First of all: doesn't the word queue sound infinitely less stressful and annoying than line? Thats one of the things I loved about London: Waiting in a queue was always a relaxing and phonetically pleasing event. It was in no way geometrically severe or threatening.
Anyway....
I like to think that the afterlife is a world of answers. I haven't always thought this...I used to have a very clear cut idea of heaven and hell. There's that whole Catholic thing again. But somewhere between confirmation and the present day, everything became really fuzzy. Shit got really crazy when I started dating. I wish I could think of a way to say that without giving those guys so much credit, but there isn't. My conception of the afterlife was changed one "Mr. Right Now" after the other.
In the beginning it was just a bunch of angels and pearly white gates--typical. Now, I don't need a heavenly, ethereal place. I don't think I want, nor do I think that I rank high enough on the scale of human goodness to merit such a paradise. All I really want are answers. I want to finish all that unfinished business before my soul hunkers down in a bean bag chair for eternal rest. I want to hear the motivations of those who "loved" me and left me, of those who mistreated me, or of those who just left me curious. Wouldn't it be the ultimate relief to enter a realm, only as a soul--unencumbered with the baggage of image, pride, circumstance and context....a place where you were presented with a line of similarly uninhibited and recognizable souls, all readied with an explanation, apology or a declaration of love?
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
I swore I'd never be a blogger.
But I'll get off my high horse now.
I'd love to be a writer. I had this crazy idea when I was a kid that I was going to write for a newspaper. I never even took that dream seriously. It was more of a recurring one that only happened after I watched the scene from the Newsies: "I'm the King of New York". If you've seen it, thats the part when all the newsboys sing in a restaurant and couldn't be happier because they made the paper. Then they tap dance and snap their suspenders. I think it was the suspender snap that got me. I wanted something, or some one I wrote about to be immortalized in print. And I wanted to give them that suspender snappin', King of New York feeling....just by writing it down. Then I thought that maybe I could do that...for a living. I have very few qualifications other than some superbly written analytical historical papers. I never wrote for a school newspaper. I thought my college one blew. And it did/does. And I swore up and down that I wouldn't ever be a blogger; that there was something beautiful and poetic about the printed word that I just couldn't be without, even on my first time. But who am I kidding? Really, there's something incredibly pretentious and cliche about limiting poeticism to print and not to content. It's like only reading in a room that smells of old leatherbound books and cuban cigars. So I'm over that little bout of self-importance. Now I'm just going to write. And maybe people will read.
And that would be great
I'd love to be a writer. I had this crazy idea when I was a kid that I was going to write for a newspaper. I never even took that dream seriously. It was more of a recurring one that only happened after I watched the scene from the Newsies: "I'm the King of New York". If you've seen it, thats the part when all the newsboys sing in a restaurant and couldn't be happier because they made the paper. Then they tap dance and snap their suspenders. I think it was the suspender snap that got me. I wanted something, or some one I wrote about to be immortalized in print. And I wanted to give them that suspender snappin', King of New York feeling....just by writing it down. Then I thought that maybe I could do that...for a living. I have very few qualifications other than some superbly written analytical historical papers. I never wrote for a school newspaper. I thought my college one blew. And it did/does. And I swore up and down that I wouldn't ever be a blogger; that there was something beautiful and poetic about the printed word that I just couldn't be without, even on my first time. But who am I kidding? Really, there's something incredibly pretentious and cliche about limiting poeticism to print and not to content. It's like only reading in a room that smells of old leatherbound books and cuban cigars. So I'm over that little bout of self-importance. Now I'm just going to write. And maybe people will read.
And that would be great
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