Just Add Water
Everything is indeed a text. An action becomes a letter becomes a word becomes a text. A text can describe anything. A text can portray a magnitude of emotions, stretching from comedy to sadness, and something as simple as an image displayed upon a screen generates the most potential of breeding pure emotion. Because our society has become so visually dependent, images and films are the most popular form of text. People love to see the things and situations that cause for raw emotion to be felt and have every sense taken over by that feeling; sight, sound, the whole nine yards. Rather than reading a text and letting imagination take the reigns of conjuring up our own pictures of the story, we now sit and wait for the film that shows us someone else’s drawing of what the story is.
“For most people now-a-days, the American dream doesn’t really exist." There’s a time in everyone’s lives where things just aren’t easy anymore; the grease that let you slip by washes away, as the constant ticking clock strikes outrageously at the top of every hour, stopping for no one. The chimes of this timeline pound your ear drums relentlessly every time you think it’s okay to relax. Things start out calm then the rough, open seas gallop away with your dreams tucked in their suitcases.
Tick. Tock. The seed does not die. Ever. The tiny, speckled seed that inhabits every human stomach always has the potential to blossom and grow; some people just lose the water that makes this become possible. WHERE DID ALL THAT GODAMN WATER GO?!
Time keeps ticking. Tock. Tick. You want so badly to have a dream; to follow through with the one thing you’ve always wanted; to have an adventure; to not unwillingly kneel down in your brand new slacks and dirty up the knees all to smooch the feet of someone you secretly want to shove a knife into.
As all this is raging inside your skull, you take notice to the soothing background music that was chosen for your life. This simply unsimple melody chases your dreams shakily around the outside of your brain and causes the soothing to turn to the dark side. Enough is enough. Grab your men. Have them bring their weapons. We’re going to war.
“A man’s gotta strive for something big in life, otherwise he doesn’t mean a thing to himself or society.” Despite fear – fear of sharp objects, fear of heights, fear of being alone – we all must strive. Gather all the dandelions from the field downtown, instill your wishes in every furry seed, and take flight. Storm clouds roll in, but there’s no turning back. Despite the struggle, there is still beauty out there.
You’re given the palette to choose how you want to color in your journey and little by little, color is splashed among the bland. Soon your life will be filled with the hues you chose and cover every inch of land.
So replant your yellow flowers and instill your dreams in them too. For someday the storm will come swinging its lasso of rain and we will all thrive.
I guess you can say the struggle makes the man; every fight entitles an adventure and every man loves one of those.
“For most people now-a-days, the American dream doesn’t really exist." There’s a time in everyone’s lives where things just aren’t easy anymore; the grease that let you slip by washes away, as the constant ticking clock strikes outrageously at the top of every hour, stopping for no one. The chimes of this timeline pound your ear drums relentlessly every time you think it’s okay to relax. Things start out calm then the rough, open seas gallop away with your dreams tucked in their suitcases.
Tick. Tock. The seed does not die. Ever. The tiny, speckled seed that inhabits every human stomach always has the potential to blossom and grow; some people just lose the water that makes this become possible. WHERE DID ALL THAT GODAMN WATER GO?!
Time keeps ticking. Tock. Tick. You want so badly to have a dream; to follow through with the one thing you’ve always wanted; to have an adventure; to not unwillingly kneel down in your brand new slacks and dirty up the knees all to smooch the feet of someone you secretly want to shove a knife into.
As all this is raging inside your skull, you take notice to the soothing background music that was chosen for your life. This simply unsimple melody chases your dreams shakily around the outside of your brain and causes the soothing to turn to the dark side. Enough is enough. Grab your men. Have them bring their weapons. We’re going to war.
“A man’s gotta strive for something big in life, otherwise he doesn’t mean a thing to himself or society.” Despite fear – fear of sharp objects, fear of heights, fear of being alone – we all must strive. Gather all the dandelions from the field downtown, instill your wishes in every furry seed, and take flight. Storm clouds roll in, but there’s no turning back. Despite the struggle, there is still beauty out there.
You’re given the palette to choose how you want to color in your journey and little by little, color is splashed among the bland. Soon your life will be filled with the hues you chose and cover every inch of land.
So replant your yellow flowers and instill your dreams in them too. For someday the storm will come swinging its lasso of rain and we will all thrive.
I guess you can say the struggle makes the man; every fight entitles an adventure and every man loves one of those.
Comments
Post a Comment