oh god. tomorrow.
there will be running and jumping and screaming.
there will be hoarseness and sportsmanship, and competition in unexected capacities.
there will be laughing, and rejoicing, at pointless things.
there will be numbers on a blackboard, growing or staying the same.
these numbers will determine the ebb and flow of emotions.
there will be racing pulses, and racing people, and cups and speeches and the victory stand.
as there always is.
it will be important.
it isn't, usually.
groan.
and then, relief.
no more running around, or shouldering myself into conversations, in desperate (and rather pathetic) emulation of the Fellow of Delicacy.
no more fiercely raging redness.
no more coaxing and bantering, no more being nice to pesky littles.
no more pushing myself, relentlessly ignoring reluctance.
no viciously pointful running and throwing and jumping.
a little higher, a little faster, a little better, you can do it.
after this, peace.
and doing things suitable.
ah.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
today
people are going mad.
not the nice, loopy, us-sort-of mad.
a dangerous, boiling, menacing kind of mad.
the communal violence kind.
the hateful kind.
the scary kind.
they burn buses when they're like this.
people die when they're like this.
the world slows to a crawl, and plays every horrific moment in slow motion to drive it in when they're like this.
a little girl in a red coat stands while her world is swept away.
shots cry, people fall.
a pile of lifeless forms is pushed into a giant, burning pitfull.
a little red coat is visible, just for a moment, among them.
massacre.
i was hoping we had progressed from then.
but it's the same thing.
again and again.
humans prove they're not worth their own abilities.
shiver.
not the nice, loopy, us-sort-of mad.
a dangerous, boiling, menacing kind of mad.
the communal violence kind.
the hateful kind.
the scary kind.
they burn buses when they're like this.
people die when they're like this.
the world slows to a crawl, and plays every horrific moment in slow motion to drive it in when they're like this.
a little girl in a red coat stands while her world is swept away.
shots cry, people fall.
a pile of lifeless forms is pushed into a giant, burning pitfull.
a little red coat is visible, just for a moment, among them.
massacre.
i was hoping we had progressed from then.
but it's the same thing.
again and again.
humans prove they're not worth their own abilities.
shiver.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Crowdy
A crowded hall.
All push and rush and impatience.
She hesitates to step in.
To elbow her way to the counter
And wriggle through bodies to the stairs.
And argue for her seat inside.
She knows nobody.
She longs for the friendly arm.
The familiar voice.
Someone.
For when she steps inside
She fears not losing them,
But losing herself.
All push and rush and impatience.
She hesitates to step in.
To elbow her way to the counter
And wriggle through bodies to the stairs.
And argue for her seat inside.
She knows nobody.
She longs for the friendly arm.
The familiar voice.
Someone.
For when she steps inside
She fears not losing them,
But losing herself.
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