itself, either at all or within your audible frequency range. in the end, it's always a mystery. the mystery of. the mystery why. how the mystery, what the mystery, who the mystery, who. we are all detectives with varying degrees of success in our detections. we are all always trying to figure something out, and we come to our mysteries in that specific way that only we can.
what i'm saying is the things in our life we cannot understand are not remotely to scale with our capacity to understand them. however, the way those mysteries reveal themselves to us, the way they stick us, the places from which they draw blood, if they draw blood at all: all of this is infinitely demonstrative of the way our minds work.
is our biggest mystery that the president is secretly a muslim using our hard-earned tax dollars to taint the water supply with autism? is our biggest mystery how the fruits and vegetables at the grocery store conspire to kill us in our sleep? be honest, now: is our biggest mystery how the government thinks poor people are better than you?
my mystery remains:
our limbs rise above themselves. they take turns, they branch out, they extend themselves toward others. our bodies obey one another, whether through call and response or however we might respond to attraction: reciprocation, resonance, revulsion, indifference. where there was once a forest, now a white-streaked orange pit. where there was once nothing of note, and i mean the notable nothing, insects and grass, cathedral of thought, now: locking link fences and rambling machines.
i understand there is a purpose to everything they do. i appreciate they are building toward something and the nature of such a process is that it frequently looks like nothing is happening until, all at once, something has occurred. right now it just looks like annihilating our little back lot forest so noisy trucks can noisily shove around exposed earth. right now the entire purpose of the endeavor seems to be making a lot of noise around a big hole.
remember when they were not doing this? sometimes i wish i'd appreciated that time more. it was back in a time when the walls of my little apartment did not have quite so many hairline cracks radiating from every corner. it was a time when my mornings were largely filled with quiet birdsong, the pattering of light rain, the decimated vocalizations of our chain-smoking neighbors as they discussed among themselves weighty matters such as:
if there are enough sausages currently being microwaved, if the president actually is a muslim, and how they don't understand why their college-age niece keeps calling them racist.
it is a mystery, it is a mystery indeed. in the end it is always a mystery, in the end something is always a mystery, in the end there's always something you don't, won't, or cannot know; something that does not reveal itself, either at all or within your audible frequency range. in the end, it's always a mystery. the mystery of. the mystery why. how the mystery, what the mystery, who the mystery, who. we are all detectives with varying degrees of success in our detections. we are all always trying to figure something out, and we come to our mysteries in that specific way that only we can.
what i'm saying is the things in our life we cannot understand are not remotely to scale with our capacity to understand them. however, the way those mysteries reveal themselves to us, the way they stick us, the places from which they draw blood, if they draw blood at all: all of this is infinitely demonstrative of the way our minds work.
is our biggest mystery that the president is secretly a muslim using our hard-earned tax dollars to taint the water supply with autism? is our biggest mystery how the fruits and vegetables at the grocery store conspire to kill us in our sleep? be honest, now: is our biggest mystery how the government thinks poor people are better than you?
my mystery remains:
