Friday, February 04, 2011

Frozen

There will be points in life when it is impossible to see the good in anything.



The falling snow -- once a symbol of playtime, beauty and innocence -- will mean cracked radiators, middle fingers and two hour commutes.




There will be buckets of rain for every beautiful sunset, a dozen tears for every smile and newspaper headlines that ache to the core.



There will be times -- entire seasons -- where every phone call will end in a sigh.




Times when you will plead for news to be untold.




There will be times when it becomes impossible to love or live as you should



times when the fear of everything prevents you from doing anything.




Oh, yes, there will be times.




Times like today when you think of everyone who has passed in this, the most deplorable of winters.




And you will think, hanging up the phone, of the terrifying news to come.



You will swallow, and swallow, the lump in your throat gathering into a whimper.




You will limp to your car in the morning, slave away the day and spend your nights wondering where the day -- where the time, where this life -- has gone.




You will obsess over what you cannot control. You will give into the meaninglessness of everything, marveling as the world seemingly drowns in alternating currents of vitriol and apathy.





You will see all that remains to be done -- everything you have failed to accomplish -- and you (like Buridan's ass) will do none of it.



You will starve. And you will wither.



You will sit painfully and idly by, immobilized by the future remembrance 0f inevitable loss.




And you will forget, as so many people do, that life goes on.



Whether or not you truly live it is up to you.


But the question remains: how do you focus on the now...




on the moment...




when in the end



there is so much to lose.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

Empty

Friday, May 29, 2009

Among the Darbies


I do not believe in fatalism. I understand cause and effect and believe wholeheartedly that a decision as simple as whether or not to board a bus could very well change the entire course of your life. And yet: I cannot help but deny a certain untouchable defeatist element to existence.

And: yes, yes. I know. Everyone feels this way at some point: or else we wouldn’t have clich├ęs about camels and straw; or laws like Murphy’s.

But it’s this precise realization that makes me so quick to wonder: why bother at all.

Imagine for a moment that you did everything to create a comfortable life for yourself: the life you wanted, even. But what if the harder you tried, the further that dream went away?

Just another classic case of Tantalus, you might say.


And I say this: I’m not talking about water and grapes. This is life: a vacant and meaningless existence treading dangerously close to an irretrievably crushed spirit.



Recently someone said he admired me because no matter what happened, nothing ever gets to my core.

I appreciate what I consider to be a compliment, but I doubt its accuracy.


Because these things, little by little, are getting to me. And with so much of everything collapsing around me, I feel at times I have only myself to blame. And yet: I don’t know what I’ve done wrong. I don’t know what I could’ve done differently.



And so: day after day, these experiences tear at me from the inside. I try to heal old wounds and a new one arises; I stop one leak, and a bigger one begins.



But if I must be the girl who serves as a godmother – but never a parent – so be it. If I must be the girl who has to choose between backpacking across Scotland alone or not going at all, I will choose the former.


And yet: why it is come to this, I will never understand. These shelves of unwatched books; lists of “must see” movies and unseen vistas. Hopes and dreams that once seemed inevitable have somehow become insurmountable peaks.


They grow; they loom; they taunt. Fates approach in the distance; growing larger and larger, scissors poised before my string.

This is not the life I fought for. This is not the life I wanted.


This is the life that found me.



But tell me why – like Sisyphus – I scale the mountain all the same.

Thursday, May 28, 2009

And People Call These "Weeds"

I'll never understand.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

The Wind in Slow Motion























I shot these at the "wrong" shutter speed and almost deleted them. And yet: I wound up preferring them over most other photos I took this past weekend. Not to mention, my camera broke some 30 minutes thereafter, and I figured I may as well post the last images my Canon G7 produced. It'll be awhile before I can afford another.

Monday, May 25, 2009

Variations of the Same

It's not that I'm back. It's just that I know, deep down, I won't be safe anywhere.





Sunday, February 22, 2009

Love Before the Ruins, Part II

The story continues.

Friday, February 13, 2009

Love Before the Ruins

If you'd like to see me be momentarily optimistic -- and believe me, this is a rare occasion indeed -- then be sure to check this out.

(And then check back in a day or two for the continuation.)

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Soccer Fashion

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Shameless Plug

It's true I couldn't draw to save my life, and my comics are about as useless as man-teats. But for whatever reason I'm particularly proud of the one I posted today. Check it out.

Sunday, February 01, 2009

Super Bowl Commentary

As I watched the Super Bowl tonight, at best half-interested in the game and mostly just sticking around for the commercials, I couldn't help but wonder:

Have Omar Epps and Pittsburgh Steelers coach Mike Tomlin ever been seen in the same room at the same time?


Because I'm pretty sure they're the same person.

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Music 2000

Imagine it's early 1980s and a group sets out to predict how music will sound in the year 2000.

This, my friends, is the result:



(And for the record, that apparition is the ghost of Tchaikovsky -- one of the judges for the Music 2000 contest).

Monday, January 26, 2009

High Five!

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Voices (a Q&A with the author)

What does it mean when nearly every voice in your head is screaming for you to get the f*ck out of Chicago?


(Only to be followed by a whisper, "But to where?")



And why, pray tell, does all this news about salmonella leave me craving peanut butter?