Too good for T.V.
I hate the fact that everyone in this world is s owarpped up on themselves at times... it's sickening. Customers in particular believe they are your only priority, they are the only person that exists in their world, you and them and nothing else, all of this world, this live around them, this shroud of ambience, backdrop of moving "pictures" is nothing more than a figment of their imaginations...
I was at Wal-Mart today... two men walked out on crutches, both going to different cars... the younger of the two, looking more helpless than the older man called out, "heh, looks like we are in the same boat buddy." The older man grinned. I walked past them... and stopped, after putting one foot in the door... I turned and ran back to help the younger man whom was fumbling to push his cart and hobble at the same time, while the older gent was still striding to his car. "Sir, would you like me to help you with that," I asked, a look of relief spreading across his face... "Sure." I helped the man put the groceries into his car, and talked to him about my instances of fracturing my knee, he had a broken ankle, but was getting a new cast in a few weeks. He thanked me and went on my his way... Was I wrong... I choose too help the younger gentlmen, verse the older man, whom probably needed my help more, but I acted soo fast on my heels and in the light of the moment, as to who looked like they could use more of my help but... Why couldn't I have helped both of them... or if not both, should I have helped the younger man, or the older one... Either way it annoys me that no one else did anything to aide the older gentlmen... Am I the only person on this earth... male that is... that... gives a damn about everyone else?
I guess I care too much... but if that be the case, then so be it, I be an offender in the highest, I car more for my peers, my friends, my family... than I do for myself... Is that wrong? It may not be that I care more for them, not to put myself down, but... Is it wrong that I DO care about them as well as myself? Am I a freak to society? My images in my head are skewed, and my brain somewhat twisted, but, I still see the light at the end of the tunnel as bright as the man with no eyes, as loud as the man with no ears, and as fierce as the man with extreme courage, and yet, am I still not, or I still am not... an equal to them. The mute men sing a chorus of song that the deaf men can hear without aide, the blind draw extreme works of art that make angels cry and the night sky glisten, this is a verse from a holy song, a hymn so sacred and old, that if such a verse is to come again, is creator be young and cold, so I be this man, the bringer of ice, the sinner of caring too much, I cast thine own passions aside and live for the valor of life.
The sharp steel, glistined in the foggy fading sunlight, on that dusk in 1914, that Christmas past still fresh in his mind. The hilt became heavy as a seconds time felt like centuries, and a minutes felt like eternities. His eyes met with his foes, and locked into place, staring right though the cold blues and into the mystic black abyss beyond the scope of human vision. Flurries of childhood song, ambushes of family reunions and lustrious loves filtered out of his eyes, like beacons of passion, a fire so bright, it seared into the back of his skull, like a thousand needles being pressed outward from the inside. As his head began to spin and the final second passed, in a series of five that seemed like forever, he whispered in vain and in a slight state of homage a chant that will live on forever, "See you on the other side... My Brother." He tensed up his arm with all of his might, and forced the cold steel bayonnet into his fallen brothers jugular, spilling its contents withing a three foot radius. He spun his gun twice and fell to his knees, dropping his gun with landed with a soft patter in the murky mud beside him, as it tore through the flesh and bone around the space soon to be occupied by its bayonnet. The sound of this was that of a sucking noise, possibly from a last dying breath, or from the dislocation of the vertibret as the pointy steel extremity passed through it like a hammer though concrete. Hands over his face he sat there and wept, for this fate was one he couldn't own... could he?
Random Thought of The Day:
Kendra was back... :) X 100
I was at Wal-Mart today... two men walked out on crutches, both going to different cars... the younger of the two, looking more helpless than the older man called out, "heh, looks like we are in the same boat buddy." The older man grinned. I walked past them... and stopped, after putting one foot in the door... I turned and ran back to help the younger man whom was fumbling to push his cart and hobble at the same time, while the older gent was still striding to his car. "Sir, would you like me to help you with that," I asked, a look of relief spreading across his face... "Sure." I helped the man put the groceries into his car, and talked to him about my instances of fracturing my knee, he had a broken ankle, but was getting a new cast in a few weeks. He thanked me and went on my his way... Was I wrong... I choose too help the younger gentlmen, verse the older man, whom probably needed my help more, but I acted soo fast on my heels and in the light of the moment, as to who looked like they could use more of my help but... Why couldn't I have helped both of them... or if not both, should I have helped the younger man, or the older one... Either way it annoys me that no one else did anything to aide the older gentlmen... Am I the only person on this earth... male that is... that... gives a damn about everyone else?
I guess I care too much... but if that be the case, then so be it, I be an offender in the highest, I car more for my peers, my friends, my family... than I do for myself... Is that wrong? It may not be that I care more for them, not to put myself down, but... Is it wrong that I DO care about them as well as myself? Am I a freak to society? My images in my head are skewed, and my brain somewhat twisted, but, I still see the light at the end of the tunnel as bright as the man with no eyes, as loud as the man with no ears, and as fierce as the man with extreme courage, and yet, am I still not, or I still am not... an equal to them. The mute men sing a chorus of song that the deaf men can hear without aide, the blind draw extreme works of art that make angels cry and the night sky glisten, this is a verse from a holy song, a hymn so sacred and old, that if such a verse is to come again, is creator be young and cold, so I be this man, the bringer of ice, the sinner of caring too much, I cast thine own passions aside and live for the valor of life.
The sharp steel, glistined in the foggy fading sunlight, on that dusk in 1914, that Christmas past still fresh in his mind. The hilt became heavy as a seconds time felt like centuries, and a minutes felt like eternities. His eyes met with his foes, and locked into place, staring right though the cold blues and into the mystic black abyss beyond the scope of human vision. Flurries of childhood song, ambushes of family reunions and lustrious loves filtered out of his eyes, like beacons of passion, a fire so bright, it seared into the back of his skull, like a thousand needles being pressed outward from the inside. As his head began to spin and the final second passed, in a series of five that seemed like forever, he whispered in vain and in a slight state of homage a chant that will live on forever, "See you on the other side... My Brother." He tensed up his arm with all of his might, and forced the cold steel bayonnet into his fallen brothers jugular, spilling its contents withing a three foot radius. He spun his gun twice and fell to his knees, dropping his gun with landed with a soft patter in the murky mud beside him, as it tore through the flesh and bone around the space soon to be occupied by its bayonnet. The sound of this was that of a sucking noise, possibly from a last dying breath, or from the dislocation of the vertibret as the pointy steel extremity passed through it like a hammer though concrete. Hands over his face he sat there and wept, for this fate was one he couldn't own... could he?
Random Thought of The Day:
Kendra was back... :) X 100
posted by Joshua at 2/21/2005 08:21:00 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home