Friday, March 5, 2010

Sometimes I Can Hear My Bones Straining Under The Weight Of All The Lives I'm Not Living

So many words get lost. They leave the mouth and lose their courage, wandering aimlessly until they are swept into the gutter like dead leaves. On rainy days, you can hear their chorus rushing past:
There was a time when it wasn't uncommon to use a piece of string to guide words that otherwise might falter on the way to their destinations. Shy people carried a little bundle of string in their pockets, but people considered loudmouths had no less need for it, since those used to being overheard by everyone were often at a loss for how to make themselves heard by someone. The physical distance between two people using a string was often small; sometimes the smaller the distance, the greater the need for the string.
The practice of attaching cups to the ends of the string came much later. Some say it is related to the irrepressible urge to press shells to our ears, to hear the still-surviving echo of the world's first expression. Others say it was started by a man who held the end of a string that was unraveled across the ocean by a girl who left for America.
When the world grew bigger, and there wasn't enough string to keep the things people wanted to say from disappearing into the vastness, the telephone was invented.
Sometimes no length of string is long enough to say the thing that needs to be said. In such cases, all the string can do, in whatever its form, is conduct a person's silence.

Our minds and bodies know what is best for us. We block out memories so we don't hurt from them anymore. We have scars- both extrinsic and intrinsic- to remind us to learn from our mistakes.

Maybe when we go to sleep our mind goes through the memories of our day and sorts them, like we would sort through our garbage. Into different bins, or categories.
Reduce, Reuse, Recycle.
Forget this happened, Remember this always, Use this memory again later.
And while we're sleeping, we're being distracted and given messages through metaphors and symbolism. We're dreaming to show us the lives we could be living, and to try to make sense of the ones we are.

I tried to make sense of things. Now that I think of it, I have always tried. It could be my epitaph:

Maybe I'm sad because of all the things inside me waiting for me to be said or written down.

Maybe I should get on that.

Today's Entertainment News
  • Neil Patrick Harris landed the lead role in "Smurfs, The Movie"
  • Cyndi Lauper will play a free concet at Queen's Park in Toronto, July 3rd for Pride.
thank you Amit Sharma for posting this on your facebook. Looove it


  1. How about this for an epitaph: MARLEY GROENEVELD... God she was busy.

  2. OR how bout this: MARLEY GROENEVELD: Who needs sleep?