"For my part, I know nothing with any certainty. But the sight of the stars makes me dream." - Van Gogh
So recently my life has slightly changed. Not in anyway extravagant, but some of my views have widened.
My last two poems, that I've written in the wee hours of the morning, I think they were called "Misunderstanding" and "Moments", right? I forget. I've been up a long time. Anyway, my last two poems, there was a lot of living in the moment and life in them. I'm reading a book, "Stolen" by Lucy Christopher, and it's about a girl who was stalked for six years, and then abducted by the man, moved across continents, and away from city life. To him, he was "saving her" from becoming what her parents wanted, and brought out to the middle of Australia where "real life" is. Everything in the city is fake, to him. Now, I'm not that far into the book, but this has got me thinking, and since I'm stuck at home with a lovely case of Strep, missing my friends parties and whatnot, I might as well think.
Anyway, the book has me thinking : we don't really know what's going on. Anywhere. Sure we have the news, but again, that's selective. It's what they want us to know. You can't just go up to the government and ask, "hey what's up, yo?" they'd probably kick you out. We have the internet, but that's either a lie, half the truth, or again, what they want us to know.
How often do you drive by someones house, drive through a neighborhood, your own even, and think what might be going on in that house, on the corner? Or what about a girl a mile away from you, even in the house behind you, does she really live there?
How often do you pass by someone on the street, or in the halls of your school, and see that one kid who makes a big deal about turning in something late. To you, he's the class nerd, right? But what made him that way? What goes on at home that made him that way?
Our worlds are so different from each other.
I went to the beach a few weeks ago, and was talking with my friend. We ended up talking about how right there, in that water, is literally a whole different world than what we know. The animals in the ocean don't have a room of their own, cell phones, and they're not told on the news every night at 6 what happened that day. Every moment of their life is something new, what they want it to be, and their way to survive. All the different species out there in the ocean, they all speak a different language. Especially from us. Isn't it weird? And here we are, us humans, packed into houses, that are packed into cities, that are packed into states and countries. We pack ourselves into our cars, drive around in backed up mazes we call roads, sitting in traffic annoyed that it's not going fast, completely oblivious to the driver next to us. We don't care about anyone we pass by on the street, we drive by and take little notice.
When I first came on here, I talked to someone in the Coffee shop, and he later asked me, "you're from London, right?" Even over the internet, the one thing that keeps us connected to anyone in the world, we assume they're from where we are, and lead similar, homey lives. We really don't know anything.
I sat up all night, and I had the window open. I watched as the sun went down, it got dark, and now it's light again ( I didn't sleep, not yet, anyway). In this time, nothing has happened. My backyard has stayed the same. The plant outside it is the same height. The only thing that changed was the lighting, the time. But outside my small window, what about the house across from me? What went on in that house? Or a block away?
I know, I'm a little weird in the head to some of you. I get that a lot. I've just found a lot of things fascinating in the past few days. I thought I knew a lot, but now all that just got beaten by the unknown. I pretty much know nothing, and unless you ask everyone around you their life story, you don't know much either, about the world.
So recently my life has slightly changed. Not in anyway extravagant, but some of my views have widened.
My last two poems, that I've written in the wee hours of the morning, I think they were called "Misunderstanding" and "Moments", right? I forget. I've been up a long time. Anyway, my last two poems, there was a lot of living in the moment and life in them. I'm reading a book, "Stolen" by Lucy Christopher, and it's about a girl who was stalked for six years, and then abducted by the man, moved across continents, and away from city life. To him, he was "saving her" from becoming what her parents wanted, and brought out to the middle of Australia where "real life" is. Everything in the city is fake, to him. Now, I'm not that far into the book, but this has got me thinking, and since I'm stuck at home with a lovely case of Strep, missing my friends parties and whatnot, I might as well think.
Anyway, the book has me thinking : we don't really know what's going on. Anywhere. Sure we have the news, but again, that's selective. It's what they want us to know. You can't just go up to the government and ask, "hey what's up, yo?" they'd probably kick you out. We have the internet, but that's either a lie, half the truth, or again, what they want us to know.
How often do you drive by someones house, drive through a neighborhood, your own even, and think what might be going on in that house, on the corner? Or what about a girl a mile away from you, even in the house behind you, does she really live there?
How often do you pass by someone on the street, or in the halls of your school, and see that one kid who makes a big deal about turning in something late. To you, he's the class nerd, right? But what made him that way? What goes on at home that made him that way?
Our worlds are so different from each other.
I went to the beach a few weeks ago, and was talking with my friend. We ended up talking about how right there, in that water, is literally a whole different world than what we know. The animals in the ocean don't have a room of their own, cell phones, and they're not told on the news every night at 6 what happened that day. Every moment of their life is something new, what they want it to be, and their way to survive. All the different species out there in the ocean, they all speak a different language. Especially from us. Isn't it weird? And here we are, us humans, packed into houses, that are packed into cities, that are packed into states and countries. We pack ourselves into our cars, drive around in backed up mazes we call roads, sitting in traffic annoyed that it's not going fast, completely oblivious to the driver next to us. We don't care about anyone we pass by on the street, we drive by and take little notice. When I first came on here, I talked to someone in the Coffee shop, and he later asked me, "you're from London, right?" Even over the internet, the one thing that keeps us connected to anyone in the world, we assume they're from where we are, and lead similar, homey lives. We really don't know anything.
I sat up all night, and I had the window open. I watched as the sun went down, it got dark, and now it's light again ( I didn't sleep, not yet, anyway). In this time, nothing has happened. My backyard has stayed the same. The plant outside it is the same height. The only thing that changed was the lighting, the time. But outside my small window, what about the house across from me? What went on in that house? Or a block away?
I know, I'm a little weird in the head to some of you. I get that a lot. I've just found a lot of things fascinating in the past few days. I thought I knew a lot, but now all that just got beaten by the unknown. I pretty much know nothing, and unless you ask everyone around you their life story, you don't know much either, about the world.