In a rare spurt of unintended spontaneity, I proceeded with much caution to take in the sights which only window shopping can offer. Rather than stop to pick out the new shirt for tomorrow’s encounter, I have sunk to the depths of utter boredom and found only a tiny interest in some rings that cost 10 times too much its worth. Thus, needless to say, no monetary investment occurred, only a semi-starving woman, looking for an excuse to try out these fancy new age fastfood
that promises taste, deconstructed in its whiteness and somewhat pompous in its glare of post-modern construction.
The concept of openness, clean lines, unadulterated movement of noise, seem to congeal all in this space on this Monday evening. Ahh, the joy of people watching and its graciously arrogant manner of placing judgement on the unknowing. The stories of yesterdays come full circle as it becomes reiterated through mouths and takes a life of its own. I
sit, listen, chuckle and smirk, silently wondering if penning it down would all make some sort of feeble sense. But this noise, this mixture of pitches, sounds, words, language forcefully clashing… all creeping its way into legitimacy makes me wonder if I could indeed capture it all.
In my head, I see squiggly lines of pink, black and white, going round and round, finding solace in their complement to each other. Do you envision these things, then, in forms and shapes, aromas and stench, sweet and salty; does it all come into your imagination as wandering feats of emotional gestures. Or in my over-reactive manner, I am just caught up in trying to capture all these details that mean nothing to the next person.
Yes, this all started as a shopping trip, to bring in the purples and browns that fall so often comes in. But today, sound, man and space took over. Man so effortlessly melded into the space they have constructed themselves. Men so willingly given into the entity that has coached them to fall victim to all that glimmers in post-modern wonders. Men so unknowingly driven by cultures of make believe.
This doesn’t mean I’m beyond such materialism. On the contrary, being utterly conscious of it has drawn a heighten need to feel pulled in. The way to coolness is drawn in the spark of necessary change. Is it contrite? The question only sparks more oddities in my who-ness. I trust that in all, at the end of this lonesome Monday evening, you have found
this read more human uselessness than any other.
The joys of putting words into form and onto the world wide web.
