People are assholes. Individually, for the most part, people are good. But as the number increases, people become less good. They try to maintain their individuality by speaking more, thinking less. Three, even four, people are good. There’s a nice balance. But there’s a certain point when people become retards. They hoot and holler, grunt and scream… it’s a reversion to caveman behavior. Everyone wants to be heard. There’s not enough time, so a primal fight for attention ensues. You throw in a couple of strangers, and the shit hits the fan. New people to hear you. New people to find you amusing. People, collectively, suck.
I’m infatuated by celebrities. Females. Is it their stardom? The money? The makeup and fashion? I think to myself all the time, if this girl wasn’t on television or in movies or whatever, would I find her attractive? Does she appear the more beautiful because of who she is? Because of the image she perpetuates? Or the vulnerability she has because of that? Maybe it’s the fact that I don’t know anything about who she really is, and can form my own illusions about this person that hasn’t been fleshed out. All it takes is a glimpse. A movie, a commercial. It’s not lust. It’s sincere… kind of a hopeful love.
There’s something about appreciating this world we live in. I’m not talking about smelling flowers or planting trees. It’s just when you see something, and you pause for a second because you’re seeing it for what it really is. A medical helicopter taking off, lifting into the air. It’s like… it’s going to help someone. It’s going to save a life. Walking by a construction site day in, day out. It’s progress. It might just be a window frame or a foundation, but it’s the creation of something. And you think, things happen so quickly in our world, and in every split second, there’s something going on somewhere. There’s something going on everywhere.
Why do things always have to mean so much? Why can’t people just take things for what they are? Maybe sometimes, there’s no metaphor, no simile, no imagery. Maybe the author chose his words because they sounded cool, or he thought they made him seem intelligent. Maybe the events in the novel happen because there wouldn’t otherwise be a book. Maybe the poem was written thusly because the poet had a limited vocabulary. Why do song lyrics have to be touching or meaningful? Can’t they just hold a catchy tune? Are people so desperate for meaning that they have to derive it out of every little thing they come across?
People aren’t conscious of the way they walk. They don’t notice when they stop in the middle of a pathway to chat, or block a sidewalk by going three-wide. Maybe they don’t care. They walk slow with crowds behind them, they look at who they’re talking to instead of where they’re going, and they’re inconsistent – shifting from the left side of the walkway to the right. When a group of people are walking towards you, they don’t think to open up a space. They yield as little as possible, as if daring you to push through. It’s like a game of chicken, except they don’t care. They’re lost in their little worlds, gabbing away. And you’re the one forced off the road, taking initiative because you care more about where they’re going than they do.
It’s weird when you go to sleep. You lie in bed, waiting for sleep to come. You’re done… with nothing left to accomplish, or nothing to be able to accomplish, without the rest and the start of a new day. So you just lie there, waiting. And maybe you get a little bored, so you start thinking of something. It’s a state of helplessness, an interlude between the actions of one day and those of the next. Where you just think about what could have been, what should have been and what might be, but you’re unable to do anything about it. Until that moment finally comes. And by the time you wake up, you’ve forgotten everything.